Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
After a while, I assumed he’d fallen asleep. I rested my crossed arms on the edge of his bed and dropped my head onto them. I’d been running on worry and adrenaline for hours, and now my exhaustion was catching up to me.
A minute later, Collie began gently stroking my hair. He said, very softly, “I really, truly hate hospitals. I watched my dad die in one, and my mom, and Aunt Sue. I would have panicked if I’d woken up alone here, and I’m so grateful that you stayed with me, Miller. You don’t know what that means to me.”
When I sat up and looked at him, there were tears streaming down his face. He whispered, “I’m really scared.”
“Scoot over.”
He did as I asked. After I kicked off my shoes, I climbed onto the bed and gathered him in my arms. He rested his head on my chest and said, in that same little whisper, “I don’t want to die.”
“You won’t. The doctors are going to help you, and you’re going to be perfectly fine.”
I had to believe that. I absolutely had to.
7
Miller
In the morning, the doctor came to talk to Collie. He asked me to stay, and I held his hand while she took her time explaining his condition. It got a little technical, so at one point she sketched a heart on the back of her prescription pad to show him exactly what she was talking about.
When she finished telling him all about the defect and how it was affecting his heart functions, he asked, “Is this going to kill me?”
“It’s severe enough that it could, if it was left untreated.”
“How soon might that happen?”
“There’s no way of knowing,” she said. “It could be a week, a month, or twenty years. But without surgery, I can say for certain that it will shorten your life span. You heart is working much harder than it should, and it can’t sustain that much strain indefinitely.”
“So, I could have a heart attack?”
“Heart failure, heart damage, or a stroke are more likely.”
“I don’t suppose this is an easy laparoscopic surgery,” he said.
“Some types of defects can be repaired laparoscopically, but not this one, unfortunately. It’s going to require open-heart surgery.”
He squeezed my hand and muttered, “That’s as scary as finding out I have a heart defect.”
She said, very matter-of-factly, “While there’s always a risk with any surgery, it’s far less than the risk of leaving your condition untreated.”
“I need some time to think about all of this,” he said. “I also need to talk to someone about financial aid or whatever, because I don’t have insurance.”
“Of course. I’ll send someone to come and speak with you about your options.”
After she left, Collie slumped against the pillows, and I asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Physically, I feel fine. Emotionally, not so much. I’ve basically been told there’s a time bomb in my chest.”
A little while later, a man with a mustache and a gaudy tie arrived to talk about financial assistance. I asked Collie if he wanted some privacy, but he said, “Please stay. I’m already totally overwhelmed, so I’m not sure if I’ll be able to comprehend all of this.”
The first thing the man did was hand Collie a printout with the estimated cost of the surgery and everything leading up to it. Collie swore under his breath and passed me the piece of paper. The number at the bottom was well into six figures.
Then he started talking about state and federal assistance programs that might be available. When Collie told him how much he’d made last year, I was sure he’d qualify, because it wasn’t exactly a huge amount. But no, Collie had been right. What he’d earned was just above the cutoff point to qualify for any of those programs.
The man said, far too cheerfully, “We’ll be happy to set up a payment plan. These usually allow repayment over one to two years, but for a large amount we can allow up to five years. Of course, a five-year term would require third-party financing.”
“In other words, I’d be taking out a huge loan, with interest,” Collie said.
“Basically, yes,” the man said, as he closed his leatherbound binder. “I’ll leave you two to discuss your options. You might also consider contacting any family members who might be able to assist you.”
“I’m pretty sure the people who wouldn’t help me when I was orphaned at age ten won’t want to step up now, either,” Collie muttered. The man’s smile wavered, just a little, and he hurried out of the room.
For a long moment, Collie and I both sat there in silence. Then he threw back the blanket and said, “Welp, I’m out of here.”
I leapt up and caught him by the shoulders. “You can’t do that, Collie.”
“Oh, but I can.”
“You yourself just said you have a time bomb in your chest. You need that operation!”