expensive was a hospital bill when no insurance kicked in?
We wound through the labyrinth of halls, rode on a creaky elevator up to the children’s wing, and entered the second room on the left. The room held eight beds, each bed occupied by a sick or broken little girl.
Pinky sat up in the first bed, her mother’s arm around her thin shoulders. Her dark-haired head was swathed in bandages, her right arm supported by a blue cloth sling.
Liwayway’s face lit up when Timothy strode into the room. She quickly rose to greet him, and just as quickly sat back down, suddenly shy.
Pinky was not so reserved. With unconcealed glee, she squealed, “Dr. Juicy. It’s Dr. Juicy.”
Turning to Timothy, I made sure he spotted my arched eyebrows. “Juicy? This ought to be good.”
Timothy knelt by the bed, and with the gentleness of a mother cat comforting her kitten, he gathered Pinky into his arms. I could hear her tiny chirp of pleasure as she snuggled against his chest.
Over his shoulder, he spoke in my general direction, “Juicy as in chewing gum. Whenever I visit the creek community I bring along a generous supply, making sure each child gets a stick or two. It’s such a small thing, but it makes them happy.”
That explained the gummy glob I’d stepped into on his office floor. Timothy was the culprit, or at least the source.
Liwayway reached over and tugged on his sleeve. “Thank you, Dr. Flynn, for coming to get us…and for everything.” One shining tear glided down her cheek.
It hit me that Liwayway had been by Pinky’s side since they’d both arrived at the hospital. There was no way for her to get home, but she was the kind of mother who wouldn’t have left her daughter’s side even if she could have.
With the doctor in the room, everything else, including me, faded into the background.
The worshipful gaze she aimed at Timothy landed on me. “I’m sorry, are you with Dr. Flynn?” Her mouth scrunched up as she tried to remember.
Despite our riding in the same car for miles when we’d first brought Pinky to the hospital, it was possible my appearance might have changed now that I wore suitable clothing and shoes. And I hadn’t made much of an effort to comfort her. No wonder she didn’t remember me. I stepped closer, offered a hand, and introduced myself. “Yes, I’m Shay, a friend of Dr. Flynn’s.” I guess I was a friend. I certainly wasn’t anyone’s fiancée.
Used to taking charge, I combed the area for an aide, a wheelchair, or something useful, but nothing materialized. We were on our own.
Pinky’s fragile body trembled. It was obvious she was in pain and there was no way she was going to walk out of here on her own two feet. Why was the hospital sending her home so soon? I’d lay odds that money was the issue.
There had to be a nurse’s station or someone who could help. Before I was halfway out the door, Timothy assumed the role of chief commander, lifting Pinky off the bed as if she were a china teacup.
As we headed out, I peeked back into the room and waved goodbye to the other patients. The girls who were awake had been awestruck by Dr. Flynn, too. As he swung on his heel to leave, one child started to cry. The good doctor had an effect on females of any age.
Timothy carried Pinky to the car and nestled her in the back seat with her mother. It bothered me that there was no car seat, but I reasoned such American priorities were far down on the list for those without enough food. Timothy drove at a sedate pace—at least compared to his usual jet-fueled zigzags—and we arrived at the entrance to the village in less than an hour. Our grand slide-to-a-halt-in-a-cloud-of-dust arrival drew a crowd, and swarms of kids showed up calling “Dr. Juicy! It’s Dr. Juicy and Pinky.”
The squatter community was poorer even than I’d expected. Most of the homes were small shacks perched on the bank of the creek. Skinny chickens scratched for sustenance at our feet while, in the midst
We wound through the labyrinth of halls, rode on a creaky elevator up to the children’s wing, and entered the second room on the left. The room held eight beds, each bed occupied by a sick or broken little girl.
Pinky sat up in the first bed, her mother’s arm around her thin shoulders. Her dark-haired head was swathed in bandages, her right arm supported by a blue cloth sling.
Liwayway’s face lit up when Timothy strode into the room. She quickly rose to greet him, and just as quickly sat back down, suddenly shy.
Pinky was not so reserved. With unconcealed glee, she squealed, “Dr. Juicy. It’s Dr. Juicy.”
Turning to Timothy, I made sure he spotted my arched eyebrows. “Juicy? This ought to be good.”
Timothy knelt by the bed, and with the gentleness of a mother cat comforting her kitten, he gathered Pinky into his arms. I could hear her tiny chirp of pleasure as she snuggled against his chest.
Over his shoulder, he spoke in my general direction, “Juicy as in chewing gum. Whenever I visit the creek community I bring along a generous supply, making sure each child gets a stick or two. It’s such a small thing, but it makes them happy.”
That explained the gummy glob I’d stepped into on his office floor. Timothy was the culprit, or at least the source.
Liwayway reached over and tugged on his sleeve. “Thank you, Dr. Flynn, for coming to get us…and for everything.” One shining tear glided down her cheek.
It hit me that Liwayway had been by Pinky’s side since they’d both arrived at the hospital. There was no way for her to get home, but she was the kind of mother who wouldn’t have left her daughter’s side even if she could have.
With the doctor in the room, everything else, including me, faded into the background.
The worshipful gaze she aimed at Timothy landed on me. “I’m sorry, are you with Dr. Flynn?” Her mouth scrunched up as she tried to remember.
Despite our riding in the same car for miles when we’d first brought Pinky to the hospital, it was possible my appearance might have changed now that I wore suitable clothing and shoes. And I hadn’t made much of an effort to comfort her. No wonder she didn’t remember me. I stepped closer, offered a hand, and introduced myself. “Yes, I’m Shay, a friend of Dr. Flynn’s.” I guess I was a friend. I certainly wasn’t anyone’s fiancée.
Used to taking charge, I combed the area for an aide, a wheelchair, or something useful, but nothing materialized. We were on our own.
Pinky’s fragile body trembled. It was obvious she was in pain and there was no way she was going to walk out of here on her own two feet. Why was the hospital sending her home so soon? I’d lay odds that money was the issue.
There had to be a nurse’s station or someone who could help. Before I was halfway out the door, Timothy assumed the role of chief commander, lifting Pinky off the bed as if she were a china teacup.
As we headed out, I peeked back into the room and waved goodbye to the other patients. The girls who were awake had been awestruck by Dr. Flynn, too. As he swung on his heel to leave, one child started to cry. The good doctor had an effect on females of any age.
Timothy carried Pinky to the car and nestled her in the back seat with her mother. It bothered me that there was no car seat, but I reasoned such American priorities were far down on the list for those without enough food. Timothy drove at a sedate pace—at least compared to his usual jet-fueled zigzags—and we arrived at the entrance to the village in less than an hour. Our grand slide-to-a-halt-in-a-cloud-of-dust arrival drew a crowd, and swarms of kids showed up calling “Dr. Juicy! It’s Dr. Juicy and Pinky.”
The squatter community was poorer even than I’d expected. Most of the homes were small shacks perched on the bank of the creek. Skinny chickens scratched for sustenance at our feet while, in the midst
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