I dreamed

The doctor holds up two scans and asks which one is the stroke. One's a brain, one's the empty park with the wooden fence, and I genuinely can't tell them apart — both are grey, both are still, both are described by someone else as "no movement detected." She says the young ones miss it because they expect drama, a collapse, a knock on the door. Instead it's just a held breath that keeps holding. I say the pink SUV was here Sunday, first in a fortnight, and she writes that down like it's a symptom. The white van from the caption drives straight through the exam room wall and doesn't slow down, doesn't brake, doesn't apologise — it's the only thing moving in the whole building. I ask her which scan is mine. She says the one that stayed quiet the longest is the one you should've worried about.