The harsh chemical smell of antiseptic floor cleaner hit me before I even reached the intake counter.

I leaned heavily against the fake wood laminate, gripping the edge until my knuckles turned white.

The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed a low, steady hum that made the pounding behind my eyes worse.

“The emergency room copay is three hundred dollars,” the clerk said from behind the glass.

My father stepped up next to me.

He didn’t look at my pale face or the sweat gathering on my forehead.

He rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest.

“We need to make sure this is in-network before we agree to any tests,” Richard said.

“I’m not authorizing out-of-network rates for a simple stomach bug.”

“Sir, she needs a triage nurse right away,” the clerk said.

“Her temperature is spiking.”

I swayed a little and looked at my mother.

Linda stood two steps back from the counter, smoothing the front of her beige cashmere sweater and keeping her eyes on the ceiling tiles.

I held my hand out toward her, hoping she would step forward and take it.

She turned her head and studied a poster about handwashing on the opposite wall.

My hand hung in the cold air for a long moment before I let it drop back to my side.

“Just scan the insurance card and verify the network tier,” Richard said.

“People are either assets or liabilities, and right now this hospital is acting like a massive financial liability.”