Surviving Stirling

Chapter Thirty Four

"Take a seat."

I didn't want to take a seat.

I have been sitting.

Hours in an airport.

Hours on a plane.

What felt like hours in a cab.

And now this damn waiting room.

I was done sitting.

"Please just tell me which room my father is in?"

"A doctor will be out shortly to talk with you, please take a seat." I groaned inwardly before taking myself off to once again sit down.

Despair roamed the room, beat-up chairs (filled with people who have: broken limbs, were crying, been beaten up, or are holding the person next to them for support.

I wish I had taken Kingsley up on his offer to come with me, maybe then I wouldn't feel so alone. I stared down at my hands, twisting and knotting them as if doing so would hold back the turmoil I felt inside.

"Miss Anderson?" I slowly raised my head to look at the person wearing teal scrubs and a white face mask. My eyes, squinted in an attempt to sharpen the tear-blurred image before me.

"Yes?"

"Hi, I'm doctor Mitchell, your father was brought in earlier and we have ran some tests. He has suffered two Ischemic strokes. This is when a blood clot inside a blood vessel causes a blockage of blood flow. These are considered mini strokes and they can occur in the brain at any time."

It was like he was speaking a completely different language. My ears were hearing but I wasn't absorbing anything.

I had a pain in my chest, a broken heart type of pain. I feared it was strong enough to burst through bone and flesh.

"Typically these types of strokes only last for a few minutes or hours but given your father's age and his overall health they took quite the toll and he is at further risk of experiencing another stroke in the future."

"Is he okay?"

"Your father underwent a surgical procedure known as a carotid endarterectomy which removed the blockage. Currently he is in recovery. He does have high blood pressure and high cholesterol which are contributing factors to blood clots and he will need to be on preventative medication for the rest of his life. It's tough right now to say exactly how well he will recover but like I said the effects of these specific strokes are usually temporary."

"Can I see him?"

"You can but he's likely to be sleeping right now." He pointed to one of the rooms and I nodded, suddenly getting overwhelmed by apprehension.

My dad was the only parent I had left, I couldn't lose him too. The enormity of the entire situation hadn't yet registered.

I stopped at the coffee machine just outside of his room, slotting in the only bits of spare change I had. I don't know why, I didn't even want coffee. I just needed to do something, hold something, distract myself with something.

It poured out like dishwater, filling in a plastic container and I held it with a shaking hand as I thumbed my fist down on a button that made his automatic doors slide open.

My father, this strong, kind man, was a tiny heap lying there in his hospital bed. The throbbing pain in my head echoed within, caused directly by my emotions and the sheer amount of tears I had shed.

As I stood staring at his sleeping posture, time slowed, every detail around me was clear and sharp as glass, yet totally incomprehensible.

I placed the coffee down and pulled up one of the thinly padded chairs, sitting next to him. It offered little to no comfort but I'd sit in it for hours anyway because there was no way I ever planned on leaving him.