Chapter 7 - The Medical Diagnosis Unveiled
Late that afternoon,
Dr. Harrison called me into his private office.
Gwen was resting in her recovery suite,
hooked up to saline drips and vitamins,
finally sleeping peacefully without the crushing weight of terror on her chest.
I sat down across from Dr. Harrison's mahogany desk,
my hands clasped tightly together.
"Give it to me straight,
Doctor,"
I said.
Dr. Harrison adjusted his glasses,
his expression grave but compassionate.
"Mr. Vance,
the staging scans are complete.
Your wife is suffering from stage-two aggressive breast carcinoma.
Because the lump was left untreated for over five months,
it has begun to show signs of local micro-invasion."
The words hit me like a physical blow to the chest.
I felt the air rush out of my lungs.
"Is...
is it terminal?"
I forced the question past the tight knot in my throat.
"Not yet,"
Dr. Harrison said firmly,
giving me a reassuring nod.
"That is the good news.
Because she is young,
and because the cancer hasn't spread to distant organs,
we still have a very strong window for curative intervention.
We are scheduling a lumpectomy and localized lymph node dissection for the day after tomorrow,
followed immediately by a targeted course of chemotherapy."
"Thank God,"
I whispered,
my hands trembling slightly.
"What is the total estimated cost for the full treatment protocol?"
Dr. Harrison slid a detailed financial breakdown folder across the desk.
"With our top-tier oncological specialists,
private recovery suites,
and post-operative rehabilitation,
the total estimate is approximately eighty-five thousand dollars."
I opened the folder,
scanned the figures,
and pulled out my corporate black card.
"Run it now,"
I instructed without hesitation.
"Deposit an additional fifty thousand into her patient care credit account for incidental expenses."
Dr. Harrison looked at me with deep respect.
"It's rare to see a husband fight this hard for his spouse,
Mr. Vance.
Your wife is a remarkably strong woman.
She survived months of unimaginable psychological and physical torture simply because she wanted to see you come home alive.
Now it's your turn to make sure she stays here."
"She's not going anywhere,"
I vowed,
standing up and shaking the doctor's hand.
May you like
"I brought her back from hell once.
I won't let her go back."
