“Always,” Kyrin replied with a grin that was a little too proud of itself.
I playfully side-eyed Kyrin. “Uh-huh. Definealways.”
“Really, Jo?” Kyrin said, looking personally attacked.
I chuckled. “No, he’s a good kid.”
Dr. Hill grinned as he flipped a page. “Well, it looks like your weight’s holding steady, buddy. That’s good.”
Then his eyes darted between me and Kyrin.
“Breathing any better lately?” he included.
“Yup!” Kyrin answered before I could. “I played 2K all weekend and didn’t even cough.”
Dr. Hill chuckled, the sound light even though his eyes stayed thoughtful.
“I like to hear that. Alright, buddy, let’s take a listen.”
He slipped the stethoscope into his ears and leaned forward. The cold metal touched Kyrin’s chest, traveling from his back to his side, pausing every few seconds. Dr. Hill nodded to himself once or twice, but the slight furrow in his brow didn’t go unnoticed. When he finally straightened up, he removed the earpieces and let the stethoscope rest around his neck.
“Well,” he said calmly, offering Kyrin a reassuring smile, “you’re still one of my toughest patients.”
Kyrin puffed his chest out a little at that.
“But listen, I’m going to borrow your sister for a minute. You stay right here and work on that comic book.”
Kyrin nodded. Meanwhile, I was nervous. Anytime he wanted to step away from Kyrin to talk, it usually meant the conversation was about to get real.
We stepped into the hallway, leaving the door cracked so Kyrin could still see us.
Dr. Hill’s voice lowered. Ajori, I’m going to level with you. On paper, Kyrin’s stable. He’s not in crisis, which is good, but that also means he’s low priority on the transplant list.”
I crossed my arms. “How low?”
“Right now, he’s probably looking at six months minimum… maybe a yearormore.”
I swallowed hard. “He probably doesn’t have a year.”
Dr. Hill sighed. “That’s what I’m worried about. With a heart like his, all it takes is one bad infection, one complication, and he could go downhill fast. And once that happens, it’s harder to keep him strong enough for surgery.”
“Well, surely there are some alternatives.”
“Of course. If we stay with Medicaid, the surgery itself is covered—every penny—but then we’re at the mercy of the national donor list. There’s no shortcuts… no jumping the line. No matter how much I push, he’ll only move up if someone sicker ahead of him recovers or… doesn’t make it. If I’m beingtotally honest, waiting on the list is like waiting for lightning to strike in your backyard.”
“Okay. So what is the actual alternative?” I asked, almost irritated, waiting for him to get to the real point.
He hesitated, glancing toward the room before looking me dead in the eye. “Wecouldgo private. I know people at hospitals who have access to different donor networks here and overseas. They move faster, but the catch is you’d have to pay out of pocket. Medicaid won’t cover a dime because it’s outside the approved network.”
“How much ‘out of pocket’ are we talking?”
“Average pediatric heart transplant in the U.S. runs over a million dollars.”
“A million dollars?!” I shrilled, causing a few nurses at the desk to glance our way.
“Sometimes more,” he confirmed, in a hushed tone.
I shook my head slowly. “Dr. Hill, you know I don’t have that kind of money.”