Page 122 of Lassoed Love

One of the nurses, a friendly face with a calming demeanour, addresses Isla. “Ms. Thompson, we’re going to run a few tests to check his responsiveness.”

Isla nods, her eyes never leaving her father. “Please, do whatever you need to do. Just help him.”

As they conduct the tests, another nurse approaches me, asking, “Are you family?”

“I’m—I’m Isla’s—” My words hang in the air, interrupted by Isla, who nods.

“He’s my boyfriend. Yes, he’s family,” she says, her glistening eyes meeting mine. I shoot her a knowing look, surprised that she announced it out loud.We’re boyfriend and girlfriend?God, I sound like a fucking teen. But despite the awkwardness, my chest warms.

The nurse acknowledges us with a smile, turning her attention back to the medical proceedings. In that moment, standing by Isla’sside, I feel a connection that goes beyond labels and titles. Whatever we are, it’s real, and it matters.

I stand back, watching the medical team work with a mix of anxiety and hope. Isla, still holding her father’s hand, remains a pillar of strength, her gaze unwavering.

After a series of tests, one of the nurses turns to Isla. “He’s showing positive signs of responsiveness. We’ll continue monitoring him closely.”

Isla’s eyes well up with tears, a mixture of relief and gratitude. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

As the nurses share encouraging words with Isla, another nurse approaches Callum Thompson, the one who seems to be in charge. “Mr. Thompson, can you hear me?”

Her father stirs, and the nurse prompts, “If you can understand me, try to squeeze my fingers. Can you open your eyes?”

Callum Thompson’s hand twitches, responding to the nurse’s prompt. The room is filled with a collective breath as everyone watches the encouraging signs of his recovery. In a moment of cautious optimism, his eyes flicker open slightly, fluttering and squinting, probably adjusting to the lights overhead.

The nurse continues, “Good, Mr. Thompson. Now, I need you to follow my finger with your eyes. Can you do that for me?”

His eyes track the nurse’s finger, and a sense of hope fills the room. The nurses continue their assessment, asking questions, prompting him to regain full consciousness.

Isla, overwhelmed with emotion, turns to me, her eyes reflecting a mixture of joy and disbelief. “Xav, he’s waking up. He’s really waking up.”

I pull her into a reassuring hug, watching as the medical team works tirelessly to bring Callum Thompson back to full consciousness.

The nurse observes Callum's responsiveness, noting the progress. “Good, Mr. Thompson. We’re encouraged by your response. I’m going to contact the doctor so we can run some blood tests and schedule another MRI scan for later this afternoon. We want to make sure we have a comprehensive understanding of your condition.”

She steps away, grabbing her phone, and dials the doctor. After a brief conversation, she hangs up and addresses us. “The doctor will be here shortly to discuss the next steps. In the meantime, continue to talk to him, keep his consciousness on you.”

Isla’s eyes are still fixed on her father, a mixture of relief and concern. I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and the nurses leave the room, leaving just Isla and me. I watch as Isla approaches her father, tears now falling down her cheeks. My heart breaks at the sight of her crying, but I can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope now that her father is showing signs of improvement. I step closer, rubbing comforting circles on her back as she leans over, talking to her father.

“Hey, Dad,” Isla whispers, her voice filled with a mix of emotions. “You’re doing great. The doctors are going to run some tests to make sure everything is okay. I’m here.”

I remain silent, offering a supportive presence. I understand the weight of the moment and the significance of these small steps toward recovery.

As Isla continues to speak to her father, sharing words of encouragement and love, I can’t help but marvel at the strength emanating from her. Despite the tears, there’s a resilience in her voice—a determination to be the anchor her father needs.

In this intimate moment, I’m feeling a bit out of place. Figuring Isla might want a sec alone with her dad, I pipe up, “I’m just gonna step outside for a moment. Give you a moment. I’ll be right here when you’re ready."

But Isla grabs my wrist, spinning me around to face her with that determined look in her eyes. “Together,” she says, dead serious. Abso-fucking-lutely. We’re in this together.

I give a nod, getting that unspoken thing that ties us in this crazy journey.

Several hours have passed, and Isla’s father is making progress, regaining approximately 80% of his consciousness. They just did the whole bloods thing and had taken him in for another MRI to check out his brain activity, about an hour ago. Isla had stepped out momentarily to speak with the nurses, leaving just her father and I. Now, Isla’s perched on a chair beside his bed, keeping him in the loop about everything.

She speaks of her visit to her mother’s grave, sharing an intimate conversation, followed by a visit to the church where she dedicated prayers for his recovery. Though her father remains alert, he chooses a silent response. The medical team speculates that the intubation process might be causing some discomfort, offering Endone—controlled with the touch of a button.

Dr. Anderson makes his return, bringing with him the weight of new insights gleaned from the MRI. He explains, in measured terms, that Isla’s father is dealing with atrophy in a region of the brain known as the hippocampus. Essentially, it's a shrinkage,a diminishing of brain matter. His brain activity is registering quite low, which might explain the fluctuations in consciousness and potential lapses in memory or responsiveness.

Isla absorbs the information with a nod, her questions cutting through the medical jargon. “So, what does this mean for his recovery? Can we expect improvement?”

“Recovery might be gradual, and the extent of improvement can vary. We’ll continue monitoring his condition closely and adjusting our approach accordingly.”

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