𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳 | ᵍʳᵉʸˢ ᵃⁿᵃᵗᵒᵐʸ

... 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 | ¹⁹⁹³

With a sudden burst of energy and concern that was almost overwhelming in my small, frightened world, he lifted me up and carefully set me down on the kitchen island a few feet away.

"Missy," Dad said in a voice that was gentle yet serious, "can you stick out your tongue?"

I tried, but somehow it was harder than usual. My tongue felt heavy and I couldn't stick it out as far as I usually could. It was hard to read his expression, but he seemed unhappy with my reaction time.

"Now smile for me, sweetheart," he added. Aunty Amelia and Dad exchanged worried looks again. "Facial paralysis," she muttered. Dad nodded and continued to watch my reactions. "Pupil response is slow, visual field seems limited..."

"Maybe she's just had too much candy, you know, kids her age..."

"WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP, MARK!" My dad yelled as he tried to check my reflexes.

By now my mother had stood up, her eyes flitting back and forth nervously as she approached us.

"What's wrong? What do you think it is?", she whispered, trying to hide her concern in soft tones. But her trembling voice betrayed her nervousness, and I could hear every word.

Dad hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, and then said with a look that shook everyone:

"I think Missy is having a stroke."

Her eyes filled with tears as she grabbed Dad's hand, which held mine tightly.

"A stroke? She's only five, Derek!" My Mom protested, even though, as a neonatologist, she knew as well as anyone in the room that a stroke doesn't discriminate on the basis of age, whether you're a newborn or a centenarian.

"Derek, are you sure? I mean..." Aunt Nancy tried to add her two cents again, but Dad cut her off abruptly. "She's having all the symptoms. We need to get her to the hospital right away."

Addison, who had always been more of a mother than a doctor when it came to me, fell into a state of deep concern. "No, it can't be! There must be something else..."

"ADDISON!"

Dad raised his voice. "Missy has aphasia, obvious facial paralysis, and her pupils are anisocoric, I'm a neurosurgeon, I know the symptoms!"

Aunty Amelia, in her unmistakably clinical and analytical way, asked, "Derek, has she had any trauma to her head in the last 48 hours? Any bumps or contusions?"

His face turned an uncomfortable shade of pale as he thought for a moment and then cursed.

"Goddamn, yes... last night. She... she was so incredibly angry, threw a tantrum and she banged her head against the wall, several times."

Mark put his hand to his forehead. "This can't be happening..." he muttered, visibly shocked.

"Missy?" Dad asked, trying to sound gentle and calm, his hands on either side of my face. "Sweetie, look at me."

I did, but my world was blurry.

"Amelia, her pupils aren't responding properly, it's getting worse."

"Missy, can you hear me?"

Tears came to my eyes.
I could hear her, I could hear everything.

I wanted to scream, to cry, to tell them how scared I was. But the words, those damn words, just wouldn't come out.

Dad took a few steps back and pulled out his phone. In the evening twilight streaming through the windows, his face wore a determined, almost desperate expression.

I could hear him briefly tapping the keys and then holding the phone to his ear.

"This is Dr. Shepherd," he said firmly.

"I have a pediatric emergency with a suspected brainstem stroke. Reserve CT and OR 1 for me immediately...Yes, it's my daughter... Melissa Grace Shepherd, five years old...yes, damn it, we're insured!"

As Dad continued to give instructions, his eyes never left me. They were intense, full of concern and love, but also with a certain medical clarity that was constantly assessing me, analyzing every one of my reactions.

I felt my legs weaken and the world around me blur. Everything moved in slow motion.

Then I felt the left side of my body suddenly give way. The ground seemed to close in, swallowing everything in a swirling gray.

It was as if someone had applied gravity to only one side of my body. Mark, who was standing next to me, was quick enough to catch me before I fell off the kitchen island onto the cold tile floor.

Dad stopped talking immediately and his eyes widened in fear. "We'll be there in ten minutes."