He opened the folder flat on his lap.

I saw the gold bank logo at the top of the first page.

It was a thick stack of statements held together with a heavy metal clip.

“We need to be clear about expectations,” he said.

I shifted my legs under the thin cotton sheet, and the plastic mattress cover underneath crinkled loudly in the small room.

“The doctor wants to start a series of aggressive treatments today,” he said.

“We’re going to ask for a standard plan instead.”