Back to the Start: Saving My Son's Life

My son has an aortic dissection and needs surgery. My husband is a cardiac expert, but I don't bother calling him. Instead, I take a cab straight to the hospital.

In my past life, upon begging my husband, he came home with the ambulance to pick our son up. He also arranged for our son to be admitted.

But because he forgot to bring his phone, his childhood sweetheart died of a heart attack when she couldn't reach him.

He went missing for three months and suddenly returned one day, looking perfectly normal. He even volunteered to prepare the meal on our son's birthday. It turned out he only wanted to poison the food.

He strangled me and cut my neck open. "You forced me to come home to pick our son up. Ciara wouldnt' have died if I'd answered her call that day. You and your son are murderers—you have to pay with your lives!"

When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the day my son has an aortic dissection. This time, my husband manages to answer his childhood sweetheart's phone.

But why is he on his knees before me and begging for forgiveness?

"Solange, I understand how you all must be feeling, but there truly isn't a single bed left."

The man in front of me was Terry Jacquez. He was a colleague of my husband, Joel Waylon, and he happened to be the doctor on duty today.

After I was reborn, I drove my son, Oscar Waylon, straight to the hospital.

But Terry didn't even glance at Oscar. He stopped us right outside the cardiac surgery department.

Oscar had been shedding tears nonstop. Back in the car, he had already been too weak to even moan in pain.

My mom, Sadie Newman, paced around anxiously. "How can there be no beds? Isn't that an empty bed over there? Can't we take that one, doctor?"

Terry didn't relent; his expression remained unchanged. "That bed has already been reserved."

My mom was enraged. "How can hospital beds be reserved? Aren't they assigned on a first-come, first-served basis? My grandson is seriously ill, yet you won't assign him to an available bed. Are you even fit to be a doctor?"

"Stop complaining," Terry responded sternly,

He then went on to say, "Your grandson doesn't look like he's suffering from a heart disease at all. Do you know how hard it is to get a bed in this hospital? Why should you get a bed as soon as you arrive?"

After Terry rebuked my mom, he turned to look at me. "I don't want to be harsh, Solange. But if you keep this act up, I will call security."

Terry's face showed a hint of anger, as if he was genuinely irritated by our behavior.

Within a few minutes, several other patients' families gathered to see what was happening. Upon hearing Terry's words, each of them started expressing their frustration.

"Everyone here has waited at least ten days to get a bed. Who do you think you are to be admitted right away? Are you some sort of royalty?"

"You're faking an illness, yet you still have the nerve to cause a scene here! If you want a bed so badly, why don't you just buy the hospital?"

The insults came one after another. By then, Oscar lay against my mom's shoulder with his eyes shut. He was covered in sweat, and his entire body was trembling from the unbearable pain.

He kept murmuring, "Mom, Grandma, it hurts so much. Please help me."

I felt a pang in my heart. The pain was so intense that I could feel it in my core.

Even with Oscar in such a dire state, Terry still didn't believe he had acute aortic dissection.

My mom apologized to Terry. "I'm sorry for what I said. Please just take a look at my grandson. He's in so much pain."

Terry replied arrogantly, "The hospital adheres to a strict policy—no admission, no treatment."

My mom was nearly at her breaking point. She raised her fist in frustration, about to hit him. I stepped forward and stopped her.

I looked at Terry and said, "Terry, my son doesn't have an ordinary heart condition. He has acute aortic dissection. You know how serious this condition is. He needs immediate medical attention and surgery."

Perhaps it was because I spoke very gravely. Terry finally dropped his nonchalant attitude.

A few seconds later, he laughed out loud. "That was some good acting, Solange. But when you looked up this condition on Google, didn't it tell you that children don't get afflicted with this condition?

"When Joel told me you'd do anything to take Ciara's bed, I didn't believe him. Are you seriously using your child as a pawn in a petty rivalry? You're disgusting."

His tone was filled with contempt.

Having lived through this once, I knew how dire my son's condition truly was.

The odds of an adult having acute aortic dissection were one in 100 thousand people, with a nearly 100% mortality rate. The situation was even more grave for a child to have it.

The only doctor in the country capable of performing this surgery was the head of this department.

I couldn't waste time getting angry at Terry or explaining things to him.

I looked at Oscar and saw that his lips had already started turning purple from the pain. A wave of despair swept over me.

I knew Terry would never admit my son, so gritting my teeth, I ran straight to the head nurse's office.