Rachel wheeled me out of the social work office and down the main hospital corridor.

We passed the billing office where Richard had argued about out-of-pocket maximums.

The harsh chemical smell of antiseptic floor cleaner finally faded as we neared the main lobby.

We went through the double glass doors to the discharge exit near the north parking garage.

Dr.

Grant stood on the concrete curb holding a small white paper bag.

“I pulled the first two weeks of oral medication straight from the hospital pharmacy,” he said.

He handed the bag to Rachel and then looked down at me in the wheelchair.