The $200,000 Surgery Fee

My brother was diagnosed with a tumor. The doctor said if hed come in a day later, hed be dead.
The surgery was $200,000. After three days of calling everyone he knew, my father had only managed to borrow $80,000.
I went to my uncles house. He was in the living room counting cash from a recent property buyouteight million dollars, stacked high on his coffee table.
The moment I explained why I was there, my aunt slammed the door in my face. "Lend you money? In your dreams! Do you think our money grows on trees?"
From inside, my uncle yelled, "Tell her to give up! They won't get a single cent from us!"
I stayed outside his door all night. By morning, I had knelt until my knees were bruised black and blue.
In the end, it was my colleagues who crowdfunded the money for the surgery.
Ten days later, at my cousins wedding, the hotel kitchen exploded. The bride was permanently disfigured.
My uncle came to me, sobbing, begging me to pull some strings and find an expert. "We're family! You have to help us!"
I clutched my phone, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Family? Are you sure about that?"
1
The phone slipped from my grasp, clattering against the hospital's ice-cold linoleum floor.
I didn't bother to pick it up.
My brother, Paul, had something growing in his brain. The doctor had just told me the tumor had ruptured. It was pressing on a critical nerve. Another day, and he would have been gone.
Surgery was the only option, and it had to happen now.
The cost: two hundred thousand dollars.
My father, Daniel, was crumpled in a corner at the end of the hallway like a discarded piece of newspaper. His graying hair was a mess, and the cigarette in his hand had burned out. A small graveyard of cigarette butts lay at his feet.
"Nina," he rasped, looking up at me. His bloodshot eyes were clouded with tears. "The money there's not enough."
He opened a black plastic bag and showed me the contents.
It was filled with crumpled billstens, twenties, fifties, with a few hundreds on top. The money was worn and carried the faint smells of sweat, smoke, and dirt.
"I spent three days calling everyone. The guys at the factory, relatives back home, anyone who would listen." He held up eight fingers, then let his hand fall limply to his side. "Eighty thousand. That's all I could get."
Eighty thousand.
We were still one hundred and twenty thousand short.
The red light above the operating room door glared at me like the eye of a demon. A nurse bustled out.
"Family of Paul Brooke, when will the fee be paid? If it's not settled soon, we'll have to stop his medication."
A shiver shot through me, my blood turning to ice. I rushed to the observation window and peered inside at my brother. His face was ghostly pale, his lips colorless. Tubes snaked from his body, and the lines on the monitor beside him beat with a faint, fragile rhythm.
He was only twenty-eight. He'd never been married, had never really had a chance to see the world.
"Nina," my dad said, pulling himself up along the wall. He stumbled over to me, his lips trembling. "Maybe maybe we should go see your uncle?"
My uncle, Harold.
My fathers own brother.
The name was a needle piercing my heart.
"I heard," my dad continued, his voice barely a whisper, "that they got a huge payout for their old property. Eight million dollars."
Eight million.
A number so large I couldn't even picture it.
My uncle's cruel face and his wife's acidic stare flashed in my mind. They had looked down on our family my entire life. My dad was a simple man, my moms health was poor, and we were always struggling. Every visit to their house felt like we were begging for scraps.
"Dad, they won't lend it to us," I said, my voice hoarse.
"We have to try, Nina! We have to! It's your brother's life on the line!" He grabbed my arm, his nails digging into my skin. "I'm begging you. Please."
For my brother's life.
Those five words shattered what was left of my pride and hesitation.
I nodded.
Half an hour later, my dads battered old electric scooter brought us to the gates of a lavish, gated community. The security guard stopped us, his eyes dripping with disdain. After my father bowed and scraped his way through an explanation, the guard grudgingly let us pass.
My uncle lived in a ground-floor home with a large yard. We could hear the clatter of poker chips and raucous laughter from the driveway.
"Full house! Pay up, pay up!" That was my aunt Brenda's voice.
"Wow, Harold, what a winning streak! With Lily's wedding next week, it's like good fortune is raining down on you!" a man's voice flattered.
I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
The music and laughter paused.
The door creaked open, and my aunt Brenda peered out. She wore a silk pajama set, her hair in perfect curls. The moment she saw us, the smile vanished from her face, replaced by a look of pure disgust, as if she were staring at a pile of garbage.
"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in," she sneered, leaning against the doorframe and sizing us up.
My dad forced a smile that was more painful than a grimace. "Brenda, we we need to talk to Harold about something."
Brenda didn't invite us in. She just opened the door a little wider. Through the gap, I saw it. Under a massive crystal chandelier, on a mahogany coffee table, sat stacks of hundred-dollar bills. A mountain of red-banded cash.
The eight million dollars.
The sight of it was blinding.
