Cyclone

  The shriek of a siren pierced through the commotion. Paramedics pushed their way through the crowd, rolling a stretcher between them, ordering people to stand back. Everyone obeyed. Firefighter Dad gave them a steady stream of information in a language that was clearly English, but I understood none of it. They strapped Riley to a board, then picked it up and put her on the stretcher. One of the paramedics put an oxygen mask on her face, and the other held it while they wheeled her away. It was fast. It was seamless, almost graceful. It may have taken less time than the roller-coaster ride. Then Aunt Maureen was climbing into the back of the ambulance with Riley, sirens were wailing, lights flashing, and then the ambulance was gone as quickly as it had come. It was a blur. It still is. She was here and then she was not here.

  “Nora!” my mother suddenly screamed. I jumped. Why was she yelling at me? I think she had forgotten I was even there. I didn’t blame her; I didn’t feel like I was anywhere until she grabbed me and wrapped her arms around me. The little boy was still attached—or stuck—to my hand.

  “They’ll take her to the nearest hospital,” Firefighter Dad explained to us. In my blur, I thought he had gone with Riley. But, of course not. “It’s not far from here. You have a car?” The kid ditched me and ran to his dad. I wiped my hand on my shorts.

  “Yes, somewhere . . . ,” answered my father, looking around. “It’s not very close. I think it’s up . . . that way somewhere?” He motioned vaguely.

  “We’re not from around here,” explained my mother. “We’re from Maryland. We are just . . . a little turned around here . . . um, I think the car is down that way. . . .”

  “Worry about the car later,” interrupted Firefighter Dad. He swooped his kid up on his shoulders. “You need to get to the hospital now.”

  “Here, I can call you a cab,” offered a stranger. She was already on her cell phone, her own sweaty, wide-eyed kids in tow. She had been in the crowd too. Across from me. Close to Riley. She had made the sign of the cross as she watched Aunt Maureen cry and plead for Riley to get up. I watched her on the phone—the roller coaster still roared and screeched and screamed. Firefighter Dad was explaining where the hospital was, my dad nodding at all the directions and repeating them back, pointing and gesturing, to confirm. They shook hands. My mother hugged Firefighter Dad. “She’ll be okay, right?”

  He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm. “She’s young and she’s in good hands.” My mother nodded and pretended that he had actually answered the question. He looked right at me. “Thank you for watching Zack.”

  “No, wait!” Cab lady with the phone was pointing toward the street, where somebody else was about to open the door of a taxi that had just arrived at the curb.

  “We need that! It’s an emergency!” Firefighter Dad boomed, his arm out as if to clear the way for us. The couple at the taxi door stepped aside, no questions asked. We jumped in.

  “The hospital, please, quickly,” said my dad. The driver peeled into the traffic. Through the window, Zack waved at me and then grabbed a chunk of his dad’s hair with his sticky, blue-sugar hands. They merged back into the crowd and disappeared.

  “Maybe she just fainted,” I offered. As if only we had thrown a glass of water in Riley’s face, she would have bounced right back up and asked for a hot dog. Although I’m pretty sure Firefighter Dad would have thrown cold water on Riley’s face if he thought that was what she needed.

  “You might be right. It is very hot today,” added my mom hopefully. “And there is absolutely no shade there. They should have more shade.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, honey,” said Dad. He sounded less hopeful. “Did Riley say anything unusual to you before you got on the roller coaster?”

  “Like what?” I snapped. My heart jumped from my chest to my throat.

  “I don’t know, like she wasn’t feeling well, or had a headache, or felt tired? Anything like that?”

  You mean, besides Please don’t make me do this? You mean, besides I’m scared half to death? I’m going to throw up? Let’s do anything else in the world besides get on this old, wooden, shaky Abraham Lincoln roller coaster?

  “Nope.” Lies were just pouring out of me that day. “Nothing like that. She was a little nervous, that’s all.” Partial lie. She had said she was nauseous but that was from fear—not illness—like what Dad asked about.

