CHAPTER 6: The Start of Something That's Probably Good

Though it’s hard to temporarily set aside what I’ve discovered, I’ve got no choice but to do it. Sometimes I find solace in the art of momentarily setting aside a harsh reality. Like a weary traveler seeking refuge in an oasis, I have to allow myself a brief respite from the burdens of what had been. It’s best if I handle it later once I go home and meet dad. 

The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink when a middle-aged woman in a doctor’s white coat enters the room. Her shoulders flinch and so do her eyelids when she angles her sight at me. 

"Good afternoon!" she greets, her voice teetering between excitement and disbelief. “I’m not expecting that Mr. Braxton Guttierrez would be here!”

I open my mouth, but am unable to say anything since Eloise precedes me from replying. 

She says, “He’s uhm… he’s here to help me finance my son’s surgery.” She pauses, swallows, then glances at me nervously. “I saw on TV earlier today that he’s the founder of the Children in Need Foundation, so I thought I could ask for his help.”

That disappoints me, but I understand why she said that so it’s not as hurtful as it should have.

“That’s very nice of you, Mr. Guttierrez, to travel all the way here to help Ms. Garcia and Maddox,” the doctor says, her eyes twinkling with adoration.

I fake a smile and shrug my shoulders, then respond, “It’s not a big deal. It’s my life’s mission to help every child anyway and anyhow I can.”

The phrase ‘every child’ pinches my heart coz Maddox isn’t just that, he is my own child, he is my flesh and blood.

“By the way, I’m Dr. Tiu, Maddox’s doctor.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for taking care of my… of Maddox,” I say, almost slipping.

Eloise moves closer to Dr. Tiu and asks, “Now that Mr. Guttierrez will be financing my son’s surgery, can we begin the procedure?”

"Actually, I spent the last few hours conducting extensive testing to find a suitable donor. But so far, I haven't found a perfect match within the registries and databases,” Dr. Tiu says, her voice suddenly becoming less livelier than earlier. “But as I’ve said before, we can do a bone marrow match testing on you.”

“Me too,” I say, foolishly allowing my mouth to act faster than my brain.

Eloise freezes while Dr. Tiu gawks at me, but I quickly shrug their reactions aside and pretend to stay cool.

“Who knows, I may be a match? We need to take every chance we can get,” I say.

“S-sure. We can test your bone marrow too,” Dr. Tiu says with a hesitant smile while fixing her eyeglasses. “But, please be advised that the result of the test may take up to a week or so.”

“What?!” Eloise exclaims, almost in tears. “Can my Maddox still make it?!”

Dr. Tiu leans forward, her compassionate eyes meeting Eloise’s. "I want to assure you that we will leave no stone unturned in our search for a suitable donor. We will do everything in our power to find the best match and provide your child with the care he needs."

A mixture of gratitude and fear coats over my heart. I’m thankful for the doctor's dedication and commitment, but I can’t help but be daunted by the unknown path that lay ahead. Eloise’s question is valid: Can our Maddox wait?

After Dr. Tiu delves into the details of the process and the potential risks, she begins the bone marrow match testing in a separate room. Eloise is up first while I stay with Maddox. After almost an hour, Eloise returns, which signals my turn. I’m escorted by a nurse to the next floor where the test will be done. The room is sterile and impersonal, a contrast to the emotions within me. I sit on the edge of the examination table with a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. As I wait for Dr. Tiu to arrive, the images of the future my son, Eloise and I can create together flood my mind. I just met my son, but he’s now my new world, my new reason for living, and the thought of losing him is unbearable. I know that a bone marrow transplant offers the best chance of survival, but there are no guarantees. We need a compatible donor, and I fervently hope that we can find a match really soon. 

When Dr. Tiu enters the room, she sits on the chair opposite to me. She asks me to roll up my sleeve as a nurse prepares to draw blood for the initial screening. The needle pricks my skin, but I barely feel it coz my mind is only fixed on the outcome of the test. The vials fill with my blood, symbolizing hope and the possibility of a future for my son. Once my blood is collected and is readied to be tested, Dr. Tiu and I gather back in Maddox's room with Eloise.

Dr. Tiu stands before my son with a faint glimmer of hope in her eyes behind her glasses as she holds the clipboard close to her chest. The room is awash with the soft glow of sunset’s light, casting a tender ambiance over the scene.

"I have some news for you, Ms. Garcia,” she begins, her voice gentle yet tinged with caution. "After reviewing your son’s latest test results and considering his progress, I believe it might be possible for him to go home on a temporary basis."

Surprise and relief wash over our faces, our eyes widening with another newfound hope. The thought of leaving the sterile hospital room, even temporarily, is like a breath of fresh air after being submerged underwater for too long.

"But please understand," she continues, "... this is a carefully considered decision. We'll need to ensure that you can assist Maddox with his needs, monitor his condition, and follow his prescribed treatment plan closely."