Swallowing my humiliation, I spoke, my voice trembling. "Aunt Brenda, my brother Paul is sick. He needs an emergency surgery, it costs two hundred thousand dollars. We were hoping we could borrow some money to tide us over."
Brendas eyebrows shot up as if Id just told the funniest joke in the world.
Before she could speak, my uncle Harold shouted impatiently from the other room, "Who is it? What's taking so long?"
"Who do you think?" Brenda yelled back, her voice dripping with scorn. "It's your deadbeat brother and his daughter. They're here to borrow money."
I saw Harold get up from the poker table. A cigarette dangled from his lips, and in his hand, he held a small bowl of plump, dark cherries. The expensive kind, hundreds of dollars a pound.
He sauntered to the door, spat out a pit, and barely bothered to look at us.
"Borrow money?" he scoffed. "How much?"
My dad rushed to answer. "Two hundred thousand! Harold, I'm begging you, please, save Paul's life!"
Harold finally lifted his gaze to meet ours. He looked at us like we were two flies buzzing in his ear.
"Two hundred thousand? Has your family gone completely insane?"
Before he could say more, my aunt Brenda stepped forward and slammed the heavy oak door shut, the wood nearly smashing into my nose.
"Lend you money? In your wildest dreams! Do you think we have money growing on trees?" her shrill voice cut through the door, thick with undisguised malice. "If he's sick, he should just die! Don't come here and spread your bad luck all over our family!"
My dad's face went white.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms I thought I might draw blood.
From inside, Harold's voice boomed, louder now, full of irritation and venom. "Tell her to give up! They won't get a single cent from us! Tell them to get lost, right now! They're an eyesore, and they'll bring bad luck to my daughter's wedding!"
The door sealed us off from their world, and with it, sealed off my brother's only path to survival.
My dad swayed, as if all the strength had been sucked out of him.
2
"Harold! Open the door! Harold!"
My dad started pounding on the cold steel door like a madman, the blows echoing in the quiet evening.
"I'll kneel! I'll beg you on my hands and knees! Please, just save Paul!"
And then he did it. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground before that closed door, bowing his head again and again, his forehead hitting the hard concrete with a sickening, hollow thud.
"Dad! Get up!" My eyes burned as I rushed to pull him up.
He shoved me away, tears streaming down his weathered face. "Nina, leave me be! As long as we can save your brother, my life means nothing!"
Suddenly, the door cracked open.
My uncle Harolds face appeared in the gap. There was no pity in his eyes, only disgust and annoyance.
He kicked out, not hard, but with a deliberate, humiliating slowness that landed on my fathers shoulder.
"Are you going to get lost or not? Stop your damn wailing out here. It's bad luck!"
The kick sent my dad sprawling.
A roar filled my ears, and all reason fled. I lunged forward, shielding my father with my body, and stared straight into Harolds eyes. "He's your own brother! Have you no soul?"
"Soul?" Harold laughed as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. He pointed a thumb back into the house, toward the pile of cash. "Did a soul get me all this? Let me make it clear for you. Every single penny of this money is for my daughter Lilys wedding of the century. Forget two hundred thousand, I wouldn't give you two dollars!"
Behind him, Brenda emerged with a broom and started swinging it at us as if we were vermin.
"Get out! You two paupers! Bad omens! Get out!"
Dust from the bristles flew into my face. My dad tried to shield me, taking a hard smack from the broom handle across his back with a muffled grunt.
They drove us out of the yard like stray dogs, and the gate slammed shut behind us with a final, decisive click of the lock.
The sky darkened. The city lights began to twinkle to life, one by one, but not a single one could pierce the darkness in my heart.
I helped my dad to his feet. He was still muttering, "How could this happen how could this happen"
We didn't leave.
My dad insisted we wait, that maybe their hearts would soften overnight.
So we stood there, outside that cold iron gate. Two lonely sentinels, guarding an impossible miracle.
Later that night, it began to rain.
The icy drops soaked through my clothes, but I didn't feel the cold. I was just numb. My dad was shivering, his lips turning purple.
I begged him to go home, but he refused.
All I could do was let him lean against me. I stared at the brightly lit house, the sounds of their laughter echoing like a cruel joke in my head.
Slowly, I slid down the wall until I was sitting. Then, I straightened my spine and knelt on the wet, puddled ground.
My father knelt for the bonds of blood and brotherhood.
I knelt for the life of my brother, hanging by a thread.
And so, father and daughter, we knelt outside my uncle's house all through the night.
The rain stopped at dawn.
As the first light broke through the clouds, I realized I couldn't feel my legs anymore. They were numb and shot through with a pain like a thousand needles. I looked down. My pants were soaked, clinging to my skin. At the knees, two horrifying patches of deep purple had bloomed through the fabric.
With a creak, the gate opened.
A flicker of hope ignited in my chest as I looked up.
