Chapter 3 - THE COST OF WAITING
The MRI confirmed that the mass had twisted the tissue supporting Maya’s left ovary.
Dr. Priya Shah, the pediatric gynecologic surgeon, drew a simple diagram on the back of a consent form.
“The ovary receives blood through these vessels,” she explained. “The mass has caused the ovary to rotate. That can reduce or completely block the blood supply.”
“Can you fix it?” Maya asked.
“We’ll untwist it and remove the mass if we can. Whether the ovary can be saved depends on what we find.”
Maya stared at the diagram.
“Will I still be able to have children?”
Dr. Shah did not hide behind comforting promises.
“Most people can become pregnant with one healthy ovary. But our goal is to preserve both if it’s medically possible.”
Robert arrived while the surgeon was explaining the risks.
His tie hung loose, and rain darkened the shoulders of his office coat. He crossed the room without hugging Maya.
“What is the billing code for this surgery?”
Dr. Shah looked at him.
“Mr. Thorne, your daughter may have compromised blood flow to an ovary.”
“I understand that. I’m asking what this will cost.”
“We can have a financial counselor speak with you, but surgery should not be delayed.”
Robert turned to me.
“Have you signed?”
“Yes.”
His face hardened.
“I told you to wait.”
Maya flinched.
Dr. Shah stepped between Robert and the bed.
“Your daughter is frightened. This discussion can continue outside.”
“I’m her father.”
“Then behave like the person she needs right now.”
Robert followed me into the corridor.
“You have no idea what you just agreed to.”
“I agreed to protect our child.”
“You agreed to a surgery we cannot pay for.”
“We have insurance.”
He looked past me.
That was when I understood.
“Robert.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Our coverage ended in December.”
The hospital corridor remained busy around us. A transporter pushed an empty gurney toward the elevators. A nurse laughed quietly at the desk. Somewhere, a machine chimed.
My life had become unrecognizable, but everyone else’s afternoon continued.
“You said you renewed it.”
“I was handling it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the premium increased after my company changed providers.”
“You told me your employer covered most of it.”
He pressed his lips together.
“Robert, do you still work for Caldwell Distribution?”
His eyes moved toward Maya’s room.
“I was laid off in November.”
For five months, he had dressed before sunrise, carried a travel mug to the car, and returned after six complaining about meetings.
“Where have you been going every day?”
“The public library. Coffee shops. Interviews.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was trying to fix it before you found out.”
“And the insurance?”
“I couldn’t afford COBRA.”
“What happened to our emergency savings?”
“I used some of it.”
“How much?”
He did not answer.
A nurse opened Maya’s door.
“We’re ready to take her upstairs.”
I walked inside.
Maya looked from me to Robert.
“Are you fighting because of me?”
“No,” I said.
Robert answered at the same time.
“We’re not fighting.”
I took Maya’s hand.
“This is happening because your father and I failed to tell each other the truth. It is not happening because you got sick.”
Robert came closer.
“You’re going to be okay, kiddo.”
Maya studied him.
“Did you know I might lose my ovary?”
His face tightened.
“I didn’t think it would get this bad.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
The transporter unlocked the wheels of her bed.
Robert stepped back.
As they began moving Maya toward the surgical elevators, Dr. Shah asked us to follow.
Robert remained beside the empty examination room.
“I need to make some calls,” he said.
I watched him take out his phone.
Our daughter was being taken into emergency surgery, and he was still trying to solve the problem he considered most urgent.
Not the mass.
May you like
Not the weeks of pain.
The money that had taught him to gamble with her body.
