The EKG, IV and rigorous attention of two nurses and the ER doc will cost much more.
Everything scanned from the bar code on my wrist to a computation of facts, tabulating costs, rising debt. Nitro, pills, pills, pills.
Am I dying? Why are you asking me if I have money? Now?
Sign this, sign this, sign this. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Overnight, attached to a myriad of technologies, rising, yet lessening fear.
Poked and prodded. Blood drawn repeatedly, a few laughs, pretty nurses. More and more cost, hearty bland food.
Enzymes, enzymes, enzymes. Normal.
A cool liquid applied to my chest above the heart. Echo test, as the diligent tech appraises the situation.
Sound waves, an occasional misdirection. Nothing serious.
Years ago I paid my taxes in support of several wars I hated, and now I have no money. I protest!
I'm still alive, the much poorer, an American. I can't afford this.
Money, money, money.