“In most situations, it resolves itself with time. In my experience, I’ve seen mild cases of memory loss or delusion, but with cognitive therapy, it's something that can improve.” Dr. Beck folds his hands on his lap as he continues to explain everything to us in a way we understand. “To be honest, though, we should be focused on the fact that this could have been much worse, and since you acted so quickly, she has minimal damage.” Mom and Annie place their hands on my back, silently thanking me for being there when this happened. It was just luck, though. I hate to think what could have happened if I wasn’tthere.
“When can we see her?” Mom asks Dr.Beck.
“Just as soon as we go over one more thing,” he says. “Amelia has a condition called atrial fibrillation. This condition causes an arrhythmic heartbeat. Basically, when the heart is beating erratically, it can cause the heart to spit out blood clots. The clot can then become lodged in an artery, causing a shortage of blood to the brain, which is more than likely what caused thisstroke.”
I feel like I just heard a whole lot of gibberish. “What does that mean? She could have another stroke?” Annie asks. The tone of her voice is one step away from a total meltdown. I can sense itcoming.
“What I'd like to do is place a pacemaker in her chest cavity, which will hopefully keep her heart beating in a regular rhythm. Doing this will help lessen the chances of anotherstroke.”
She's ninety-two. This can't be a goodidea.
“What if we decide against the procedure?” Momasks.
Dr. Beck pulls in a sharp breath and holds it for a second before continuing. “Honestly, the likelihood of another stroke is moderate to high,” hesays.
I look over at Mom and Annie who appear to be struggling with the decision. “Do it,” I tellhim.
“Emma!” Momsnaps.
“It's the right thing todo.”
“What about the risks involved in the surgery?” Anniequestions.
“In my opinion, the risk of inserting a pacemaker is small, but the risk of another stroke without a pacemaker is concerning,” Dr. Beck says. “You can come on back and see her now. Talk everything over with her, and let me know when you’ve made adecision.”
We follow Dr. Beck through the door and into the ICU. The sounds of odd beeps and air pumping through machines behind closed curtains are noises that I never want to hear again after today. My chest tightens as we reach the end of the hall, knowing how hard it’s going to be to see Grams lying helpless in a hospitalbed.
She has been a force of nature my entire life. Nothing has ever slowed her down or kept her from doing the things she's wanted to do. Up until now, she has driven her own car, shopped, taken walks, and she even goes out for dinner with friends. I can only hope I'm the same way at her age. Now, though, when I enter the room, she's lying quietly in a hospital bed, asleep, with wires hooked up to various parts of her body. She's pale, and her hair is a mess—this is not the woman I know. My heart breaks at the sight of her, and I grab my chest as if that will help me hold its broken piecestogether.
“Grams,” I say softly, making my way to the side of herbed.
“Mom,” Anniefollows.
Grams opens her eyes slowly as a tentative smile presses against the corners of her lips into the dimples of her soft powdery cheeks. “My girls,” she says, sounding so frail. “I thought today was going to be theday.”
“We're not letting anything happen to you,” I tell her, taking her limp hand within mine as I stroke my thumb across the wrinkled skin on herknuckles.
“Where is Charlie?” she asks as her forehead furrows withconcern?
“Who is Charlie?” Annie asksGrams.
“Oh, you know Charlie, girls.” She laughs at us as if we're ridiculous for not knowing thisman.
Grandpa's name was Max, so I don't think she'd be confusing the names. “We don't know anyone named Charlie,” I tellher.
“Oh, sure you do, silly. Of course, you know CharlieCrane.”
I share a look with Mom and Annie, each of us as confused as the other. Dr. Beck has been silently standing behind us, patiently waiting to check in with Grams. “This is the confusion I mentioned,” Dr. Beck says. “She was sharing some stories from the past, and I'm not sure she understands what year itis.”
“You all have such beautiful hair,” Grams says, struggling to lift her hand before twirling one of my waves around her finger. “So…beautiful.”
I don't understand why she’s talking to us this way. “Thanks, Grams,” I tell her, taking her hand back within mine. “You're going to beokay.”
“I know, but you three may not be if you don't get out of here soon. I don't want the Nazis to find you in the sickbay.”
That word fills my chest with a dark fear. We know little of Grams's history, mainly just that she survived the Holocaust, but her story stopped there. She didn't want us to know details or to live through the same nightmare she did, so we promised never to talk aboutit.
“Emma,” Grams whispers, pulling me down toward her face. “Get my book, will you,sweetie?”
