Laura pulled into the hospital's underground parking lot, the familiar hum of the car engine quieting as she found a spot. She turned off the car and sat for a moment, her hands resting on the steering wheel. Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat. Two missed calls. But not from anyone critical—not today.

Her focus was on one thing: Kat.

With a deep breath, Laura reached for her handbag from the glove compartment and slid it over her shoulder. She opened the back door to grab the folder containing Kat's medical notes and care plan—documents she'd flipped through so many times she could probably recite some sections by heart.

Locking the car with a sharp beep, the sound echoed through the concrete walls of the garage as she made her way toward the elevators. At the panel, she pressed the button for the lift and glanced down at her reflection in the scratched metal doors.

A sliver of her bra strap had slipped out from under her blouse. She sighed, setting her bag on the ground for a moment as she quickly adjusted her clothes, redoing a button for better coverage. "What a mess I am," she muttered under her breath, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

The elevator arrived with a soft ding, and she stepped inside, pressing the button for the third floor. The doors slid shut, leaving her alone with the folder.

As the elevator ascended, Laura flicked through the notes once more. The terminology still felt overwhelming at times: "intellectual impairment," "severe brain damage," "paralysis." Words that seemed clinical but carried the weight of her daughter's new reality.

She rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn. Another restless night, she thought. Worrying about Kat made it impossible to sleep. Even knowing she was in good hands at the hospital, it still didn't stop the gnawing ache of wishing her daughter was home. But Laura also knew that bringing Kat home would mean monumental changes. Home care would be a whole new challenge.

As the elevator continued rising upwards, Laura couldn't stop thinking about Kay's return home, questions running wild in her mind, When would Kat come home? How would she adjust to life at home with her daughter's needs so drastically changed?

The elevator stopped at the second floor, jerking her from her thoughts for a moment before it resumed its climb. Laura tightened her grip on the folder.

"This meeting will help," she murmured, as much to herself as to the quiet elevator. "We'll figure it out. We have to."

When the elevator reached the third floor, Laura stepped out, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor. She spotted the conference room just ahead, its glass door already revealing the gathering of Kat's doctors, therapists, and nurses.

Taking a deep breath, Laura straightened her posture and stepped forward, ready to hear what the team had to say about her daughter's care.

Laura pushed open the door to the conference room, her heart pounding as the quiet murmur of voices inside came to a halt.

A long table stretched through the middle of the room, lined with chairs, folders, and a few half-empty coffee cups. Several members of Kat's care team were already seated—her primary doctor, a nurse practitioner, a dietitian, a physical therapist, and a speech therapist. A few other hospital staff members sat toward the back, their presence a reminder of just how many people were involved in Kat's recovery.

Laura settled into her chair, shifting uncomfortably as she set Kat's thick folder down in front of her. Her hands trembled slightly as she flipped it open, her fingers fumbling through the pages, searching for the most recent notes. The words blurred together in her sleep-deprived haze, and her breath hitched in frustration.

"Take your time," came a calm voice from across the table.

Laura swallowed, glancing up to see Dr. Porter watching her with a reassuring expression. He was Kat's primary physician, a composed man in his late forties with neatly combed dark hair that was just beginning to gray at the temples.

She exhaled slowly and nodded, finally landing on the right page.

Dr. Porter gave her a moment before beginning. "Alright, let's get started." His voice was steady, professional, but not unkind. "Laura, today we'll be going over several aspects of Kat's care—her hydration, nutrition, physical progress, and her cognitive development. We know this is a lot to take in, but our goal is to make sure you're fully informed and comfortable with the plan moving forward."

Laura gave a stiff nod, clutching the edges of Kat's folder like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Melissa, the nurse practitioner, leaned forward. "Let's start with hydration. We had some concerns earlier this week when Kat's diaper remained dry for too long. She required IV fluids to correct it, but we want to ensure she's staying consistently hydrated."

Laura nodded, recalling the moment she walked in to find a nurse checking Kat's diaper and the unsettling realization that something as basic as urination had become a monitored medical issue.

Melissa continued, "A wet diaper is a good diaper. We want to see her clearing fluids regularly. If she's staying dry for too long, it could mean dehydration, and we may have to intervene with IV fluids again."

Laura swallowed hard. "So, what do I need to do?"

"Encourage fluids as much as possible," Melissa said. "Small, frequent sips throughout the day. We'll monitor her output, and if we see prolonged dryness, we may need to increase intervention."

Laura gave a small nod, adding another mental note to the growing list of things she had to watch over.

