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Chapter 13
Ray
“Idon’t understand. Are you saying you want to try something experimental? Isn’t that risky?”
“To an extent, yes,” Dr. Becket replied. He typed away at his computer, glasses halfway down his scrunched nose. “It’s not as if it’s the first phase of testing, though. The drug has gone through all of its trials and been approved by the FDA, it just hasn’t been fully rolled out yet. The only risks are the same ones outlined in every pamphlet for every drug.”
“So if it hasn’t been rolled out yet,” I started, the gears beginning to turn in my head as things clicked into place.
“It likely won’t be covered by your insurance.”
“Fuck,” I breathed. “Is it worth it?”
“If the trials are anything to go off of, then I’d say yes. Almost seventy percent of patients taking the drug have seen an increase in mental stability as well as improvement in cognition and memory recall. It won’t bring her all the way back to normal, but it could greatly improve your situation.” He rattled off the words as if they’d been rehearsed a dozen times before. This wasn’t the first time I’d had a doctor try to convince me to put Mom on some kind of ‘miracle’ drug. I was used to the spiel, used to dealing with snake oil salesmen, but this might have been the first time I was genuinely interested.
“How much is it?”
“Just over a thousand for a thirty-day supply. Again, it’s not been rolled out fully, so you’d be paying a premium.”
Just over a thousand. For a month. And I’d just impulsively and drunkenly sent Wade my resignation not even twenty-four hours ago.
My head pounded from last night’s wine as I stared down at the mess of words on the pamphlet. None of them made sense, but I knew at an absolute minimum they were spelling out the word hope over and over again. If I agreed, if I spent the money on this for Mom, I couldn’t afford a caregiver for the next two weeks. They were already on my back about that, insisting I make a payment or they wouldn’t be sending someone out this week either, and with what was left of my advance I could only afford this week's payment and one round of the medicine.
I’d fucked myself over. Fucked myself and Mom. I’d acted on impulse, and although I wasn’t happy at all in that job, I knew it didn’t matter. It was money, good money, and I’d thrown it all away the moment my inhibitions were lowered. I could get a new job, sure, but how long would that take? How long could we survive, realistically? A couple of weeks at most. Not even enough time for Mom to take the whole regimen.
I couldn’t take back my resignation. I knew that. I had no doubt in my mind that Wade had opened up the email and cursed my name. He just hadn’t given me the decency of a response.
“Okay,” I sighed. “We’ll try the medicine.”
“Great. Jane will need to be hospitalized for a few days. We want to make sure she’s fully hydrated and in her best possible state before starting it, so we’ll have her on a drip for fluids and probably some antibiotics as well to try to tackle the last of her pneumonia.”
Every single word out of his mouth sounded like a cash drawer clanging. I knew I wouldn’t be charged at least a few weeks minimum for that, but dollar upon dollar was racking up in my mind. Days. It was days now that we could survive, not weeks.
The backs of my eyes burned. I had to, needed to figure something out. I would.
“Okay.”
“Bring her in this afternoon and we’ll get her all set up.”
————
Nights at home were difficult without Mom.
Years ago, when she first needed to stay in the hospital, I thought that nights at home alone would bring some kind of reprieve, like a breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long. Instead, it brought an uncomfortable silence, a ghostly air to the house, leaving me alone with my thoughts and feelings.
On the bright side, however, I could drink without feeling guilty.
The living room television was the only light source in the room, some bullshit reality show about a man with four wives on a channel that claimed to be for learning but was anything but. It was mind-numbing enough to keep my brain distracted from the pile of stress next to me—papers outlining just how much money I needed to come up within the next thirty days. I hoped my glass of wine spilled on it.
A buzzing sensation wove its way through the couch cushions. My back stiffened, knowing it was my phone, and as I felt around on the couch for it, my mind went to too many dark places. Something’s wrong with Mom. Mom died. Mom’s had a heart attack. Mom’s a vegetable.
But when I turned my phone right side up, the word Brute was the first thing I saw. And here I thought I’d gotten away with it.
I could answer it. I could grovel, apologize, and beg to take back my resignation. Or I could ignore him, ruining any chance of getting back that cushy salary, and continue on with my hauntingly peaceful evening alone.
But my inhibitions were lowered from the wine and I was desperate.
I lifted the phone to my ear not saying a word.
