She winced, her right hand pressing flat over her surgical incision to stabilize the pain, but she did not hesitate.
She reached out and stabilized my mother’s head, keeping her neck straight.
“Step back, she needs air immediately,” Maya said.
Her voice had the clear, authoritative tone she used when managing a classroom, but there was an edge of absolute urgency to it.
She looked up at Uncle Robert, her eyes sharp.
“Robert, dial nine-one-one right now,” Maya commanded.
“Tell the dispatcher we have an adult female, age sixty-two, showing sudden onset of left-side paralysis, slurred speech, and facial drooping. Tell them it is an acute stroke.”
Robert’s hands shook as he pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb sliding repeatedly across the glass before he managed to place the call.
“Is she breathing?” I asked.
I knelt on the other side of my mother, my fingers automatically tracing the gold band of my wedding ring, spinning it around my knuckle.