Eloise nods eagerly, understanding the gravity of the situation. We both know that leaving the hospital doesn’t mean that Maddox is entirely well; it simply means that he’s not as weak as he looks and that he deserves his recovery in a familiar and comforting environment.

Arrangements are quickly made for my son’s temporary discharge, and the hospital staff work diligently to prepare the necessary paperwork and prescriptions. Eloise is also briefed on the treatment plan and the importance of strict adherence to it, while I have the billing department charge all Maddox's expenses on my credit card.

As the evening sun continues to cache below the horizon, casting a golden glow through the window, the moment of departure arrives. My son’s eyes shimmer with excitement as he’s wheeled out of the hospital room, clutching a small bouquet of flowers—a gift from the caring nurses who have become like family during his stay. While treading to the porch, I offer to drive them home even though all eyes are on us. At first, Eloise hesitates, but when she has probably realized how convenient it will be to ride a private car than to commute, she eventually agrees. 

The engine of my car hums softly. I glance at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of my son, who’s perched excitedly in the backseat.

"Hey, thank you so much,” Eloise whispers, a hint of a blush gracing her cheeks as she buckles her seatbelt in the passenger seat, her eyes lingering on me for a moment before she turns her attention to our son. 

“Thank you for letting me know about him and this,” I whisper back.

After exchanging smiles and with Maddox safely buckled up, I pull away from the curb, my hands steady on the wheel. I drive in companionable silence, the air charges with the mass of my unspoken words. 

Almost thirty minutes of navigating the street, my car slows down to a stop when Eloise says so. 

“We can manage from here,” she says.

My eyes crinkle as I peer through the front glass of my car. The area is quite dark with only defunct lamp posts as its display. 

“No, I’ll escort you home,” I say firmly.

Eloise’s face is mantled with protest, but she’s short of courage in turning her protest into words. I step down from my car first, pick up my son from the backseat and carry him in my arms. His warmth and his existence permeate through my heart and amplify my just awakened happiness. As we weave our way through the alley, Eloise walks a few steps ahead of us, not even glancing back. Her shoulders are drawn together. Her head is slanted down to the uneven ground. After a few steps more, there lies a hidden world that thrives amidst the shadows of neglect and poverty - a place tucked away from the bustling streets and towering skyscrapers, a place where a sea of makeshift shelters, cobbled together from discarded materials, creates a tapestry of resilience and survival. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint stench of decay. Narrow, winding pathways meander through the jumble of haphazardly constructed structures, making the area feel like a maze of uncertainty. Puddles of stagnant water reflect the squalid living conditions, mirroring the hardships that the inhabitants endure daily.

-”Oh! This is disgusting! Hurry up and leave this place!”-

'Hurry and leave?! How dare you say that?! Do you think I can bear to be ignorant of Eloise and my son’s plight?!.'

-”Alright! Alright! Let me rephrase, hurry and leave with your son and with…, ehr, your ex. I’m gonna die in this place, Braxton!”-

Just like Squall’s complaint, the sights and sounds assault my senses, and I can’t help but feel overwhelmed. The stench of decay and the cacophony of voices mingles with the distant hum of the city, creating an unsettling ambiance. Children with dirt-streaked faces playing amidst the debris, their laughter echoing in the alleys, somehow untouched by the surrounding misery.

Finally, we arrive at Eloise and my son’s modest dwelling—a haphazard structure with an unstable roof that barely provides shelter from the elements. Corrugated metal sheets forming the roof, their uneven edges lending a jagged silhouette against the sky. Beneath them, tarpaulins of mismatched colors act as supplementary protection, their faded hues testament to the relentless sun and unforgiving rain. Plywood panels form the outer shell, their rough surfaces adorned with graffiti and peeling paint.

“Do you wanna come in?” Eloise embarrassedly asks.

-”Oh no, Braxton, you won’t! Just take them and leave!”-

My head wanna listen to Squall, but my heart says otherwise. In a brief moment of grappling, my heart easily wins. 

“Why not?” I say.

Eloise hesitantly opens the rickety door. She then gropes for something near the door and a second later, a splash of light bursts from the inside, revealing an amalgamation of discarded fragments weaving together to create shelter. The walls tell stories of resourcefulness and hardship. Cardboard, flattened and stacked, fill the gaps like puzzle pieces, providing a semblance of insulation against the harsh elements. A colorful patchwork of fabric swatches, tied together with twine, serve as curtains, their delicate flutter in the breeze adding a touch of vibrancy to the otherwise muted surroundings. Windows are a luxury in this realm of scarcity, and those few that exist are covered with scraps of translucent plastic, offering a faint glimpse of the outside world. The glassless frames look like hollow eyes, gazing out with an air of longing, as if the house yearns to be part of the city's bustling rhythm. At the center of the house, there’s a ragged-looking sofa, a rickety-looking table near it and a platic cabinet at one corner, and that’s just about it.

Sadness and guilt wriggle through my chest, making my knees buckle and my shoulders slump.

This is worse than what I was imagining! It’s painful to imagine that Eloise and my son have been living in this horrible condition while I live a luxurious lifestyle!