Longest six minutes of my life.
The first breath Ava took was a miracle. She gasped for air, choking on saliva, but they sucked it out.
She was breathing.
We rode in the ambulance while Ava slept. I had no idea if she was really okay. I’d never been with her for a seizure of this magnitude, not all the way through.
They rolled her to a curtained room, and a nurse took her vitals while I filled out forms. I didn’t have her medicine bottle with me and had to guess at the dose, since it had changed so often. I banged the clipboard against my knee as I waited for her to wake up.
It was half an hour before her hand lifted to her head.
Her eyes opened, and I could see the pain in her glazed expression. “I’ll get them to give you something for the headache.” I pulled back the curtain so I could spot a nurse if one passed.
I also wanted to give her some space. Her face contorted with confusion, her gaze shifting back and forth. What Ava was I about to meet? I’d never been with her at the very beginning of a new life for her.
The nurse came around the corner, and I flagged her down.
“Is she awake?” The whip-thin woman in blue scrubs approached the bed.
Ava scooted away from her, drawing her knees close to her body.
“I’m Nurse Helene,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
Ava didn’t answer, looking from the woman to me and back again. My stomach lurched. I was afraid that she didn’t know me, that she didn’t recognize her surroundings or what they meant.
“She has a headache,” I said. “She usually does after a seizure.”
Helene inflated the cuff on Ava’s arm. As the pressure increased, Ava’s eyes grew wide with panic. She tried to pull it off, but Helene expertly pushed her hand away until it beeped. “Calm down, now. We’re making sure you’re okay.”
But I knew then. Ava didn’t recognize a blood pressure cuff. It was all gone.
I moved beside the bed. “She’s confused. She gets amnesia. She won’t know who she is or why she’s here.”
The woman’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that so?”
My whole body flashed hot. She didn’t believe me. “Can you get something for her headache, please?”
But Helene had had enough of me. “Sweetheart, does your head hurt?”
Ava had pushed herself as far into the pillows as she could, creating distance between herself and the woman. She nodded, moving her hand to her head again.
“Are you allergic to anything?” Helene asked.
“No,” I said. “Ibuprofen will work fine.”
Helene’s lips pressed sharply together, but she steppedback. “I’ll get them for you. Now that she’s awake, I’ll let the doctor on call know he can see her.” She held out her hand for the clipboard.
“Her neurologist is Dr. Clark. Can we call him?”
She glanced at the clock. “You can try. But it’s late. Tomorrow morning during his regular hours will probably be better.”
“But—”
And she was gone.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
Ava held her knees tightly, eyes wide.
