Page 30 of Certified Pressure 2

St. Mercy General Hospital

I finally had the money to pay for Zurie’s surgery and words couldn’t even begin to describe how I was feeling.

Walking through the front doors of St. Mercy General, I felt like my legs belonged to somebody else, like they were carrying me forward even though my mind was still back at the moment six weeks ago when the doctor told me what was wrong with my sister.

That day had cut me open in a way I’ll never forget.

She needed surgery, not years from now, not when we were ready, but soon, within six weeks.

And now here I was, right at that deadline, finally able to do something.

The lobby looked the same as it had the last time I was here—polished floors, rows of chairs, the faint sound of the air conditioning—but it hit me different this time.

I wasn’t here hoping for answers or bracing myself for news I didn’t want to hear.

I was here with the one thing the hospital had been waiting for: the money.

I checked in at the desk and gave them Zurie’s information.

The woman printed me a sticker with my name and told me to go to the fourth floor for Neurosurgery and Admissions.

I thanked her and pressed the elevator button, my hand tight around the folder I’d brought with me.

I had every paper they told me to bring—Zurie’s insurance card, the MRI scans, and most important, the debit card with every last cent Pressure had put in my hands. Forty thousand dollars.

When the doors opened, I walked into a smaller waiting area where the sign on the wall pointed toward Scheduling and Financial Counseling. I didn’t even get the chance to sit down before a woman in glasses came to the door and called my name. She smiled gently when I stood up.

“Pluto Monroe?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Maya. Come on back with me. We’ll get you taken care of.”

Her office was small but neat, with a computer on the desk and a stack of patient files beside it. She opened one with Zurie’s name on the tab and glanced over the papers inside. “So Zurie was seen by Dr. Patel six weeks ago, correct?”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “That was when they told me she needed the surgery.”

Maya nodded. “The insurance authorization came through, but because Dr. Patel is considered out-of-network for your plan and the deductible hasn’t been met, the total patient responsibility comes to thirty-seven thousand. Once that’s paid, we can finalize the surgical date.”

I reached into my purse, pulled out the card, and set it on the desk. My hands didn’t even shake the way I thought they would. “I’m paying it today,” I said. “All of it.”

I had already confirmed with my bank that the card would cover the full amount, so sliding it across the desk made me feel proud in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Her eyes softened as she took the card. “All right. Once I process this, I’ll print your receipt and walk you over to Scheduling. We’ll get a date locked in.”

While she typed, I kept my hands folded in my lap. I thought about how crazy it was that a number on a screen could decide whether my little sister lived without pain or not, but I pushed that thought down. The money was here, and because of that, so was her chance.

When the transaction went through, Maya slid a long receipt toward me and highlighted the line with the total. She folded the paper neatly and handed it to me. “You’re set,” she said. “Let’s head over to Scheduling so you can confirm the details.”

We walked down the hall to another office where a nurse sat at a computer.

She looked up when we entered, then offered me a seat.

“Hi, Ms. Monroe. Let’s see what we’ve got.

” Her fingers moved quickly across the keyboard.

“Dr. Patel has an opening two weeks from Friday, the twenty-first. Does that work for you?”

“Yes,” I said instantly. “That works.”

“Perfect. We’ll also need Zurie here next week for Pre-Admission Testing. That includes bloodwork, a nurse check, and another MRI to update her imaging. She doesn’t need to be here today, but we’ll need her then.”

I wrote the dates down on the paper she gave me and nodded. “Okay. Next week for testing, surgery on the twenty-first.”

“That’s right. We’ll call you the day before surgery with exact check-in times, but it’ll be early, usually around six in the morning. She’ll need to fast after midnight. No ibuprofen for a week before, no vitamins for three days. Do you have any questions?”

I pressed my hand lightly against the folder in my lap, thinking about everything I’d just heard. “How long will she be in here afterward?”

“Usually three nights,” the nurse said. “One in recovery, then two on the neurosurgery floor. Pain management is the biggest hurdle, but kids bounce back fast. Dr. Patel will go over everything again the morning of surgery.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay. Thank you.”

