“Good. Then we do this right now.” Naomi slid a dense, legally binding document from the folder and placed it on the tray directly in front of me. She uncapped a heavy gold fountain pen and handed it to my uninjured hand.
The bold, black title at the top of the page caught my eye immediately: REVOCATION OF HEALTHCARE PROXY / UPDATED DURABLE POWER OF ATTORNEY.
My fingers gripped the pen. The metal felt ice-cold against my skin.
“Sarah, listen to me,” Naomi said, leaning closer, dropping her formal corporate tone for a moment. Her voice was firm, sincere, and brutally honest. “If you go into that operating room right now and they put you under anesthesia, your parents remain your legal next of kin. By default, they hold your medical proxy.”
I swallowed hard, the reality of her words settling over me like a suffocating blanket.
“I saw the text messages on your phone while the nurse was filling out the intake forms,” Naomi continued, her eyes narrowing with barely concealed disgust. “I am going to ask you one question, and I want you to think very carefully before you answer. Do you really want the people who ignored your frantic calls from an emergency room because they were arguing over paint colors… to have the power to pull your plug?”
I stared at the document.
