I was sitting in the centre of a big office, which seemed to follow the watered-down colour theme from the waiting room. That’s why the big, pitch black desk in front of me stood out like a sore thumb. Behind it, there was a man in his late thirties, suited to an almost ridiculous extent for this establishment. The tie he was wearing was probably more expensive than any piece of clothing I’d ever own. Behind him, there was a security guard, watching me cautiously. Is he really necessary? Why would they- My train of thought was interrupted by the loud bang of the door closing shut behind the secretary. The secretary’s leaving seemed to be the businessman’s cue to begin our meeting. “Mr. Fairclough,” he began, looking through what seemed to be my file with no real interest, “we have discussed the coverage of your insurance.” The man’s eyes were filled with nothing but indifference as he flipped through the pages. The indifference provided some sort of comfort. It was certainly refreshing after another week of pitying looks from the hospital staff. “I have no interest in the process, just give me a number I can work with. How much is from my own pocket?” I asked, tempted to close my eyes in cowardice when I saw the man straighten up. I met his eyes instead, chest tensing uncomfortably when his gaze met mine. It was a calculated, cold, distant stare. One that could only be held by a worn out bureaucrat like himself. “I’m afraid we can’t help you in this matter, Mr. Fairclough. We can only pay for comfort, provided you can not afford the surgery.” Comfort? “Comfort? What do you mean with comfort?” My voice was steady, but the underlying panic was all too apparent. Comfort, that’s good, right? Fine, it’s all fine, you’re going to be fi- “I’m sorry, Mr. Fairclough.” he said, closing the file like the finalpunctuation. My breathing became erratic. The LXVIII