  “She’ll be okay,” Mom assured us. “She’s probably coming down with a virus or something and the heat made it worse. I bet she’s dehydrated. We’ll take her home, put her to bed, and fill her up with liquids.” She stopped for a second. “If we ever find her. Where the hell is this hospital?” The last word cracked as it came out of her mouth. Traffic was slowing down. “How much farther?” she demanded of the taxi driver.

  “Just a few blocks. White building. Up there,” the driver answered. We were stopped at another red light.

  “Great. We’ll get out here.” Dad was already pulling money out of his pocket. He handed a twenty to the driver, told him to keep the change even though the fare was only eleven dollars, and then opened the door, pulling me out of the cab. Mom was the last one out, but as soon as we hit the sidewalk, she started to run. I’ve never seen my mother run before. She actually sprinted, dodging traffic as she ignored the DON’T WALK sign. I tried to do the same, but Dad yanked me back on the sidewalk to wait for the light. “Everything is going to be okay, kitten.” But my mother running ahead of us as fast as she could felt much more like the truth.

  DAY 1 3/4

  What is taking so long?” Aunt Maureen stalked toward the double doors that separated the waiting room from the actual emergency room and then stalked back. After the rush of the sirens, the cab, the running, and the traffic, the sitting in the waiting room was torture. Aunt Mo was growing paler by the minute as she exchanged tense whispers with my mom.

  Then Riley’s phone rang in my shorts, and I jumped a mile. I had forgotten it was even in there. I pulled it out, and Riley’s friend Rachel’s face lit up the screen. Hitting decline with my thumb, I put it away at the exact moment my mom gestured for me to turn the ringer off. I stared at the crack running top to bottom on the glass. The sight of it sent another wave of guilt coursing through me. We’d made that crack last night, me and Riley. And Riley had been so mad. She told her mom that we had just been goofing around, which is about as far from the truth as you could get. It had been our biggest fight—our only real fight—ever. The phone suddenly buzzed and I nearly dropped it—Rachel retrying. I hit ignore one more time. But Mom and Aunt Maureen were back in a whisper huddle, so I kept the phone out and scrolled through Riley’s texts. I didn’t recognize most of the names, although one jumped out at me from the cracked screen.

  GEORGINA: WHERE DID U GO?

  GEORGINA: TEXT ME WHEN YOU CAN.

  GEORGINA: MISS YOU.

  They were from last night. Riley had seen them—they were no longer lit up—but she hadn’t answered them. Was it because of our fight? Was she keeping her promise to me even though I hadn’t kept mine?

  The low battery warning came up on the screen, and I decided I’d better save the phone in case of an emergency. Well, in case of another emergency. I double-checked that the ringer was off and shoved the phone back in my pocket.

  “You okay, kitten?” asked my dad. He was holding a newspaper—but he wasn’t reading it, just rolling and unrolling it. Dad is usually really pale and always mostly bald. Which is why he hates the beach. But today his face was bright red with sunburn, which is just one more reason why we shouldn’t have gone to Coney Island. But I had begged, a lot. I’ve never been to Brooklyn! Coney Island is famous! I need it for my essay! Please! Worse? Riley hadn’t cared where we went. If she had gotten her way, instead of me getting mine, we’d be sitting under an umbrella at the beach eating hot dogs right now. Riley would be pointing out who she thought was cute, and I would be pretending to think they were cute too, even though I usually didn’t. Let’s just say Riley has very q
uestionable and—as I discovered last night—dangerous taste in “cute.” Ugh. Instead here we were sitting silently, pacing silently, in the middle of an emergency room.

  “Mrs. McMorrow?” A woman doctor who looked much younger than my parents appeared in front of us in blue scrubs.

  Aunt Maureen stopped pacing and hurried over. “How is she? Where is she? Is she okay?” she asked as my parents shot up out of their seats.

  “Mrs. McMorrow, I’m Dr. Mejia. I’m a pediatric neurologist.7 I’m afraid I have some serious news.” She paused. My aunt went even paler, if that could be possible. “I’m afraid your daughter has had a stroke,” Dr. Mejia said quietly. A what? Aunt Maureen looked like someone had just punched her in the stomach. Even my dad, who is pretty calm and collected, looked like he might fall over. I wasn’t sure I even really knew what a stroke was, but everybody else seemed to know exactly what it meant, and that it was bad.

