When I finally pull back, I’m surprised to see the worry etched into the corners of his face. His stormy gray eyes are darker than usual, clouded with something I can’t quite place. For a moment, I wonder if maybe he’s carrying more than I realize.
"Thank you." It comes out hoarse from crying.
He shrugs, his hand still resting on my back like a dull, comforting weight. "Do you want to go back to the house?"
I shake my head. "No, I need to stay here. I need to talk to the doctors and figure out what the next steps are."
Brooks looks like he wants to argue, but he must see something in my face that makes him stop. "Alright, but you’re not alone."
"I’ll be fine," I insist. "You should go home and check on Mom and Jasper."
He hesitates, his eyes searching mine, and I can tell he’s torn between what he thinks is best and what I’m asking of him.
Finally, he nods in resignation. "Okay but call me if you need anything." There’s a pause before he adds, “I mean it, Elowen."
"I will," I promise.
He gives me one final look before he’s walking away and leaving me standing alone in the hallway. It feels emptier without Brooks, the silence forcing its way down on all sides. I take a deep breath and try steadying myself before making my way to the nurses’ station at the end of the corridor. A young nurse is sitting behind the desk, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail.
"Hi," I say. "I’m Elowen Donovan. My father is in room 312. I was hoping to speak with his doctor?"
The nurse looks up from her computer, her eyes flicking to the chart in front of her. "Of course, Ms. Donovan. Let me page Dr. Kulkarni for you. She’s the attending physician on your father’s case."
I nod, grateful that things are moving smoothly. For now.
As the nurse makes the call, I glance around the ICU, trying to ground myself in the present. It’s strange being here again, surrounded by the same walls and the same sterile smells, but with a different kind of fear hanging over me. Last time I was here, it was a broken arm from a bike accident and a scraped knee from the fall that only needed a band aid. Now, it’s life or death. The stakes are so much higher.
"Dr. Kulkarni will be here in just a few minutes," the nurse says, pulling me back to the present. "Would you like to wait in the family lounge? It’s just down the hall to your right."
I consider, but the idea of sitting in a room filled with anxious family members staring at a clock on the wall doesn’t appeal to me. "No, I’ll just wait here, if that’s okay."
The nurse smiles, and I lean against the counter, ignoring the knot in the pit of my stomach.
I focus on the steady beep of machines, the quiet footsteps of nurses moving from room to room, anything to keep my mind from wandering too far down the hall to room 312.
A few minutes later, a woman in her late thirties, with dark hair pulled into a low bun and a white coat draped over her navy scrubs, approaches me. She has the calm demeanor of someone who’s spent years delivering difficult news, but there’s a softness in her eyes that helps put me a little more at ease.
"Ms. Donovan?" she asks, extending a hand. "I’m Dr. Kulkarni. I’ve been overseeing your father’s care."
"Please, call me Elowen," I say, shaking her hand. Her grip is firm but gentle, and I find myself clinging to that small comfort. "How is he? What’s the prognosis?"
Dr. Kulkarni gestures for me to follow her to a quieter corner of the hallway. "Your father’s condition is critical," she begins, her face composed. "His heart is very weak. The stroke caused significant damage, and there’s a risk of further complications."
Her words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut, but I will myself to stay focused. "Is there anything that can be done? Surgery? Medication?"
"We’re doing everything we can to keep him comfortable and to manage his symptoms," Dr. Kulkarni says. "But given his age and the extent of the damage, surgery isn’t a viable option. Our primary goal right now is to ensure he’s stable and to prevent any further deterioration."
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, trying to process everything she’s saying. It feels like the ground is shifting beneath my feet, but I know I have to keep it together. "What about… long term? Is there any chance of recovery?"
Dr. Kulkarni hesitates before she even speaks. "It’s difficult to say. Recovery from a stroke is always uncertain, and in your father’s case, the prognosis isn’t good. He may regain some function, but it’s unlikely he’ll ever be the same."
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I swallow hard, trying to remain strong. "What can I do?"
"Just be here," Dr. Kulkarni instructs gently. "He may not be able to respond, but he can hear you. Talk to him, hold his hand, and let him know that he’s not alone."
The tears threaten to spill. "Thank you, Dr. Kulkarni."
She gives me a small smile and reaches out to squeeze my arm. "If you have any questions, or if you just need to talk, I’m here. We’ll do everything we can for your father."
