A Beggar's Broken Bowl to the Rescue

Standing at the foot of the inpatient ward with the hospital bill in my hand, I stared at the number "680,000," and my temples throbbed. That number was like a mountain, dropping straight down onto the top of my skull. My husband, Timothy Chavez, had kidney failure. A transplant was his only chance to live. But six hundred and eighty thousand dollars. Where was I supposed to get that? I gripped that sheet of paper so hard my nails nearly tore through it.