Page 23 of The One Who Changed Everything

"Okay," I said, drawing strength from the resolve that filled me. "If that's what it takes, then that's what we'll do."

“I’m really sorry–”

"Leave it to me," I interrupted, my protective instincts surging to the forefront, fierce and unwavering. "I won't let bureaucracy or money stand in the way of my daughter's health."

Dr. Chen smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "So you know, you’re looking at around $50,000 for the initial insertion, and about several thousand each year for follow-up appointments to monitor the device. The batteries last 5-10years, and replacing them is about $10,000. I’m afraid this isn’t a one-time expense.”

I blew out a heavy breath, my heart dropping. Fifty grand? I didn’t have five grand to my name, let alone fifty. What was I going to do?

“We’ll keep fighting the insurance company on your behalf,” Sarah said. She was probably trying to be encouraging, but I just felt wrung out. I nodded wordlessly.

Dr. Chen spoke to Sophia. “Until we can get that device, you’re going to have to continue to take it easy, Sophia. You’ve done so well for the last several years. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

Sophia nodded solemnly. I could see the sadness on her face. My eyes drifted to the leads attached to her chest, the ones giving the reassuring lines on the screen by the bed.

“We’re going to keep monitoring you overnight, but you’re all set to head home tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Thank you,” I said, still staring at the steady blip-blip of her heart rate.

As the doctors left, closing the door behind them, I turned back to Sophia.

"Do not be dismayed," I whispered, more to myself than to her. The financial burden felt like a mountain on my chest, but I would climb it, move it, or tunnel through it if I had to. For her, I would do anything.

“It’s okay, Mom. I don’t have to do horseback riding. Or play soccer,” she added with a smile I could tell was forced.

I grabbed her hand. “I know, Soph. I want you to be able to do everything you want to do. And it kills me that money is going to be the thing that stands in your way.”

“Don’t feel bad,” she said, her eyes soft and sweet. So innocent. “I love you,” she added.

My heart nearly burst. “I love you too, So So.” The nickname slipped out and she rolled her eyes at me. She’d asked me to stop calling her that last winter when she turned thirteen.I’m not a little girl anymore,she’d insisted. I held up my hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Old habits,” I said, my smile widening. She was still my little girl.

The next day, I sank onto the couch, the familiar creak of its worn springs a comforting reminder that we were home.

"Mom, you're hovering again," Sophia's voice broke through my reverie, laced with that gentle humor that seemed to be her superpower.

"Sorry, sweetie." I smiled, trying to mask the worry that clung to me like a second skin. "I’m just glad you’re home."

She was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by an array of colorful beads and delicate wires as she crafted yet another friendship bracelet.

"Mom, I know you're worried about the... you know, the ICD thing," Sophia said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it more real.

"Of course I'm worried. But I'm also determined to give you everything you need," I replied. "We've faced challenges before, haven't we?"

"Like when you single-handedly organized the library's summer reading program after the budget cuts," she offered with a proud grin.

"Exactly." I nodded, bolstered by the memory of that victory. "And we'll get through this too. You and me."

"Team Brown does have a nice ring to it." She laughed softly, returning to her bracelet with renewed vigor. "And hey, if all else fails, we can start a jewelry empire and fund the ICD ourselves."

"Plan B: Operation Bling," I quipped, playing along. It felt good to laugh, even if it was tinged with an edge of desperation.

"Operation Moneybags." Sophia's tone was light, but I could see the fatigue shadowing her features.

"Let's stick to Plan A for now," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "But keep those designs coming. Who knows? We might need a fallback option."

"Always prepared," she teased, threading another bead onto the wire.

"Always," I echoed, watching her work, my heart swelling with pride. This girl, my daughter, was the bravest person I knew. And together, we'd weather whatever storms came our way—be it with medicine or miracles, or maybe just a little bit of both.

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