“Mrs. Corielli,” the nurse calls out, “I have a big surprise for you today.”
The staff at NYPH has always been great to us even though we’re criminally behind on our payments. Perhaps they’ve fixed the broken footrest on the recliner she normally sits in but we don’t stop at the main treatment room. Instead, the nurse leads us down the hall to the very end. Inside is a hospital bed, a comfortable chair, and a big-screen television. It’s a large enough room for four patients.
“What’s this?” Mom looks askance at the room. It screams “expensive” and that’s not a cost we can manage right now. Or ever.
“Your new room!” The nurse throws out her arms like she’s a game show host displaying one of the grand prizes.
“Um, didn’t realize Medicaid paid for private rooms now.” We’re on state aid, and I know it doesn’t.
The nurse drops her arms and looks flustered for a moment. Walking over to the bed, she picks up the chart hooked at the foot. “Sophie Corielli?”
Mom nods.
“No, no mistake.” She pats the bed. “Why don’t you climb up and we’ll get started.”
“Go on,” I say. “I’ll get everything squared away.”
It’s going to be a tiring day, so rather than argue my mother nods and climbs into the bed. With the help of the nurse, we get the head and foot of the bed raised so she’s comfortable. Once the drip is started, I follow the nurse out of the room. “What’s this all going to cost?”
“I’m sorry,” she smiles at me and pats my arm. “I’m in patient care. You’ll have to call billing.”
A young girl, likely in her teens, brushes by and enters the room. I hear her voice echo out in the hallway. “Mrs. Corielli?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Hallie Sitton, a volunteer. I was wondering if you might like to be read to today? I have Emma?”
“That’d be lovely, dear.”
While mom is occupied, I call billing with the number left me by the nurse. “Hi, um, this is Victoria Corielli, and my mother is a patient here at NYPH. She was moved into a private room today, which we never asked for or authorized. Can you explain this to me?”
“Sure, please hold,” the bored voice says. A few moments later, the voice returns. “The bills are being covered by your new employer, Kerr Industries, under their family plan. The transfer was made today.”
“Oh, okay,” I mumble.
“Anything else?”
“No, thanks.” I end the call and walk into the room.
“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.” Hallie’s voice is surprisingly soothing, and while I’d like to drop into one of the chairs and give myself over to the story of the rich, spoiled, good-looking girl who tries to arrange everything in her life to suit her, I have my own Emma to deal with.
I’m starting to feel like I’ve already accepted that million dollar payment, and for what? I haven’t done anything. I’m unbalanced and the vertigo is making me sick.
“I have to make a phone call,” I tell Mom. When she waves me away with a smile, a little kernel of resentment lodges at her apparent happiness. I can’t read to her. I can’t really support her. I feel so fucking useless. Stomping out of the room, I press “Call” on the one number in my phone that I don’t know by heart.
Ian answers on the first ring, and I unload. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing sending Steve, paying for a private room, and saying I'm your fricking employee!”
“Bunny, I’ve missed you too.” There’s a creak, as if he’s leaned back in his chair and thrown his feet up on a desk.
“I’m not joking,” I seethe.
“Hallie is the daughter of a friend, and she needs the volunteer work so she looks well-rounded on her college applications.”
“Seriously?” Forgetting my anger for a moment, I peek into the room and see my mother is completely enthralled. Hallie’s gesturing with her hands and using different voices to bring the story to life. “Is she some kind of theatre major?”
“Not that I know of. I believe she wants to be a doctor.”
“Can’t Hallie read to Mom in the common room?”
“Too disruptive,” he says smoothly.
“How am I going to pay for this?” I say finally because I can’t deny Mom this pleasure, at least not today. Somehow I’ll come up with the money for one day spent in a private room.