Page 6 of Just Like That

‘You are doing fine. I will leave you for now, but if you have any questions or concerns, please ask one of the nurses to contact me. We will make Seth more comfortable in a proper bed as soon as we can.’

‘Thank you, doctor. Thank you for saving him.’ My eyes well up with fat, prickly tears.

‘Of course.’ She nods again and then moves on to tend to her next patient.

I sit with Seth for about an hour, chatting rubbish to him, even reading him a chapter from an e-book I’m in the middle of. It’s a surreal experience that I try not to think too much about, because I know if I do, I might very well lose my head. Eventually, I start to feel stiff and in need of something to eat and drink, so I venture along the seemingly never-ending corridor from the A&E department into the main hospital. It’s so white and clinical, the smell of disinfectant haunting me as I go.

After buying a meal deal from the M&S Simply Food shop, I head outside into the hospital grounds in search of a bench and some fresh air, which I gulp down in large doses as my mind ticks over everything. I simply can’t get my head around the fact that my thirty-two-year-old brother just almost died and that he may be left with permanent disability. I mean, how could it happen to someone like him? And why? It’s completely senseless and almost too much to bear. But I know I have to deal with it, because falling apart will help no one. I need to focus on the practicalities, and the first of those is giving an update to Mum and Dad.

Quickly taking a few bites of my sandwich and some swigs of my mineral water, I then set my lunch aside, and pull my phone out of my bag to make the call. My mum answers on the third ring.

‘Hello, darling, how are things going there? Have you managed to speak to Seth yet?’

‘I’ve seen him, yes—’

‘Ah, great. I’m glad everything is OK then.’

I hesitate, not relishing bursting my mum’s bubble. She’s clearly in denial, being so quick to jump to the assumption that Seth is fine.

‘No, Mum. Everything is not OK. Is Dad there?’

‘He’s just coming inside now.’

I hear the door to my parents’ veranda open and close and my dad approaching the phone once again.

‘We’re both here now, Jess,’ says my mum. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Um… sure… so there’s no easy way to say this… Seth has had a stroke. He’s in an induced coma right now. It’s unclear what state he’ll be in when they bring him out of it, but… Mum, Dad, he… he nearly died.’ My voice wobbles, then breaks, as I say these last words.

There’s a pregnant pause while I wait patiently for my parents to digest this information. Eventually, my dad clears his throat.

‘Jess, sweetheart, are you absolutely sure about this? You haven’t misheard or gotten confused? Because I know that medical language can be difficult to follow, especially if you’re in a state of stress or feeling anxious.’

I frown at this statement through my tears, unsure whether to feel offended at my dad’s sweeping assumption that I’ve gotten this wrong.

‘Yeah, I’m sure. I spoke to a doctor and I’ve been in to see Seth in the resuscitation room of A&E. He’s unconscious, hooked up to all these machines. I haven’t got this wrong.’ I continue by filling them in on how Seth was found on the bus and what the doctor said about performing another scan to find out more about Seth’s situation and prognosis. ‘So, there you have it. I’ve understood perfectly well.’

‘All right, darling. Just keep yourself nice and calm.’ My mum tries to soothe me in a way that irks me. ‘Your father was only trying to establish the facts, and this is a big shock for all of us.’

Gritting my teeth, I look up at the cloudless blue sky to stop myself from biting back. ‘Well, now you have “the facts”, it’s more a question of what next? Do you think you can get a flight today?’

There’s another silence and I hear something covering the receiver at my parents’ end, along with some muffled conversation. This time I wait less patiently, wondering what they could possibly need to discuss right now. They should be getting straight online to book flights. I’ll even do it for them myself if that’s what’s needed.

Eventually the line becomes clear again and there’s yet more throat clearing from the other end.

‘So?’ I almost demand of them.

‘We’ve had a chat.’ My mum’s voice seems somewhat strangled all of a sudden. ‘And we’ve decided that dropping everything and flying to the UK right now – when Seth isn’t even conscious – is probably not the right thing.’

‘What?’ I actually can’t believe what I’m hearing.

‘Jess, don’t overreact to this, please.’ My dad takes over from my mum. ‘I know the automatic and emotional reaction you’re expecting is for us to dash straight to the airport, but that doesn’t make sense from a practical perspective. We can’t actually do anything for Seth right now. He’s in the best hands with the medics and you’re there too. They probably wouldn’t even allow three of us to sit around his bed at a time.’

‘So, we’d do it in shifts,’ I say this as if it’s obvious, which it is.

‘That’s one way of looking at it. The other is that we’d be shelling out a lot of money for flights and accommodation when we don’t know how long it will be until Seth is awake. We’d be better seeing him and providing support when he’s conscious again.’

‘I suppose there’s some sense to that thinking,’ I concede. ‘Though they do say it’s important to talk to him while he’s in the coma.’

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