The Heart of Revenge by Richie Drenz Page B

the
top of a clipboard that he had in his hand, took off his colorless
latex glove and dumped them into the big square pocket of his white
doctor jacket. Dad spoke to Dr. Reid,
    “So how things look Doc?”
    Everyone was listening and watching out for
Dr. Reid’s news. It could be something bad as Vance seemed to be
deteriorating more and more every year, but since steady taking of
his medication, we had all witnessed his progress and hoped things
had either stabilised. Or would get even better over time, maybe
add a couple more years to his life, moving it up from twenty-four.
Though we all were brimmed with worry, we still had that gut
feeling that things were going to get better, it’s something we
could feel.
    Dr. Reid breathed out, looked down, adjusted
his stethoscope around his neck and mouthed.
    “Well ...” he used both hands to adjust his
stethoscope once more and in a small continuous motion, rocking his
head both sides, as if shaking a slow no with his head as he
responded, “Vance ain't doing so good.”
    “What you mean?”
    Mom asked before he could utter another word,
her hand instinctively went to holding on to Dr. Reid’s hand as if
pleading with him to tell her that it is not so; things weren’t
worse. It wasn’t getting any worse; it couldn’t be. Her fingers
clung to his wrist, Dr. Reid took a moment to sort out the best way
to say what he had to say. Mom tugged on his wrist and Dr. Reid
could see the emotion in her eyes, felt how disturbingly tense she
was in her grip, she could have a breakdown, right there, right
now. She asked again but in a more hollow and terrified voice, as
if she was unsure she wanted to hear or not.
    “What you mean?”
    “Well..” He rubbed the back of his neck then
squeezed on it. “How do I put this? Your son has suffered some mild
brain damage, there’s a chance he may not be able to perform some
daily activities. I’ve a neurological therapist I can recommend you
to.”
    Where would we get the money? I thought. I
went on to ask Dr. Reid,
    “How much will that cost?” he directed his
eyes to my face.
    “I can’t say, you’ll have to call Ms. Winters
about that.” He shifted his eyes and steadied them into Mom’s, “If
your son suffers a next attack... well ... he won’t make it.” Mom’s
eyes got feeble and she was blinking a lot as if she were trying to
clear cloudy tears that were forming around the ball of her eyes.
My tears were already raining. “But if he gets the ICD implanted,
it can reduce the risk of him having another attack, he is really
lucky this time, less than five percent of people survive a SCA, I
mean a Sudden Cardio Attack, but his heart is growing so fast that,
...” He looked over to Vance’s bed, then at the bag of drip then
lowered his voice, “That if he doesn’t get his heart reduced soon,
he’s going to .... you know... He won’t make it ... And because his
heart has gotten so bad with the heart valve needing to be
replaced, the cost for his surgery and ICD, we now looking at a new
cost.” I didn’t have any control over the words that jumped out my
mouth, they just did
    “Jesus! How much more again?”
    “Well, an additional nine thousand.”
    “Forty thousand that in all?” I was
calculating aloud in my head and Dr. Reid nodded his head
confirming my calculations.
    “How soon is soon?” I asked, while I slowly
pulled Mom’s sorrow-filled hand off Dr. Reid’s wrist. My hand
supportively hugged around her fingers, curled them into a soft
fist wrapped by mine.
    “Maybe next six months ... I don't think he
will make it for this Christmas without a surgery.”
    No one replied, Dr. Reid fidgeted with his
stethoscope, making it long to one end then pulling it back around
his neck to make it long at the opposite end. He was looking at Mom
when he asked
    “Can’t you get the money anywhere at all for
the surgery? A loan, anything?”
    Mom had a breakdown. Her crying went to a
louder cry, then to a bawling then