But it wasn't my uncle, and it wasn't my aunt. It was my cousin, Lily.
She was dressed to the nines, a new designer bag looped over her arm. She froze when she saw us kneeling there, then her face twisted into an expression of utter disgust.
She didn't approach. She stood at a distance, pulled out her phone, and I heard the distinct click of the camera shutter.
Then came the soft tapping of her fingers on the screen.
A few seconds later, my phone vibrated. It was a notification from a distant relative, who had just shared Lilys new post.
The picture was of me and my dad, kneeling pathetically at her gate.
The caption read: Some poor relatives are so shameless when they want money. Blocking our gate first thing in the morning. So gross! Anyway, off to get my nails done for my fabulous wedding!
At that moment, my well of tears finally ran dry.
I used the wall to haul myself to my feet. Every movement sent a jolt of agony through my knees.
I watched Lilys retreating back, the sway of her hips and the click of her heels, and the despair in my eyes slowly hardened into ice.
I swore to myself, from this day forward, Nina Brooke would never beg anyone for anything ever again.
Just then, my phone began to vibrate violently in my pocket.
It was the hospital.
I answered, and a nurse's cold, clinical voice came through the line, sounding like a final judgment.
"Is this the family of Paul Brooke? If you do not pay the surgical fee, we will be forced to cease all treatment as per regulations. This is your final notice. You have until 10 AM today."
The line went dead, and the world fell silent.
3
I dragged my broken body and my hollowed-out father back to the hospital.
The hallway reeked of antiseptic, a smell that was cold and hopeless.
At the nurses' station, the nurse saw me, shook her head, and pointed at the billing statement. "Ma'am, you're running out of time."
I stared at the paper, feeling the last of my strength drain away.
Where else could I get the money? Sell a kidney? Take out a loan from a shark?
As my mind went blank, the head of my department, Dr. Adler, appeared, walking quickly toward me with several of my colleagues.
"Nina, what's going on? You haven't been answering your phone," Dr. Adler said, his brow furrowed. He was in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair, but his eyes were always sharp.
I lowered my head, my voice a broken whisper. "Dr. Adler, I"
I couldn't get the words out.
"I heard about your brother." He glanced at me, then turned to the colleague beside him. "Is everyone notified?"
"Yes, sir. Everyone in the department, and even a few of the families of patients Dr. Brooke has treated"
Before he could finish, my phone chimed.
I pulled it out instinctively. It was a bank transfer notification.
[Chase Bank: A direct deposit of $5,000.00 has been made to your checking account ending in XXXX.]
I froze.
Then, the chimes started coming one after another, a frantic, beautiful symphony.
[Venmo: You've received $2,000.00.]
[Zelle: You've received $800.00.]
[Bank of America: A direct deposit of 0-00,000.00 has been made to your checking account.]
The notifications poured in, a torrent of namessome were my colleagues, others were strangers.
My hands began to shake.
I looked up at Dr. Adler and the others. They were all smiling at me, their eyes full of encouragement.
"Sir, this"
"I posted about your situation in our department's group chat," Dr. Adler said, his voice quiet but firm. "Nina, you're a good doctor. You have a bright future. We're not going to stand by and watch you get crushed by this."
The tears I had held back for so long finally broke free, fat drops splashing onto my phone screen, blurring the ever-climbing numbers.
Less than half an hour later, my phone vibrated again.
It was a message from the head nurse. She had sent a screenshot of the hospital's internal employee relief fund page.
The fundraiser had been started by Dr. Adler.
Target Goal: 0-020,000.
Current Progress: 100% Funded.
In less than three hours, the impossible sum had been raised.
I clutched my phone, sank to the floor, and buried my face in my knees, sobbing. These weren't tears of despair. They were tears of rebirth.
The surgical fee was paid immediately.
The operation was a success.
When the lead surgeon walked out of the OR, pulled off his mask, and said, "The patient is out of danger," my father collapsed onto the floor in a heap.
I leaned against the wall and let out a long, shuddering breath, feeling like I could finally breathe again.
The next day, I went to see Paul in the ICU. He was still unconscious, but his vitals were stable.
Dr. Adler came by on his rounds. After checking on my brother, he walked over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Nina, take some time to pull yourself together. You have real talent. Don't waste it." He looked at me, his eyes full of expectation. "There's a national symposium on burn science in the capital next week. I want you to prepare a presentation. You'll be representing me."
I was stunned.
A conference of that caliber was something Dr. Adler always attended himself. Only the most senior attending physicians were ever invited to join him.
"Dr. Adler, I"
"I trust you," he interrupted. "Seize this opportunity. Learn everything you can. Don't let anyone look down on you."
I nodded fiercely, a warm current spreading through my chest. It was then that I fully grasped it. My mentor, Dr. Adler, wasn't just a respected figure in our cityhe was one of the foremost experts in his field in the entire country.
