Chapter 3 - The Sterile Room
The smell of bleach, rubbing alcohol, and stale hospital food hit Max as soon as he stepped off the elevator on the pediatric oncology floor.
It was a smell he had grown to hate, a constant reminder of the nightmare his family was trapped in.
He adjusted his faded jacket and walked down the long, brightly lit corridor toward Room 412.
When he gently pushed the door open, the sight before him made all his exhaustion temporarily vanish.
Mia was sitting up in her hospital bed, playing with a small set of plastic blocks.
On her head was a beautiful, perfectly fitted wig made entirely of Max's dark, thick hair.
"Max!" Mia cheered, dropping her blocks and reaching her thin, fragile arms out toward him.
Max rushed to the side of the bed, wrapping his arms around his little sister, holding her as gently as if she were made of glass.
"Hey, kiddo, you look absolutely beautiful," Max whispered, fighting back the tears that constantly threatened to spill over.
Mia touched the soft hair on her head, a massive, genuine smile lighting up her pale, tired face.
"It feels like you are hugging my head all day, Max," she said happily.
Max’s mother, Sarah, was sitting in a plastic chair in the corner of the room, looking terribly aged and worn.
She stood up and hugged Max from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"The doctor came by an hour ago, Max," his mother said, her voice trembling slightly.
"The chemotherapy isn't shrinking the tumor fast enough."
Max felt his stomach drop into a bottomless pit of despair.
"What does that mean, Mom?" he asked, turning around to face her.
"It means she needs the experimental bone marrow transplant, and she needs it within the next month," Sarah sobbed quietly.
"The insurance won't cover it because it is classified as an experimental procedure."
"We need fifty thousand dollars, Max, or the hospital won't schedule the surgery."
Max felt the room spin, the sheer magnitude of the number crushing the breath right out of his lungs.
He was making minimum wage, working himself to the bone, and he had barely managed to save a thousand dollars.
Fifty thousand dollars was an impossible mountain, a cruel joke played by a broken healthcare system.
But he looked back at Mia, who was happily brushing her new hair, completely unaware that her life had just been assigned a price tag.
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"I will figure it out, Mom," Max promised, his voice turning to steel.
"I don't care what I have to do, I will get that money."