  “That’s impossible,” Aunt Maureen cried out as my mother moved to her side. “She’s only thirteen years old! Thirteen-year-olds don’t have strokes.” Her voice was cracking. Dr. Mejia gestured toward the chairs, and Mom guided Aunt Maureen into one. I went frozen again. Stiff again. What was wrong with me?

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” my mother stammered at the doctor. “Are you sure it’s not something else? It must be something else. . . .” She looked at my dad like he might be able to give her a better answer. My dad lowered his eyes and let out a long, slow breath.

  “I’m sorry,” said Dr. Mejia. “We’re positive, Mrs. McMorrow. Riley has definitely had a stroke. A CT scan8 confirmed a clot in her brain. It’s called an ischemic stroke.” Dr. Mejia looked down at some papers in her hand. “But there are some other concerns.” Aunt Mo didn’t wipe the tears that were spilling over. My mom dug a tissue out of her bag, but Aunt Maureen waved it away.

  “Your daughter has a heart condition.” ANY PERSON WITH BACK, NECK, OR HEART PROBLEMS SHOULD NOT RIDE THIS RIDE flashed in front of me.

  “What kind of heart condition?” said Aunt Maureen, her voice so small. She was looking up at Dr. Mejia now.

  “She has atrial fibrillation,”9 answered the doctor. “When your daughter came in, her heart was beating too fast.10 It’s likely that a clot in her heart came loose and traveled to her brain.”

  Aunt Mo didn’t even try to say anything to that. My mother used the tissue to wipe her own eyes. This wasn’t even one terrible thing. It was two terrible things—stroke and a heart problem. Dr. Mejia sat down next to my aunt. “I know this is an awful lot to take in.” It felt like our turn to talk, for someone to say something, but Mom, Dad, and Aunt Maureen now all looked how I felt: frozen. I couldn’t take it.

  “Is she going to be okay?” I asked. Firefighter Dad wouldn’t answer the question, but maybe the doctor would.

  “We’re keeping a very close eye on her,” answered Dr. Mejia. We were almost eye level now that she was sitting. “Are you Riley’s sister?”

  “No, her cousin,” I answered, more to the floor than to her face. That one question was all I had, and nobody would answer it.

  Dr. Mejia smiled and turned back to Aunt Maureen, putting a hand on her arm. “I’m afraid we won’t know the full extent of the damage for another twenty-four to forty-eight hours or so. You can see her now, but only for a few minutes. She’s conscious, but we are concerned about paralysis on the right side of her body. In strokes affecting this part of the brain, it is also common for the patient to have issues with speech and swallowing.11 We’re hoping both will be temporary.” Dr. Mejia was both kind and matter-of-fact at the same time. She didn’t feel like part of an emergency.

  Aunt Maureen attempted to stand up, but a loud sob bent her in half. My mom pulled her close and stroked her hair, like she was a child.

  “Take your time,” said the doctor. “It’s okay. Take your time. I’ll walk you back when you’re ready.” Ready? How could you be ready for this?

  Aunt Maureen buried her face in my mother’s neck, her shoulders shaking as she cried. I didn’t want to cry, but it was impossible not to. My throat tightened and I pressed my lips together. The lump in my throat was too big to hold. Aunt Maureen finally wiped her eyes and stood up straight. “Please, let’s go. Riley needs me.” Her regular voice was back. Mom and Aunt Mo followed Dr. Mejia through the NO ADMITTANCE double doors and out of the waiting room.

  “Should we go too?” I asked my dad.

  “Not right now,” he said. “Let her mom see her first.”

  So this is awful to say, but I was relieved. Awful, I know, but I was afraid to see Riley. She couldn’t talk and her body was paralyzed, which even I knew meant she couldn’t move, and she had a stroke and a heart problem, and what would that look like?

  I watched another doctor come out and talk to an elderly woman who was sitting by herself. I couldn’t hear what the doctor was saying, but she didn’t smile and she didn’t sit down next to the lady. What was her emergency? I wondered. The room was practically full. How many different emergencies could there be?

  “Dad? What’s a stroke, exactly?”

