The genesis of it all

A few months before the robbery, Mateo held a job as a handy man at an Indian retail shop. The job did not pay much – but that's all he had to fend for himself and provide for his family. One day, while he was in the thick of things, packing boxes of sundry goods in the store room, his phone – DIANNE, the wife was calling. He brushed the sweat off that stood on the brow and answered, "Hey babe."

"Hey, we are at the hospital. Junior isn't well. He's been failing to breathe. The situation isn't looking good." Dianne stammered through the speaker of his tiny phone.

Mateo took in a deep breath and exhaled heavily. "Which hospital are you?"

"Pediatrics University hospi…" The call disconnected before Dianne could finish her reply. She was out of airtime. Mateo was not in a position to call her back – he could only afford a beep. He thus beeped Dianne twice just to convey the message of concern and care. And without wasting time, he sought for permission and rushed to the hospital.

The white corridors to the hospital extended long and narrow. Bright lights flexed their muscle. Mateo raced under their glow pulling curtains and opening doors in a bid to find his family. A few more steps, and he was in the ward were the son was admitted. There, he joined a conversation between the Doctor and Dianne who stood by the sick bed of Mateo junior. The Doctor paused for a moment as Mateo settled in, "Like I was saying, the boy's lungs have collapsed completely. They cannot hold air. Hence the struggle with breathing."

"Wait, what? He was okay just yesterday." Mateo announced in an impatient tone. "His lungs can't just collapse from the blues. I mean, how?"

The Doctor, patiently listened to Mateo, and gave reply, "The tests reveal that the boy has chronicle bronchitis. It perforated his lungs. They cannot hold air. The condition can be fatal if not managed well."

Mateo wondered, "What's the condition called, again?"

"Pneumothorax." The Doctor quickly replied.

Mateo was however quick to probe the medic further, "There's a solution to this, right?"

"It's a 50 – 50 call," The Doctor established. "And the only thing that can give us that fifty percent chance is the availability of resources for his treatment."

Mateo nodded his head. He extended his arm around the shoulders of Dianne who was drowning in a poor of her own tears. "How much are we talking about?"

"There's a procedure called tube thoracostomy. That needs to be performed urgently. It is his only chance to see another day." The Doctor remarked softly.

"You're not speaking the language I understand, Doc." Mateo countered. "How much?"

The Doctor made it plain, "Seven and half thousands bucks is needed for the procedure. Management can accept seventy- five percent upfront and the balance is payable in two months."

"So, you need about 5.6k before you can attempt to treat my son?" Mateo looked at Dianne and shook his sweat- cursed head. "I don't believe this."

The tall handsome medic firmly stood his ground albeit polite, "Rules are rules. Company policy. I simply relay it."

"You can help, can't you?" Dianne inquired softly.

The Doctor declined, "Am just an employee here. I don't call the shots. But I feel, if you work, you can check with your HR on the medical policy. Check also with the national health insurance scheme if you are a contributor. Am sure they will assist."

"Listen. Man to man. Brother to brother." Mateo pinched the foundation of his statement. "I'm just a handy man. I don't get much. Not even half of the required seventy- five percent. We basically live a hand- to- mouth kind of life. And this is mid-month. I can't afford to pay for my son's medical bill. More so, I can't afford to lose my son. Now, am talking to you as a brother, you've got to help. Please."

"How?" The Doctor looked at him with a bewildered face. "Am just an employee like you. Am ready to help, but only when you have committed seventy- five percent of the bill."

Dianne furthered Mateo's plight, "Please."

"Mr. and Mrs. Becho", The Doctor announced before leaving the room. "Please excuse me. I've a few more patients to see."

Mateo drew closer to the bed and he could not help but shed tears as he looked at Mateo junior aided by a machine to breathe. The boy laid on his sick bed, the machine beeped continuously as indication of life albeit in a balance. He gently laid his hand on the son's brow and asked, "Have they given him anything?"

Dianne nodded her head a couple of times before replying, "Antibiotics. He's on antibiotics. They're barely managing his condition. Nothing more."

"Good Lord." Mateo exhaled. "What do we do?"

Dianne broke down, "Our boy is dying."

Mateo turned and pulled her into his arms. He held her without saying a single thing. The couple stood in the deep of silence before their dying son.

An hour later, Mateo sat in the hospital gardens alone. He unglued the phone from his ear and looked at the small notebook in his hands. He mumbled to himself, "Well. Only nine hundred and fifty- three bucks in pledges. Two hundred bucks in cash. There's got to be a way out of this."

His fingers quickly raced on the phone's keypad. He placed the phone to the ear and waited for the answer on the other end. "Hello." Mr. Patel, his employer answered. "Hello sir, I need help. My son is dying in the hospital. I need a loan of four and half thousand bucks." A loud and long laugh ensued from the speaker of Mateo's small phone, "You mean you've forgotten that you've a salary advance running. You just got it."

"I know, Mr. Patel. I know" Mateo admitted. "I need your help. I will put in extra hours. Just help."

"No my friend. I don't run a charity." Mr. Patel held his position and ended the call.

Mateo removed the phone from his ear and tapped it gently on his palm. His tear stained scanned the far- stretching heavens as though decoding answers to the predicament his family had plummeted into. Alas, no answers came forth.

Mateo Junior was dying.