Growing up, Dad was always a provider for his family. We were never rich but if we ever needed anything, he’d find the money for it somehow - and if he couldn’t, he wouldn't rest until he found some other way, even if it meant going to YouTube and teaching himself to make it himself. If ever there was a crisis, he would be there to fix it. He was an inspiration.

In his 50s, it almost got him killed. He got sick and, while he was laid up in the hospital, we realized just how much mom had always relied on him. Faced with real responsibility for the first time since her marriage, she froze up, and had a borderline breakdown while the medical bills began to pile up beneath the letterbox. She'd emotionally checked out and all of a sudden I found myself holding power of attorney, and having to find a way to somehow make the number in my bank account match the medical bills.

The worst part was all the half-measures. Each time I had to choose the cheaper alternative rather than the treatment that actually had a chance to fix him, it felt like a betrayal. Even then, my savings were rapidly dwindling to nothing, while we were merely treading water with Dad's condition, buying time. We put a GoFundMe page together, reached out for donors, but it’s not as if anyone is queuing up to give their money or organs to some burly, middle-aged construction worker.

So there I was, sitting at the dinner table across from my fiance, staring at more bills in despair. “$200 for an aspirin?” I shook my head.

“We’ll think of something,” Miko said sweetly, taking the paperwork to her side of the table. Her eyes went as wide as the long chain of zeroes attached to the dialysis treatment. “Doesn’t your medical insurance cover family members?”

I shook my head. “Children and spouses only,” I said glumly.

'Children and spouses', it was written there in black and white. Even still, we scoured the lettering of my medical insurance for what must have been the hundredth time, searching for some loophole. Out of desperation, we began looking through Miko’s insurance.

"Oh my god!" Miko exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she reread a passage. “I get to reclaim $100,000 for fertility treatment. We could create a kid!”

"What, like now? Babe, I don't know if this is a great time for sex."

"No, dummy!" she said, pushing the paperwork under my nose and tapping a passage excitedly. "'Subject to the terms and conditions set forth-... yadda yadda yadda... - the Employer agrees to reimburse the Employee for reasonable and customary expenses incurred in connection with In Vitro Fertilization treatment, or, where such treatments are proven to be necessary and unavoidable, for the cosmetic and legal creation of a child for the purposes of adoption.'" Her eyes were shining. "It's a long shot - the longest shot ever- but we could put your father through Adopt-An-Adult and my insurance would pay for it, even the legal costs. We could turn him into your -our- child. And then your insurance..."

I didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity or cry at the faint flicker of hope dangling in front of me. It was... feasible. With power of attorney and Dad in a coma, I could authorize whatever I wanted. I shook my head and pointed to the passage. "'Necesarry and unavoidable'. How do we justify that?"

She thought for a moment and smiled. "... what if we always wanted a girl?"