My Teenage Daughter Wrote Me a Letter Begging Me to Believe Her Pain — I Found It Five Weeks Later, Tucked Inside My Husband’s Jacket
“Why did you go back to the hospital without her?” Martha asked.
“Tell me that part.
Tell me what you went back there to do.”
Mark took a long breath, and told her.
He had gone back four days after the first appointment, and he had gone looking, in plain terms, for a loophole.
He had sat down with a patient services coordinator and tried to build a case that the tests were not really urgent — that Irene had midterm exams coming up, that the family was dealing with some temporary scheduling difficulties, that surely, given all that, this could reasonably be pushed to a more convenient time.
He had gone there hoping a staff member would give him something, anything, a sentence he could take home and use, some official permission to keep doing nothing.