But before he could reply, Dr. Ryan’s voice rang out from behind me.
“Kate? I don’t want to alarm you, but we need to take Rosie down for an MRI.”
I almost dropped the phone. “Why? What’s going on? What’s happened?”
“Kate,” said Dr. Ryan evenly, “we just need to take an MRI. She’s not responding to certain stimuli, and I think it’s best we do this straightaway.”
I was already nodding in agreement and moving toward my daughter. “Of course, of course, whatever you need to do. Please,” I responded, anguish palpable in my voice as again I felt myself sweating through my shirt.
But yet I didn’t understand my anxiety. An MRI was surely routine? Normal procedure for someone who’d been through what Rosie had.
For all of the medical knowledge I happened to possess in my brain, for the life of me I didn’t know. I didn’t know much about neurology, and I wished desperately that I could simply absorb Dr. Ryan’s experience through osmosis.
I would give anything to know in that moment if everything was going to be OK or if, God forbid, this was the start of yet another nightmare.
25
“What do you think is taking so long?” I whispered to Declan, who, overhearing the doctor’s words while still on the line, had immediately rushed to the hospital to offer me some support, and I guessed to figure out next steps based on how things turned out.
Now he sat beside me in silence just outside the imaging room. He turned with a look on his face that suggested he hadn’t really heard what I’d said. “Sorry, what? I was miles away.”
His concern for Rosie was touching and I felt grateful that he was here. He had become a good friend and such a close ally in the last few weeks, and oddly it felt right to have him here now.
I offered him a tired smile. “I said I wondered what was taking so long.” I knew he didn’t have the answers, but it felt somewhat comforting to have someone else to speculate with. If only to break up the tension I was feeling.
But then, as if answering my prayers, the imaging room door opened and Rosie was pushed out on a gurney. Dr. Ryan followed behind and nodded to me when she saw me.
“We can go back up to Rosie’s room now and get her comfortable. The results should be ready shortly.”
I jumped to attention with Declan right behind me. “Doctor, please, what do you think? Is everything going to be all right? Is she OK?”
The look on Dr. Ryan’s face confirmed my worst fears.
“Kate, the MRI will tell us more. But my worry is that during the worst of the seizures, Rosie suffered a hypoxic brain injury. Essentially, her brain experienced a partial lack of oxygen.”
I was already shaking my head. Her words couldn’t be true. “But when she woke up...she said ‘Mama’...she was looking around...she was there. She knew me, she was with me. I could feel it.”
I felt Declan move closer behind me. I wondered if he was preparing himself to catch me when I crumpled to the floor. Surely that must be coming. My legs felt like they were made of jelly. He reached out and put a steadying arm on my elbow.
“Kate, I know this is scary. But Rosie is still in the very best of hands, OK? We are going to do everything we can to take care of your daughter, I promise.” Dr. Ryan turned her attention to a nurse who seemed to be studying me intently. “Breda? Let’s get Kate back to Rosie’s room and maybe give her something to help her calm down.”
“I don’t want drugs,” I snapped, suddenly defensive.
Dr. Ryan looked into my eyes. “You are very pale right now, Kate. And we are all worried about you, too.”
Declan placed an arm around my shoulders. “It’s OK, Kate. Let’s go back upstairs with Rosie. I think it’s best if you sit down and try to take it easy until we know something for sure. Come with me.”
I allowed myself to slump into him—I let him support me as he led me back to Rosie’s room. Maybe he was right, and Dr. Ryan, too. I needed to calm down.
I needed to breathe.
* * *
Back in Rosie’s room, I held my little girl’s hand and watched her. Every now and then she would look in my direction; otherwise, she seemed intent on staring at inanimate objects, like a chair across the room, the blank television screen, a cup of water that rested on a table next to her bed. Dr. Ryan told me this was normal—she was probably trying to recover her sense of self and focus her eyes.
The doctor also told me it was likely that Rosie was experiencing a “fog” of sorts. She still had a lot of drugs in her system.
I kept all of this in my mind, but devoted my energy to the fact that she had indeed muttered “Mama” before. That was a positive, and it wasn’t common for someone with brain damage.