Dr. Porter shifted slightly. "Now, let's discuss nutrition."

Dr. Reynolds, the dietitian, took over. "Kat's ability to chew and swallow is significantly impaired. Right now, solid foods pose a choking risk, so she'll need a specialized diet—smooth purees, mashed meals, soups, and smoothies. Anything that can be spoon-fed without risk."

Laura pressed her lips together. "So... no solid food at all?"

"Not at this time," Dr. Reynolds confirmed. "And if she continues struggling, we may need to consider a feeding tube down the road."

Laura's stomach twisted at the thought, but she nodded. "And what if she doesn't eat enough?"

"We'll closely monitor her weight," he said. "If she starts losing, we'll introduce high-calorie nutritional shakes to supplement her intake."

Laura inhaled deeply. Another adjustment. Another change.

Dr. Porter picked up again. "Now, about Kat's physical therapy. We were very pleased to see her engaging with the standing frame, but it's important to continue working on muscle engagement. She likely won't regain full mobility, but even small improvements in strength can help prevent complications down the line."

Laura forced a small smile. "She seemed happy when she was in the sling, even if it was only for a few seconds."

The physical therapist, a woman named Rachel, smiled warmly. "That's great to hear. We'll keep encouraging her to bear weight where she can. Even small improvements are valuable."

Rachel nodded, jotting something down in her notes before the discussion shifted.

Dr. Porter cleared his throat. "Now, let's talk about Kat's drooling. We've noticed it's quite excessive."

Laura let out a tired sigh, rubbing at her temple. "I know. It's constant. I have to clean her face all the time with wipes, or else it just dribbles down her chin and onto her clothes." She shook her head. "It's gotten to the point where I have to keep a bib on her most of the day just to keep her dry."

The speech therapist, a woman named Dr. Taylor, gave a sympathetic nod. "That's not uncommon for someone with Kat's level of impairment. With her muscle control affected, she's likely struggling to manage her saliva properly. It's not just a cosmetic issue—it can lead to skin irritation, discomfort, and even respiratory issues if she aspirates too much."

Laura frowned. "So what can we do?"

Dr. Taylor exchanged a glance with Dr. Porter. "There are medications that can help reduce saliva production," she explained. "They don't work for everyone, but we usually try them first before considering anything more invasive."

Laura nodded slowly, already anticipating where the conversation was headed. "And if the medication doesn't work?"

Dr. Porter folded his hands. "Then we may need to consider a surgical approach—removing or modifying some of Kat's salivary glands to reduce production."

Laura exhaled softly, pressing her lips together. She had expected this. It wasn't a shock, but hearing it spoken so plainly made it feel heavier. She cleared her throat, pushing back the sting in her eyes.

"Excuse me a moment," she murmured, standing up from the table.

She stepped over to the corner of the room where a small table held a pitcher of water. Pouring herself a cup, she took a slow sip, letting the coolness settle her nerves. She wiped quickly at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, forcing herself to steady her breathing.

She had known this might be necessary. It was still hard to accept.

After a few moments, she turned back to the group, her expression composed once more. "Okay," she said, returning to her seat. "I just needed a second."

Dr. Taylor gave her a kind smile. "We understand, Laura. This isn't an easy discussion."

Laura nodded, placing her hands in her lap. "So... we try the medication first, and if it's not enough, we move forward with surgery?"

"That's right," Dr. Porter confirmed. "We'll monitor her closely and see how she responds."

Laura let out a slow breath. "Alright. Let's do what we have to."

With that, Dr. Porter shifted the discussion toward another crucial topic.

"Now," he said gently, "let's talk about Kat's cognitive function."

Laura stiffened slightly, bracing herself. This was the part she dreaded most.

Dr. Porter folded his hands on the table and exchanged a glance with Dr. Taylor before speaking. "Laura, we need to discuss Kat's cognitive function and what that means for her long-term care needs."

Laura swallowed hard, bracing herself. "I know she's... struggling," she admitted. "But what exactly are we looking at?"

Dr. Taylor spoke next. "Based on our assessments, Kat's cognitive abilities have been significantly impacted. She functions at a toddler's level in terms of comprehension, problem-solving, and communication."

Laura tightened her grip on the cup of water in front of her. "A toddler," she repeated quietly. "But she still reacts to me... She smiles, she giggles, she tries to say things."

Dr. Taylor nodded. "And that's wonderful to see. But her ability to process language, retain new information, and follow instructions is extremely limited. The way she babbles, the way she struggles to form words—it all suggests she may not regain structured speech beyond a very basic level."