  “It’s when a blood vessel in your brain gets blocked or bleeds,” he explained. He hugged me close and kissed the top of my head. I could feel his hot sunburn on my face.

  “So . . . why wouldn’t she be able to talk?” I asked.

  “Well, when you have a stroke, part of your brain doesn’t get the oxygen it needs . . . and then it’s damaged,” he answered. I don’t know why he knew so much about having a stroke, because I’d never once heard him even say the word.

  “Is she going to be okay?” I had to ask again.

  “I don’t think we know yet, kitten.” I ran my thumb over the edge of Riley’s phone in my pocket. It felt a little greasy, probably from my own sweat. I ran my finger along the crack.

  Dad shook some change around in his hand and sorted through the coins. “We just have to wait and see.” He held out a bunch of quarters and dimes. “Why don’t you grab us a water from the vending machine?”

  I had one more question, even though I had a horrible feeling about the answer. In fact, I knew the answer. Question: “How does a blood clot move from your heart to your brain?” Answer: WARNING: THE CYCLONE ROLLER COASTER IS A HIGH-IMPACT RIDE. ANY PERSON WITH BACK, NECK, OR HEART PROBLEMS SHOULD NOT RIDE THIS RIDE. So I didn’t even ask Dad. I took the money instead and headed for the vending machine. When I looked back at my dad, I noticed that he looked scared. I had never once seen my dad look scared before. It was a strange face for him, and he looked like a very different father from the one I was used to. He laid the newspaper on the empty seat beside his; it wasn’t enough to distract him anymore. A man a few seats down gestured toward the newspaper. “Finished?”

  “All yours,” said Dad, with his new face that was also missing his usual smile.

  My pocket was vibrating again. I took the phone out and shoved it back in my pocket without looking.

  * * *

  7 “Pediatric” means dealing with infants, children, and adolescents. Generally birth to eighteen years old (and probably the kind of doctor you see now). A neurologist is a doctor who specializes in the nervous system, which includes your brain, spine, and, well, nerves.

  8 CT scan is short for CAT scan, which is short for computerized axial tomography, which is a way of taking a picture (scan) inside of your body.

  9 The doctor slang for this is “AFib.” They only call it atrial fibrillation once. You are expected to catch on pretty quickly and then refer to it as AFib. Which is exactly how I will be referring to it from here on in. It means your heart is quivering more than pumping. Kind of a short circuit in your heart’s electrical system. It also means blood isn’t pumping through and out of your heart like it should. So it can bunch up and form a clot.

  10 Her heart rate (and yours, too) should be anywhere between sixty and one hundred, depending on age, height, weight, etc. Fifty-five to eighty-five is about average, though.

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; 11 The brain has quite a few different parts. I have drawn a picture for you at the end of the book, because otherwise my footnote would be very long and possibly confusing.

  DAY 1 4/5

  She’s still the same,” my mother announced as she came back through the emergency-room doors without Aunt Maureen. Dad and I both jumped up as soon as we saw her. And there was no real news. “She’s in critical condition,12 and they are working to stabilize her.”

  “Should we call Elayne?” my dad asked my mom. My aunt Elayne is my mom’s other sister. She lives in San Francisco. I hadn’t seen her in years.

  “It’s not like she’s going to fly out here, Mike.”

  “She might, Paige,” my dad said gently. “She might not have much of a choice.” My parents exchanged tense glances. “Do you want me to do it?”

  “No, I’ll do it,” she answered, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

  “What about . . . Pete?” Dad asked this even more hesitantly. I couldn’t remember the last time somebody brought up Uncle Pete. He and Aunt Mo divorced four years ago, so Uncle Pete is now Former Uncle Pete. He was part of our family—and then he was not. Even Riley rarely mentions him.

  “I’m sure he’s the last thing on Maureen’s mind,” Mom said tersely, her face a twist.

  “He is Riley’s father; he should know.” Dad said this carefully, like he was talking to someone who was about to explode. Normally, this was not a conversation they would have in front of me. But emergencies changed all the rules, I was learning. “I can’t imagine”—my dad started, his own voice cracking—“what if . . . ?” He looked at me oddly for a split second and then turned away.