Don’t expect writing genius, I wrote this in a half hour, but here’s a short, short story to share.
Somewhere between the mouthful of potato salad and a scoop of ice cream, the pain began. At first, I thought it was heartburn. After all, my family and I were on vacation, I had sloughed my healthy diet for the week.
But the pain worsened, even after I took antacid. Then anxiety hopped on board, as did a seering pain in my left arm and jaw. My daughter Sarah grabbed her computer and searched out “heart attack symptoms”.
“Dad!”, she cried. “You have to get to a doctor!” My cheeks felt icy, I wondered if the color had drained from my face just like it had from my wife’s. I wondered if my eyes held the same panic as hers. It was an unmistakable look…the same one Sarah got as a toddler when she experienced that terrible nightmare. I don’t remember what the nightmare was about, but when I’d burst into her bedroom to stroke her hair and rescue her from the monster, Sarah had been propped on the bed with her legs curled under her, clutching to that ragged teddy bear she lugged around everywhere she went. I had said I’d never forget the panic in Sarah’s eyes that night, and I hadn’t. My wife’s eyes held that look when she leaned down, touched my cheek and murmered, “It will be all right”, over and over.
But I couldn’t assure Janie that she was right. I couldn’t assure my daughter that we’d get me to a doctor. After all, did I really want to risk it? Was it worth it? What if the pains were just heartburn? What if I did go to the doctor and demand a bunch of tests and all they found out was, “It’s heartburn, stop eating so much spicy food”?
I held out an open palm toward Janie.
“Give me another Tums.” Janie’s lips pressed together tightly, she did as I asked. Then she said it.
“Sam, what if it IS a heart attack?”
“Stop saying that. You’ll scare Sarah.”
“I’m already scared.”
I scoffed despite the pain. “It’s nothing. Just heartburn.”
“Heartburn doesn’t usually make you sweat like that, Dad.” Sarah frowned at my right hand, which gripped so tightly to my left arm that fingernails were piercing the flesh. “And heartburn doesn’t usually make your hands so shaky.”
Janie swallowed hard, her brow furrowed.
“Sarah, go get the car keys,” she instructed, without once removing her gaze from me. Sarah remained motionless, watching me through squinted eyes. “Go!” Janie pointed toward the cabin. Sarah ran.
“Sam,” Janie’s icy hand was on top of my shaking one. “Sarah’s right. You need a doctor.”
“No,” I shook my head, knowing she was right.
“But I don’t want you to die.” She whined just like Sarah did when she couldn’t have what she wanted. Had the mother learned from her offspring?
“I have life insurance. That will pay off the house.”
“You’re missing the point, Sam. I don’t want you to die!”
“I don’t want to live with more medical bills than I’d be able to pay off in the rest of my lifetime. What about Sarah’s college fund? She’s only three years away!”
“It doesn’t matter,” a tear trickled down Janie’s cheek. “I don’t want you to die.”
I reluctantly agreed. I didn’t particularly care to die, either. I wished my pre-existing condition hadn’t made it impossible for me to obtain insurance.
So the girls helped me to the car then Janie drove us to the nearest hospital after asking directions from the kid at the convenience store. She drove fast, braked hard, and dashed in through the er doors with the same quick stride that had been her hallmark all through high school track. My smile was weak because the pain was deep. How lucky I was to have made her fall in love with me.
Janie came back out moments later, but no orderly, no rolling bed followed. Only terror on Janie’s face.
“They don’t take uninsured people here.” She gasped between sobs. “But they said there is a county hospital over there,” she pointed north. Or maybe it was west. Either way, the scent of her favorite perfume wafted at me when she threw herself into the driver’s seat. Without clipping her seatbelt, she was off, tearing through the parking lot, swearing up a storm.
“How do we get OUT of this place?” she screamed. Sarah, in the back seat, kissed my neck, whispered in my ear. “It’ll be okay, Dad.” Her voice was shaky.
Somewhere between that parking lot and the one at the state hospital, I died. But my kid got her college degree and my wife got to keep the house. All in all, not a bad deal.
On further thought, I don’t want to sound selfish, but I’d have loved to stick around and join them.
Tags: health care reform