Laura's throat went dry. "But therapy... Can't it help her improve?"

Dr. Porter sighed gently. "Therapy can help reinforce responses, and she may develop some nonverbal communication methods. But Laura, we need to be realistic. The brain damage is extensive. There's a strong possibility Kat will always need full-time care."

Laura inhaled sharply, her chest tightening. "Full-time care," she echoed. "For how long?"

Dr. Taylor's expression was sympathetic. "For the rest of her life, Laura."

Laura blinked rapidly, her breath hitching as she processed the words. She knew Kat had lost so much, but hearing it put so plainly still felt like a punch to the gut.

"She will require assistance with every aspect of daily living," Dr. Porter continued gently. "From the moment she wakes up, she will need support—getting out of bed, being bathed, having her teeth brushed, getting dressed. She won't be able to manage her own hygiene or mobility without help. She'll need someone to brush her hair, help her with grooming, and change her diapers regularly. Mealtimes will also require hands-on assistance to ensure she's fed properly and safely."

Laura wiped at her eyes, her hands trembling slightly. "So... she won't be able to do anything on her own?"

Dr. Taylor sighed. "Kat may be able to participate in small ways, but she will always need guidance and supervision. Her fine motor skills are weak. She struggles to hold objects properly. Eating, for example—she can't manage utensils, so she'll need to be spoon-fed or given foods she can grasp easily. And as we've already discussed, her swallowing difficulties may require more intervention."

Laura sniffled, trying to hold herself together. "And she'll need to be changed, too. Always?"

Dr. Porter nodded. "Given her level of brain injury, it's unlikely she will regain full bladder or bowel control. She won't have the awareness to recognize the need to go or the coordination to use a toilet. Managing her hygiene will be an ongoing need."

Laura squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before exhaling slowly. "I knew things were bad, but... I didn't realize how much she'd lost."

Dr. Taylor reached out, gently resting a hand on Laura's. "This is a lot to process, and we understand how overwhelming it must feel. But Kat is still here. She still needs love, care, and comfort. And we will do everything we can to support you in this journey."

Laura nodded stiffly, wiping her tears again. "I just... I didn't expect this to be forever."

Dr. Taylor offered a kind smile. "Laura, you've done so well—both of you have—to get this far. The love and care you've given Kat have made a world of difference. And right now, she needs you more than ever. Your support, your presence... It will help her so much."

Laura let out a shaky breath, pressing the tissue against her eyes before lowering it. "I just want to do what's best for her. I want her to feel safe... happy."

Dr. Porter nodded. "And she will. You're giving her that every single day." He glanced at his notes before looking back up. "I also heard that her boyfriend came to visit?"

Laura sniffled and gave a small nod. "Yes. Tony." A faint smile ghosted her lips. "He's been... really wonderful. He talks to her, holds her hand. He doesn't seem afraid of the changes, which is more than I can say for some people."

Dr. Taylor leaned forward slightly. "That's really encouraging. Having familiar faces, people who love her, will be incredibly important for Kat's emotional well-being. Did she seem to recognize him?"

Laura hesitated, thinking back to the visit. "I think so. She smiled when she saw him, tried to babble a little. It's hard to say how much she understood, but she was definitely engaged."

Dr. Porter tapped his pen against his notepad. "That's promising. Consistency will be key. The more she's surrounded by people who make her feel secure, the better her responses may become."

Laura exhaled slowly. "I hope so. She deserves that."

Dr. Taylor gave her a reassuring nod. "And we'll keep working together to give her every opportunity for comfort and progress.

Before the conversation could continue, one of the nurses glanced at her watch and cleared her throat. "I hate to interrupt, but we're running short on time. We should go over Kat's next therapy session before we wrap up."

Rachel nodded. "Right. Cassandra will be working with Kat again tomorrow on weight-bearing exercises. She'll be using the standing frame again, but she want's to incorporate more active participation. Even if she can't move much on her own, encouraging engagement is important. Cassandra will also be monitoring for any muscle stiffness or discomfort."

Dr. Porter made a few notes in Kat's file. "Good. We'll also continue observing her response to the soft food diet and start the medication trial for her drooling. If we don't see improvement in the next few weeks, we'll revisit the surgical option."

Laura took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Okay. I appreciate all of you helping us through this."

"We're here to support both of you," Dr. Porter reassured her. "We'll take it one step at a time."

With that, the meeting concluded, and Laura gathered Kat's folder, her mind still processing everything they had discussed. As she exited the room, she knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but she was ready to face it—for Kat.

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