"Tap-tap-tap—" the nurse's footsteps echoed hurriedly down the hospital corridor. "Sarah Davies, are Sarah Davies's family members here?"
Sophie jumped up from her seat, gripping the nurse's hand tightly in anxiety. "Nurse, how's my mom? I've been waiting here for 3 hours. Has she woken up?"
"Has the patient recently experienced frequent dizziness or headaches? Severe vomiting? Epileptic symptoms? Frequent fainting?" The nurse fired off several questions at her.
"My mom has been saying her head hurts a lot lately—yes, stabbing pain." Sophie tried hard to recall her mom's recent behavior. "No epileptic symptoms, no..." She shook her head as she thought. "Fainting—she had it 8 months ago, was rushed to the hospital and woke up soon after. And then this time... she hasn't woken up yet?" Tears streamed down Sophie's face. "What exactly is wrong with her? Nurse, please tell me, woo—"
Archibald hadn't left; he'd been waiting with her at the hospital for the results and was now watching the calm nurse with equal anxiety.
"The patient woke up just now and is mentally alert. The hospital orderly has already transferred her to the inpatient C ward, and the admission procedures are underway. Family members can go home first to gather some daily necessities. The diagnostic results will be available the morning after tomorrow." The nurse's response was concise and straightforward, though very formulaic.
"Hospitalization? Where is the inpatient C ward? And besides the examination fees, there are hospitalization costs—how much money do I need to bring?" Sophie's hands were trembling, her mind in complete chaos. "Does this mean the test results aren't good, nurse?"
"Well, for now, the brain CT shows a shadow with a fairly large coverage area. The situation isn't optimistic. A biopsy may be needed..." Sophie didn't hear a single word after that. The moment she heard "brain has a shadow," it felt like the sky was collapsing. If Archibald hadn't been steadying her shoulders, she would have crumpled to the floor.
"If you need to know the location of the inpatient ward and the fees to pay, take the patient's IC card to the nurses' station and swipe it. You can print out the details—it's very clear." With that, the nurse hurried off.
Archibald, who had been steadying Sophie's shoulders, comforted her with concern: "Medicine is so advanced these days—Auntie will be fine. You have to stay strong; there are still a lot of things ahead that you'll need to handle." Despite his usual carefree demeanor, he could really step up when it mattered.
Following the procedure, Sophie collected the detailed billing slip, went home to pack her mom's daily necessities, locked the doors and windows, and returned to the hospital. Guided by the route map on the slip, she located her mom, who had already been smoothly admitted to Ward C.
It was a standard four-bed room—the most basic type in the hospital. By the time Sophie arrived, her mom was exhausted and had fallen asleep again. Sophie sat alone in the bedside companion chair, flipping through the stack of examination reports and treatment cost breakdowns.
Back in Manchester, her mom had never had a steady job. For years, she'd taken part-time work to care for a young Sophie, meaning she wasn't eligible for the UK's NHS coverage now. All expenses had to be calculated as an international patient. With their current combined salaries, the costs were still manageable—but if her mom had the worst-case scenario, a brain tumor, the surgery and post-operative rehabilitation would cost an astronomical sum. Where on earth could she find that kind of money? She didn't dare think about it…
The next day, Sophie took leave from school to care for her mom at the hospital, but she still went to work at C&C during her scheduled shifts. She couldn't afford to take time off; right now, she couldn't lose this job or its high salary. She also called the nursing home where her mom worked to request leave on her behalf.
Gazing at her mom's gaunt, sickly face on the hospital bed, Sophie was overwhelmed with guilt. For the past few months, she'd been completely absorbed in the joy of her upcoming admission to LSE and pouring all her time and energy into securing her position at C&C, while overlooking her mom's increasingly frail health. Her mom's constitution had always been weak. Working at the nursing home meant frequently turning and bathing elderly patients, lifting them forcefully into wheelchairs—every day was physically draining. By the time her mom got home, she'd be exhausted, complaining of back pain and frequent headaches, sharp and stabbing like needles. But Sophie had brushed it off, just telling her to rest more, never once considering a full medical checkup. Now that the truth was out and her mom's condition seemed so dire, Sophie could only hope tomorrow's test results would bring good news.
On the morning of the third day, Sophie was led by the nurse to the hospital's neurology conference room. Three doctors were seated inside; they stopped talking among themselves and stood up when they saw her.
Seeing this setup, Sophie's hands began to tremble uncontrollably. She could already sense that her mom's test results were not going to be good.
…
Suppressing the lump in her throat, Sophie burst into tears and fled the room. One of the three doctors was the chief neurologist, a highly respected brain specialist in the UK. He delivered the verdict on her mother: a massive brain glioma, already compressing multiple nerves. Soon, severe vomiting, limb incoordination, body rigidity, and even blindness would appear. It was impossible to confirm malignancy. The tumor's location was extremely treacherous—if surgically removed, the patient would likely die on the operating table… Conservatively, the patient had no more than nine months to live.
If they insisted on surgery, they'd need to consult authoritative physicians from the United States to establish a treatment plan. Success rate: no higher than 60%. The cost: astronomical. Post-operative recovery and rehabilitation would be a long, agonizing process for the patient, with equally staggering expenses.
The doctor's words—cold, mechanical—rang in Sophie's ears. They sounded like emotionless machines, long stripped of humanity. Every medical term was dry, formulaic, frigid. No warmth. Tears streaking her face, Sophie wandered alone on the sidewalk outside the hospital, lost. What now? She had no one to turn to. What should she do…
"Sophie—Sophie—, hey, kid, why are you ignoring me?" Jonathan crossed the street and tapped her shoulder, stepping in front of her.
"Whoa—what, what's wrong? Why are you crying so hard?" Seeing Sophie gasping through sobs, Jonathan froze. He glanced around: hospital, hospital? Sophie sobbing like a wreck at the hospital entrance—Sarah must be sick.