That evening, with my dad watching over Paul at the hospital, I went back to my apartment to grab a few things.
My phone lit up. An electronic invitation from an unknown number.
It was a gaudy, red-and-gold invitation with a picture of my cousin Lily and her fianc. She was smiling, her expression arrogant.
The host was my uncle, Harold.
He actually had the gall to invite us to his daughter's wedding.
I knew what he was thinking. He wanted to parade his eight million dollars in front of all his poor relatives, to show off his daughter's "wedding of the century."
I let out a cold laugh and was about to block the number.
But then, a thought stopped me. Why not go?
They had humiliated my father, ground his dignity into the dust. If I didn't push back, I would choke on that bitterness for the rest of my life.
I was going.
I wanted them to see that we hadn't been broken. My brother was alive. And I, Nina Brooke, was back on my feet.
I walked to the mirror and looked at my reflection.
The woman staring back was thin, her eyes shadowed and bloodshot. But deep within those eyes, the fragile, pleading weakness was gone.
In its place was a cold, hard, and determined light.
4
The wedding was held at the city's most luxurious six-star hotel.
To show off, my uncle had booked the entire grand ballroom. The entrance was lined with a fleet of luxury carsa Rolls-Royce, a Bentley, a Maybach. It looked more like an auto show than a wedding.
Our family of three arrived on my dads old electric scooter, a stark contrast to our surroundings. The greeters at the door didn't even try to hide their disdain.
Inside the ballroom, a man in a tuxedo hurried over, a plastic smile plastered on his face. "And which side of the family are you with?"
My dad gave our names. The man scanned his list for a long moment before finding us tucked away in a corner. His smile faded. He pointed to a small, isolated table. "You three can sit over there."
It was a spare table, shoved right next to the fire exit, a world away from the main seating area. It was like an island for exiles. There were no flowers, no fine china, not even a proper centerpiece.
My dads face flushed a deep red. He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it.
My mom tugged on his sleeve and whispered, "It's fine. It doesn't matter where we sit."
I helped them to their seats, my heart a block of ice.
The ceremony began. My uncle Harold, beaming, strode onto the stage. He was wearing an expensive custom-tailored suit and holding a microphone, his voice echoing through the hall.
"Thank you, to all our friends, family, and esteemed guests, for taking the time out of your busy schedules to attend my daughter Lilys wedding!"
He paused for dramatic effect, then raised his voice. "A lot of people say old Harold got lucky, made a little money from a property deal. Well, I'll tell you all todayit was eight million dollars! Not much, just a little pocket money for my daughter! Her wedding dress today? Eighty-eight thousand! Her jewelry? One hundred and twenty thousand! The cars outside? That's over thirty grand a day just to rent!"
The crowd responded with a chorus of feigned gasps and sycophantic applause.
Harold reveled in it, waving his hand magnanimously. "So please, everyone, eat and drink to your heart's content! No gifts necessary! I, Harold Brooke, can certainly afford it!"
I watched him preening on stage, a wave of nausea washing over me.
Soon, the bride, Lily, appeared in her diamond-encrusted gown, her arm linked with the groom's. She began making her rounds, her face a mask of smug satisfaction.
Like a peacock fanning its tail, she deliberately stopped near our table and said loudly to her friends, "Oh, look, even my poor relatives managed to show up."
A few of the garishly dressed women with her giggled into their hands.
Lily walked over to our table and looked down at me, her eyes glinting with challenge. "Cousin, long time no see. I heard your brother was on death's door? Did you even bring a gift today?"
She spoke just loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear.
Instantly, all eyes were on us, hungry for drama.
My dad began to tremble. He reached into his pocket and shakily pulled out a small envelope. It was crumpled from being clutched in his hand for so long.
"Lily, congratulations. This is this is a small token from our family."
The envelope was thin. Inside was the two hundred dollars my mother had insisted we give. "We have to observe the proper etiquette," she'd said.
Lily didn't even glance at it. She pinched the envelope between two fingers, her nails glittering, as if she were holding something foul.
Then, she turned and whistled at a small, fluffy dog that was chewing on a bone nearby.
"Waffles, fetch!"
With a flick of her wrist, the envelope containing my parents dignity fluttered through the air and landed near the dog's mouth.
The dog sniffed it, then promptly tore it to shreds.
A wave of laughter erupted from the nearby tables.
My mother's face went sheet-white. My dad, shaking with rage, shot to his feet.
I placed a hand on his shoulder and gently shook my head.
I looked at Lily's triumphant face, feeling no anger, no urge to argue. I just watched her, as if she were a clown in a cheap circus.
Just then, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
It was Dr. Adler.
I stepped away to a quiet corner to answer.
"Nina," Dr. Adler's voice was calm and steady. "You're at the wedding at the Grand Majestic Hotel, right?"

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