Page 73 of Booked for Kidnapping

“Honestly, we hadn’t known. We found out afterwards. We got a copy of the itemized care list in case we needed the records for future treatments.” Beatrice clucked her tongue. “Okay, bitch. You ready?”

“No, but I guess I have to be.”

“The campaign paid the military five hundred thousand for treatment supplies, transport, and personnel. It’s listed they brought over the doctor from Europe and several of their trauma specialists, which were shared between you and the other victims. The other medical staff, between transit, pay, expertise, rush servicing, overtime pay for doctors covering other shifts, added two hundred thousand to the bill. MRIs rang in at two hundred thousand, as you got four of them, once before the operation started, once after the operation, and two more during recovery. Drugs came in at a hundred thousand. Twenty-five thousand for first-day ICU care. Twenty-five thousand for transport to hospital; they had to fly in a helicopter capable of handling all of you plus medical staff. The campaign just paid out a donation, as the operators of the helicopter were going to donate the service. I’m guessing twenty-five thousand was the direct costs of deployment and operation for the helicopter and staff.”

Damn. “I have one very expensive foot, Beatrice.”

“No kidding. Treat that thing like it’s gold, but more precious. I think you hold the world record for most expensive foot on the planet.”

“You know what? I don’t want to know the rest of the fees, because it sounds too expensive.”

“They charged five hundred per muscle, tendon, and ligament treated, and a thousand per bone, which was a lot cheaper than normal for magical medical care,” Beatrice stated. “Unfortunately, every damned muscle in your foot needed work, and to simplify the math, they rounded to a hundred.”

“Generous of them.” Still, comparatively, the fifty thousand for the muscles wasn’t a big deal, and the campaign had gotten off lucky only paying twenty-six thousand for the bone work. “That’s still a far cry from two million, though.”

“Consultants, and a lot of them. Your operating room was a mad house, as they had at least ten tablets going at one time making sure they had the right knowledge on hand as needed. Dr. Mansfield did most of the actual work, but she got some serious education during the operation. Dr. Mansfield tried to dodge being paid, but the campaign threatened to overpay her, so she lowballed it. As such, they overpaid her.”

“Good, she deserves to be overpaid.”

“She walked out with half a million dollars.”

I smiled. “That’s great.”

“And that’s the story about how you spent over two million for the first operation. So, the operation you had while you were kidnapped is a totally different ballpark. They essentially would have had to completely reconstruct your foot from scratch. That’s why it’s so expensive. The procedure is rare, the doctors who can do it are few and far between, and it’s risky as hell. You would have probably been in the ICU or the equivalent for at least two weeks before the operation for the operation prep, and then another two weeks after to make sure your recovery went smoothly. Considering how long they kept you sedated, you were likely in an ICU style environment for up to two months. You likely weren’t on a ventilator for any of it, but the equipment they use in the ICU is essentially what’s needed to keep somebody trucking along after trauma—and what happened to your foot is severely traumatic.”

“How the hell did they keep me in an ICU without anyone realizing it, though?”

“That’s where the ridiculous price tags start coming into play.” Beatrice sighed. “From our understanding of the situation, it can cost up to five million dollars to set up an ICU. One ventilator system can cost up to eight hundred thousand, and considering how dangerous the procedure was, they would have had the ventilator system on hand if needed. The bed alone is a hundred thousand dollars, assuming they got a high-end bed, which they probably would have. The basic equipment to monitor your health in the ICU would have come in around two hundred thousand. Because it’s black market, the prices are higher, since they can’t use the regular channels to get the equipment. Somebody would have noticed someone setting up an ICU, especially for only one patient.”

“They usually set them up for more than one patient?”

“Yes. Five tends to be the minimum in most hospitals. Single-patient ICUs are rare. Even in a small community, a single car accident might result in three or more people requiring ICU care, so they typically do a minimum of five. We have two theories. Theory one involves a new hospital being built from charitable contributions, and the ICU equipment was rerouted for storage, but your kidnappers set up for your use elsewhere before moving it into the new hospital. Theory two involves a single patient ICU being made for the black market, with the caveat you get first crack at it. It’d let the black market potentially treat a critically injured operative outside of the view of the public sector. They might even have set up a larger ICU in that case.”

“Is that actually a thing? I mean, I’ve heard of the black market, but why would they need an ICU?”

“Smugglers get injured or sick or they’re trying to get treatments of an ailment that would be best not seen in a public hospital. Apparently, there are a lot of reasons the black markets might want access to an ICU. The kind of doctors needed for your care could definitely set that up for them, and they’d have access to the drugs you’d need to get through the procedure.”

“They did have drug access,” I murmured. “I remember my foot being really infected.”

“It was probably painful enough the illusionist couldn’t completely override your perceptions of it, so they would have worked with what they could and changed how you perceived the infection.” Beatrice paused. “And with your known history of blocking out trauma, it would have been a little easier on them. You would have been easier to imprint an alternative memory on.”

“Like me thinking I’m alone and able to attempt to use my abilities to help purge infection on the sly.”

“Yes, like that. And when they realized you couldn’t purge it even with your magic, they probably would have realized you needed the operation or you’d lose your foot.”

“I’m still going to forever ask Dr. Mansfield if she’s amputating my foot every checkup,” I warned.

“I’m sure she won’t mind your horrid sense of humor, as it’s a good problem to have.”

“How did the cost of care shoot up from five million to thirty, though?”

“Our new favorite villain, Dr. Castor, charges a million dollars for a full restoration of a limb. No matter how much work is involved over how many years, that’s her flat fee, and she accepts insurance—and insurance usually pays out, because few others are able to get the results, and she’s damned good at battling with insurance companies.”

“I’m thinking I like this Dr. Castor woman,” I admitted.

“Same. So, most doctors in that field use her approach; they will take the insurance company for a million dollars plus the hospital rates for the equipment. But that’s her expertise being paid for, and her talent. She only takes a limited number of patients, preferring to work on only one at a time.”

“So, I cost her almost a year of income?”