Over the next few days, the stroke support team would meet with them to discuss care facilities, the potential for in-home care, and the resources available to help them navigate the decisions ahead.
What they didn’t discuss was what would happen if her granddad had another stroke. Even with the best medical team in the world, there was a high risk he’d never leave the hospital alive.
Owen leaned closer. “Are you all right?” he whispered.
Tears stung Harper’s eyes. After what had happened today, she didn’t think she’d ever be okay again.
Instead of trying to speak, she took a deep breath and sent him a quick nod. When the neurologist handed Carrie a folder of information, Harper’s mind raced, piecing together a future that looked nothing like the one they’d imagined. She didn’t know how they’d tell her granddad he couldn’t go home for a while.
Carrie broke the silence. “We need to be strong for him, to make the choices he’d want us to make.”
The words hit Harper like a physical blow. They’d had the same discussion when her nana was receiving palliative care. When her granddad had his previous stroke.
After the neurologist promised to update them as soon as there was more news, Harper felt a deep sense of despair. The future loomed large and uncertain, completely different from the birthday celebration her granddad had organized.
Owen parkedhis truck outside the medical clinic, his mind full of concern for Harper and her family. He’d expected Harper to be at the hospital with her mom, but when he’d called earlier, she’d told him she was at the clinic. With a deep breath, he picked up the box from the passenger seat, hoping the gift might bring her a small amount of comfort.
When he stepped inside the clinic, Harper was behind the reception desk. Her smile weary but genuine.
“Hi, Owen,” she said, her eyes lighting up for a moment at the sight of him.
“Hey,” Owen replied. “I thought you’d be with your granddad today.”
Harper rubbed her temples. “Mom’s with him now. We decided it’s easier if there’s only one of us there at a time. The hospital has restrictions and... it’s just easier to manage.”
Owen nodded. He knew how tiring it was for the patient if more than one person visited them at a time. “We did the same thing when Dad had a heart attack. It was easier for him and less draining on us.” He looked around the waiting room. Everyone was reading magazines or on their cell phones.
“How’s your granddad?” he asked gently, setting the box on the counter.
“The same, really. We have to wait and see if he improves over the next few weeks.” Harper’s voice held a mix of hope and resignation. “The stroke team’s doing everything they can. Granddad’s on medication to manage the swelling in his brain and to keep his blood pressure under control. They’re also starting some mild physiotherapy to keep his muscles from getting too weak. The next few days are important.”
“If you or your mom need a ride to the hospital or anything else, just ask. I’m only around the corner.”
Harper bit her bottom lip. “Thanks. Knowing you’re able to help means a lot.”
He pushed the box toward her, trying to lighten the mood. “I bought you one of Megan’s supersized muffins. I know it was your birthday yesterday, but with everything going on, I thought you could use a little celebration.”
Harper’s eyes softened as she opened the box to reveal a large chocolate muffin with fancy vanilla frosting on top. A small, genuine smile spread across her face. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”
“I walked past Sweet Treats this morning and saw Megan putting them in the display cabinet. I know it’s not much, but I hoped it might make your day a little brighter.”
“It’s perfect.”
Warmth spread through him at her words. He’d wanted to bring her a moment of happiness and it looked as though he had. “Happy birthday for yesterday, Harper.”
“I’m glad you didn’t tell everyone I turned thirty-two,” she whispered.
Owen looked behind him at the people sitting in the waiting room. They were watching them with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Harper turned twenty-one yesterday,” he told them with a smile.
“That happens to me each year,” Gordon Jessop said with a grin. “What about you, Harold?” He nudged the man sitting beside him. “How often have you turned twenty-one?”
Harold frowned. “Last count, I’d say sixty-two times, give or take a few years.” His twinkling blue eyes locked on Harper. “What you make of each year means more than the passing of time.”
Gordon chuckled. “I didn’t know retired ranchers were poetic.”
“It comes with spending long hours on a horse in the middle of nowhere,” Harold told his friend.
Harper smiled, then glanced at her watch. “I’d offer to share the muffin with you, but I’ve had my break and I can’t leave the desk.”
