Chapter 4 - The Whispering Ward
Dr. Julian Bennett stepped fully into the room, pulling a small stool toward the foot of the bed. His expression carried the seasoned gravity of a physician who had delivered terrible news thousands of times, yet still felt the sting of every word.
“Mr. Kapoor, I presume?” Dr. Bennett asked, glancing at me over the rim of his reading glasses.
“Yes,” I said firmly, refusing to let go of Maya’s cold hand. “I’m here. Tell us everything.”
Maya attempted to interject, her voice tight with panic. “Doctor, Arjun doesn't need to be involved in the financial or surgical authorizations—”
“I am involved,” I cut her off without looking away from the doctor. “What is the situation, Dr. Bennett?”
The doctor sighed, opening the thick medical record on his lap. “Three weeks ago, we completed your first two cycles of carboplatin and paclitaxel, Maya. Unfortunately, the post-cycle CA-125 markers haven't dropped; in fact, they’ve elevated slightly. The imaging shows that the peritoneal implants are growing more resistant than we anticipated. Simply put: the standard chemotherapy isn't shrinking the tumors fast enough to prevent further spreading into the bowel and diaphragm.”
A cold dread spread through my veins, chilling me to the core. Maya looked down, her lower lip trembling, but she didn't look surprised. She had known her body was deteriorating; she had felt the growing weakness every single day.
“What does that mean?” I demanded, leaning forward. “What are the options?”
“We have a narrow window for radical cytoreductive surgery—commonly known as debulking,” Dr. Bennett explained, pointing to a diagram of the abdominal cavity. “We go in and physically remove every visible trace of tumor tissue. It is a grueling, eight-hour operation. Following the surgery, we would need to immediately administer heated intraperitoneal chemotherapy—HIPEC—directly into the abdominal cavity while she is still under anesthesia.”
“And the risks?” Maya asked in a hollow whisper.
“The procedure is extremely demanding on the body. Given your current nutritional depletion and low red blood cell count, the mortality risk during or immediately following the procedure is roughly twenty percent. However, without it, the progression will become untreatable within three to six months.”
Twenty percent. One in five chances that she wouldn't survive the operating table.
“And what is stopping us from scheduling it immediately?” I asked.
Dr. Bennett paused, his eyes shifting uncomfortably between the two of us. “Maya’s current insurance plan is an individual basic policy she transitioned to two months ago. It does not cover specialized surgical debulking combined with HIPEC at this facility. The specialized surgical team and the ICU recovery protocol require an upfront guarantee of eighty-five thousand dollars.”
Maya let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “Which I don't have, Dr. Bennett. I told you that last week.”
“You didn’t have it,” I said, my voice steady, sharp, and resolute. “Now you do.”
Maya turned her head toward me, horror instantly flooding her face. “Arjun, no! That is your company’s entire operating reserve! You took out that line of credit to launch your logistics software! If you liquidate that capital, your partners will sue you! You’ll lose everything you worked seven years to build!”
“I don't care about software, Maya!” I snapped, leaning over her until our foreheads were nearly touching. “I can build another company. I can write another line of code. I can make more money. But I cannot replace you. Do you understand that? You are the only thing in this miserable world that I cannot replace.”
I stood up and turned to Dr. Bennett. “Schedule the surgery for the earliest possible slot. I will have the wire transfer in the hospital’s account by tomorrow morning at nine.”
Dr. Bennett looked at me for a long moment, then nodded with quiet respect. “I will put her on the priority board for Friday morning. We will begin preparing her body with blood transfusions and high-protein nutrition starting tonight.”
May you like
As the doctor walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar, Maya buried her face into the crook of my elbow, her tears soaking through my shirt. “You fool,” she wept uncontrollably. “You stubborn, impossible fool. Why won't you let me save you?”
“Because,” I whispered, pressing a kiss against her bare scalp, “it’s my turn to save you.”
