Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
My heart sinks to my toes.
This is what I’ve been fearing.
“Your mother’s condition has advanced faster than we planned. The therapies we’re offering aren’t enough anymore. She needs specialist treatment, which she can only get with private care. It isn’t something we can provide for her here.”
Numb, I absentmindedly nod as she continues updating me. I hear the words she’s speaking but struggle to process them. They’re too brutal to swallow whole. I need to break them down into manageable pieces before I can consider digesting them.
I always knew this day would come, but nothing could have prepared me for the brutal stab of pain when forced to stare death in the face.
I’m not being facetious when I say losing my mother will destroy me.
My shoulders are hunched and my chin quivers, but I put on a brave front. “How much does the specialist treatment cost?” My shaky words expose my true composure. I’m scarcely holding it together. This can’t be the end. I refuse to accept any outcome that will take my mother away from me.
Dr. Russo pauses before announcing a figure so far from my reach it might as well be a foreign language.
As the walls close in on me, I bite back a sob. Even as I struggle to breathe, clarity still seeps through the cracks of the carnage. “There must be something else we can do. Another trial? Different medication? I can’t just take her home and watch her die.” Tipping my head back, I peer at the ceiling and blink back tears. “I’m not ready. I have no idea how to be.”
“I’m sorry, Valentina. I wish I could offer more, but I can’t. If there were a suitable trial, I would put her name forward, but we’re limited in what we can offer while she’s under the care of the public health system.”
Unable to comprehend what’s happening, I nod in disbelief. We uprooted our lives because Sicily has free healthcare. It was meant to save my mother’s life, not end it faster.
“How can that be?” The question cracks out of my mouth. “We came to Sicily for the free healthcare, so how can you deny her the care she requires? I thought you’d look after her here. I gave up everything in the US because I believed the promise of free healthcare.”
Dr. Russo grips my hand before encouraging eye contact. Her eyes are full of empathy, but that won’t keep my mother alive. I need answers. Solutions. I need a miracle.
“Her care is free, but she needs more than we can give her.”
In her eyes, I see the words she can’t speak.
My mother will die without the costly treatment suggested.
Mindful that I’m holding on by a thread, Dr. Russo throws me a life vest. “There are some private clinics that offer payment plans. You’re working, right?”
When I nod, snot threatens to dribble from my nose. “I work nights at the pub, but I can barely cover the property taxes on our villa. It was decades in arrears when we came back, and now we’re being fined for building defects I can’t afford to fix. I have nothing left to give.” I swipe under my nose to ensure nothing gross spills before aligning my eyes with Dr. Russo’s. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your burden. I just don’t know how things operate here. I could probably ask for an extension for the tax arrears, but that would place us back under scrutiny from the council’s building supervisor.”
Unless I prance around in my underwear during his monthly inspections, the supervisor has it out for me. His grievances with our building aren’t entirely unfounded. The flat we own is a dump in a crumbling block on the outskirts of town. Half the windows are boarded up, and the elevator is permanently out of order. But it baffles me that they expect residents to fix the problems while they issue citations well into the thousands. Every fine increases the debt we owe, and it has us on the brink of filing for bankruptcy.
Even after months of threats from the council to condemn our building, they continue to charge exorbitant fees that would make a New Yorker blush. I pay what I can when I can, but it’s never enough. Every day is a stark reminder of our precarious financial situation.
Dr. Russo curls her hand around mine, drawing me from my thoughts. “You have nothing to apologize for. You’re doing everything you can to ensure your mother receives the best possible care. That’s why I felt compelled to tell you that the treatment she needs is no longer here. If anything, she’s better off at home, away from these germs. It could give her an additional two to three months.”
Her last sentence is a crushing blow. It ends my fight in an instant.