It took me a long time to realise the high temperatures had caused him to lapse into a coma. He flickered a little and I thought maybe he was in a sleep: a deep sleep. But I grew to undertand he was sick - very sick - and may not recover at all. All the things I'd meant to do with him but had put off. Now it might be too late - now I might lose all those precious hours to this seemingly senseless melt-down.
How was I going to get him the help that he needed - that was my next worry. He needed a specialist and no one was answering the phone. I was just going to have to take him in and see if they would see us. No promises. No appointments. Dread sinking into my stomach. The risk of losing him was becoming more real by the moment.
It felt like we waited hours*. So many people were there with their own problems - some with appointments, some being cradled in loving arms, some - like me - hoping against hope someone would have a free moment to help. I pulled him closer. Kept him safe.
We were shuffled from one waiting area to another - it seemed staff were avoiding my eye contact; they knew how long I was waiting - they knew they might not be able to help. But then startling, my name was called, and I was in front of someone who could help. I said he had been in a coma for 24 hours and I couldn't wake him up. The Genius looked him over. Up and down. Checked his notes and for previous records online. His examination was becoming more thorough; his silent concentration intent on his work.
Without looking at me, in that detached way that professionals can have he said a transplant was needed. My heart sank. It was almost my worst fear of all the fears. The money, the time, it was the worst news short of being told it was terminal. The Genius continued, still intent on his patient ".. at no cost to you."
I blinked. I asked him to repeat what he had just said. His eyes met mine and he repeated "You need a new logic board. We'll replace that at no cost to you. Leave it with us, it will take 3-5 days**.
It's a terrible thing to bury your own laptop - some say it's nature's way - but that Sunday, I had dodged an aluminum bullet.
My Apple MacBookPro was going to be okay.
*90 minutes | **four hours