CHAPTER FOUR: THE PROCESS
803 Words
Morning arrived with urgency. I hadn’t even finished my bowl of porridge when the nurse appeared, wheeling the chair toward me with quiet efficiency. The stillness that usually wrapped my mornings was gone, replaced by purposeful movement that rippled through the hallways.
“Good morning, Miss Disha.” The nurse smiled as the wheelchair rolled to a stop.
I returned a half-hearted smile, glancing at my half-eaten porridge.
“We’re taking you for preliminary compatibility tests this morning…”
The words barely registered. Preliminary compatibility test. They sent sparks down my spine. My chest fluttered.
“So this is it,” I whispered to myself. “It’s really happening.”
Richard appeared, casual in his stance, one hand resting loosely in his pocket, watching the nurse prep the bed. Distractingly calm.
He noticed me fidgeting with the hem of my hospital gown and offered a steady smile, walking over.
“You nervous?”
“Kinda,” I admitted, lowering my gaze.
“It’s just routine checks. Nothing to worry about.”
His presence was grounding. The nurse guided me to the bed and adjusted the wheels. With the doctor in tow, she wheeled me out gently. For the first time in months, I saw the hospital beyond the quiet confinement of my room. Most of the staff seemed to recognize Richard—over a dozen greeted him warmly as we passed. I watched silently, curiosity held in check.
We stopped at a room, and soon I was wheeled inside. The doctor tapped through his tablet, speaking terms I barely understood to the nurse. Finally, he looked at me.
“We’re running a few tests to prepare for the transplant procedure.”
My stomach tightened, but I nodded.
The nurse tied a band around my arm, preparing for blood draw.
“Your donor’s compatibility results look promising,” the doctor said.
My gaze drifted to Richard across the room, arms loosely crossed, expression neutral. I looked away quickly, overwhelmed. Someone is really willing to do this for me.
The test was over quickly. The nurse held the small vial of dark red liquid, pressing a cotton pad gently against my arm.
“Sorry,” she murmured, blowing lightly on it.
The doors opened again. Kylie stepped in. Her hair tied back loosely, she smiled, but something was off—her face slightly pale, faint shadows beneath her eyes.
“You’re already doing the pre-surgery tests?” she asked, glancing between the doctor, the nurse, and finally Richard.
“Just routine checks. Better to move quickly—delay is dangerous,” Richard replied.
Kylie nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on him longer than necessary.
“Are all these tests necessary today?”
The doctor shrugged.
“The sooner we complete them, the sooner we can schedule the surgery.”
I felt her shiver and wanted to ask what was wrong, but Richard stepped forward, resting a reassuring hand on my bed.
“The sooner we wrap this up, the sooner things get better—for you both.”
I looked at Kylie; she smiled faintly.
“Be strong for us, sis.”
I returned her smile, the nervous knot in my chest tightening, but also mingled with excitement. After a few more tests, they wheeled me back to my room. By the time I was settled, it was almost noon.
A nurse appeared, carrying a thick folder.
“These are the consent forms for the transplant procedure,” she explained, setting them on the small table beside my bed.
The stack looked intimidating—pages of dense, legal language, full of terms I barely understood. My fingers hovered over the pen.
Richard stepped closer, glancing at the documents.
“It’s standard procedure,” he said gently. “Hospitals have to cover every detail.”
“You’ve already gone through all of this… right?” I asked.
His expression softened.
“Something like that.”
That answer was enough.
Kylie stood near the door, silent as I signed page after page—first, second, third. Each signature felt final, small steps across a bridge I had no choice but to cross.
When I finished, the nurse gathered the forms and left. Silence settled over the room.
I looked at Richard, unsure how to convey the gratitude swelling inside me.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I whispered.
He tilted his head slightly.
“Some things are worth doing.”
The simplicity of his words made my throat tighten. I looked away, blinking back the sudden sting behind my eyes.
For months, my future had felt like something slipping further away—fragile, uncertain, fading beyond reach.
Now, for the first time in a long while, it felt different.
It didn’t feel like something I was losing anymore.
It felt like something waiting for me.
- Writer
