“I’m his daughter. Cecily Sterling,” I say, my voice weaker than I intend. “I only found out now. I’d like to understand what happened.”
He inclines his head, hands clasped in front of him. “Of course, Ms. Sterling.”
Dr. Shepherd flicks a brief glance toward the residents.
“Your father remained in the ICU for six days,” he begins. “We were able to stabilize his respiration enough to remove the ventilator, which is why he was transferred to this step-down unit four days ago. He is currently breathing comfortablyon room air. However, we are keeping him heavily sedated to manage his blood pressure and minimize stress on the brain.”
My nails dig into my palm.
“We estimate he’ll need to remain hospitalized for at least another two weeks,” he continues. “Our immediate goals are to regulate his vitals, slowly wean him off the sedation to assess his responsiveness, and begin therapy as soon as possible, before transferring him to a specialized neuro-rehabilitation center.”
I keep blinking, trying to follow along. The words just start bleeding into each other—perfusion, motor deficit, aphasia, hemiplegia, cortico-subcortical extension—and I don’t recognize any of it.
Sensing my confusion, the doctor lowers his tone. “I know this is a lot of information. Simply put... your father suffered a large ischemic stroke.”
Dr. Shepherd continues, choosing his words with extreme care. “This type of event causes significant damage to brain tissue. In his case... the extent of the affected areas implies that even when the sedation is lifted, some impairments will be permanent.”
The resident beside me looks away.
“Among them,” the doctor says gently, “the permanent loss of speech, profound motor paralysis, and... a level of dependence that will be lifelong.”
Lifelong.Dependent for the rest of his life.
I repeat it silently, the truth hammering through my mind, dragging with it every version of my father I’ve ever known… every memory of who he was when I still thought of him simply as my father.
“I... understand,” I murmur.
While they finish examining my father, I take Mom down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat. She looks worn out. The place is practically empty when we get there.
She chooses a table in a far corner, and I walk to the counter to get something for her.
When I return, I set the orange juice and a sandwich in front of her.
I sit, and neither of us speaks as she eats in small bites, washing them down with forced sips of orange juice. When she’s done, she finally speaks.
“As soon as it’s safe, I’ve already told the doctor I want to transfer him to a rehabilitation center in Houston. Your aunt said they have excellent, very efficient teams there.” Her voice is drained, stripped of any emotion.
“You’re going to Texas. To stay with Aunt Emma,” I say quietly.
“The same sister you always hated... the one I barely know because of it.”
Mom takes a slow breath before answering.
“It’s what’s best for your father. How I feel about my sister doesn’t matter now. His health is my priority.”
I shake my head. “When will you stop?” I ask, my voice cracking.
Mom looks at me, confused. “Stop what?”
I pull my coat tighter around myself.
“Stop covering for him. Stop pretending.”
My throat tightens, the words burning on their way out.
“You’re not going to Houston for his sake... you’re running from the truth.”
Her eyes widen, and her fingers turn white as she grips the arms of her chair.
