Page 10 of Wicked Arrangement

“Sorry… I was… How’s Gran?” I ask, jumping out of my seat feeling both eager and terrified to hear his response.

“She’s stable,” he confirms. “We had to perform an emergency surgery to reduce the swelling on her brain. Usually, with this type of injury, I would expect to see a complete recovery. However, given your grandmother’s medical historyand condition, we won’t know for certain how the injury will impact her cognitive functions and recovery.”

I nod, taking his words in. “But she’s going to be okay, she’s not going to die?” I ask. I don’t care about anything else, as long as she lives.

He gives me a small smile, “No, she’s not going to die. Your grandmother is a fighter.”

Relief floods me and I feel as though I could cry. My legs almost buckle, I’m so happy to hear that Gran will live.

“Can I see her?” I ask, not trusting myself to believe she’s okay until I’ve laid eyes on her.

“Yes, she’s in the ICU, she’s still unconscious though and it’s unlikely she’ll wake today,” he warns me, his tone gentle.

“I don’t care, I just want to see her,” I state confidently.

He nods, “Okay. I have to go now but a nurse will be over shortly to take you to her.”

“Thank you,” I reply gratefully, holding back tears as I watch him rush off to deal with the rest of his patients.

Mercifully, a nurse appears only moments later to take me to Gran. We walk through the hospital building in silence, I think she could tell that I needed it, I’m too shell-shocked to speak. Once we get to the ICU and I see all the machinery I freeze. The nurse gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, “It looks scary, but try and ignore the noises. Talk to your grandmother, she can hear you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice sounds hoarse.

“One of the ICU doctors will be in shortly to speak to you, I’ve got to head back to the ER now. Can I get you anything before I go?”

I smile and shake my head. I’m grateful that the nurse doesn’t linger, silently making her exit as soon as I enter the room. Gran looks so small and vulnerable, lying there in the hospital bed, a tangle of wires connected to whirring and beeping machines.

I pull the uncomfortable plastic chair over to sit by her side, taking her hand in mine and watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. Her hand feels so frail, the skin so thin. I’m reminded that, although she might be out of the woods now, things aren’t going to get any easier for her. Piece by agonizing piece, the woman who means the most to me in this world is slipping away from me. Even though she may be here in body, her spirit is eroding, being washed away by the disease that will eventually take her for good.

***

It’s been two days since the accident and emergency surgery. Gran is awake and doing well. Or at least as well as an elderly Alzheimer’s patient recovering from a head injury and surgery can be. I haven’t left her side the whole time except for toilet breaks and to grab food from the hospital canteen, bland and tasteless yet extraordinarily overpriced. I’ve been trying not to think about the cost of the surgery and hospital stay until I hear back from the insurance company, I’m just praying our insurance will cover it.

Abigail has been a godsend, coming in to sit with Gran and provide moral support, bringing in food and essentialsfrom home for us both. She’s sat chatting away with Gran now, making her smile as I watch, feeling tired but content.

My phone rings and I glance at the display. “Abigail, will you be alright for a minute with Gran, it’s the insurance company calling,” I explain.

“Of course, we’ll be fine,” she assures me.

I step out, taking a deep breath and bracing myself as I answer the call.

“Hello, Kimberly Walsh speaking.”

“Hello Miss Walsh, I’m calling from Be Well Insurance,” the nasal tone of the customer service representative tells me, her voice weary, no doubt from a long day of dealing with pissed-off customers.

“Hello,” I reply, feeling nervous.

“I’m calling to inform you that, given the nature of the surgery and your grandmother’s condition, your current insurance plan cannot cover the full medical expenses…”

The woman continues to talk but I barely hear anything she’s saying, I feel as though I’ve been punched in the gut. I’m vaguely aware of her stating what expenses are covered, the outstanding medical bills we currently owe for Gran’s care relating to her Alzheimer’s, the excess costs, and how much we owe that isn’t covered.

“I’m sorry, did you say eighty thousand dollars?” I sputter in shock as she provides the final figure.

“Yes, ma’am, your current outstanding payments not covered by insurance come to a total of eighty thousand, ninehundred and fifty-seven dollars,” she states calmly as though we’re discussing small change here, not several years’ worth of my full annual income.

“That’s almost ninety thousand dollars!” I state incredulously.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s correct.”

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