She printed the schedule and handed it to me, then gave me a card with the direct line to the office. “If you think of any other questions, just call us,” she said.

By the time I stepped back into the elevator, I felt lighter than I had in months.

The ride down didn’t feel endless the way it usually did.

The weight was still there because Zurie still had to face surgery.

I still had to walk her through it, but now there was a plan.

There was a date circled on the calendar that meant she had a way forward.

Outside, I pulled out my phone to order an Uber.

When the car pulled up, I slid into the backseat and rested my head against the window, watching the buildings and stoplights slide past. I thought about how many nights I’d stayed awake counting down these six weeks, scared we wouldn’t make it in time, or that we wouldn’t have the money and now the date was real.

Two more weeks, and my little sister would finally get the help she needed.

When the car stopped in front of the apartment, I got out and thanked the driver.

Carrying the folder against my chest, I walked inside, dropped my keys on the counter, and sank into the sofa.

For the first time in a long while, my body eased into the cushions instead of feeling like every nerve was buzzing.

I stared at the papers in my lap, the receipt tucked neatly inside, proof that this was real.

I thought about Pressure and how none of this would have been possible without him.

Every time I replayed the moment he told me he would give me the money, I felt something twist in my chest. I missed him, I loved him, and I couldn’t put into words how thankful I was for what he’d done for me and my sister.

He didn’t just give me money; he gave Zurie a future she might not have had without him.

Whatever happened between us, no matter how things ended up, I knew I would never forget this or him. I would always be grateful to him for saving her.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, not because I wanted to drift away but because for once I could sit in the living room and breathe without feeling like the walls were caving in.

Two weeks from now, Zurie would be in that operating room, and I’d be right there waiting for her.

And when she came out on the other side, all of this—every sleepless night, every tear, every prayer—would finally mean something.

St. Mercy General Hospital

One week later…

Zurie had a week left before surgery and we were here for her pre-admission testing.

Walking into St. Mercy with her little hand wrapped in mine felt different than when I came by myself.

She was skipping along, her pink backpack bouncing against her shoulders, and even though I wanted to cry thinking about what she was about to face, I forced myself to smile back at her.

She needed to see me calm and strong, not worried and falling apart.

We checked in at the same front desk where I’d been just a week ago, and the woman behind the counter bent down with a warm smile for Zurie. “And who do we have here today?”

Zurie grinned and rocked on her toes. “I’m Zurie Monroe. I’m here for my tests because I’m getting surgery soon.”

The woman chuckled softly. “Well, hello Miss Zurie. I think you’re going to charm everybody up there.” She gave us visitor stickers and pointed us to the elevator.

On the ride up, Zurie leaned into me. “Do you think they’ll let me watch cartoons while they do the tests?”

“I’ll make sure of it,” I told her, brushing my hand over her braids. “And if not, we’ll watch them when we’re done. Today’s all about you.”

When the doors opened, a nurse in bright scrubs with cartoon animals printed all over them stepped into the hallway and called Zurie’s name like she’d been waiting just for her. “There’s my girl! Come on back, sweetheart.”

Zurie’s eyes lit up, and she squeezed my hand before letting go and skipping toward the nurse. I walked close behind, my folder under my arm, watching the way she held her head high like she wasn’t scared at all.

The nurse’s room had a big poster of an underwater scene on the wall and a jar of lollipops on the counter. She patted the chair. “Hop on up, honey.”

Zurie climbed up and swung her legs, talking a mile a minute about her favorite cartoons, her doll collection, and how she wanted to be a singer when she grew up. The nurse laughed and told her she had the prettiest smile, then checked her weight and height.

Next came the blood pressure cuff, and Zurie giggled when it squeezed her little arm. “It feels like a hug!” she said, making the nurse laugh again.

I sat in the chair across from her and kept my eyes on her the whole time. She wasn’t putting on a show—this was just her. Sweet, open, and too brave for her age. I wanted the world to see her the way I did, to know she deserved every chance at life and joy.