After a terrible experience as a child, Taylor grew up hating doctors so much that he wouldn’t even move when an ambulance needed to pass during a traffic jam. He thought they were all liars and incompetent. But one day, life showed him just how wrong—and how stubborn—he had been.
It started one evening after dinner. Taylor and his wife Polly sat at the table, while their three kids ran upstairs to their rooms.
Polly looked at him seriously. “We need to hire a nanny, darling. I can’t handle three kids, my job, and the house. It’s too much.”
Taylor frowned, leaning back in his chair. “A nanny? They’re so expensive, and it’s not worth it,” he replied, shaking his head before heading to the living room couch.
“Please, Taylor,” Polly begged, following him. “I have meetings in the afternoon, and even if they’re a bit older now, the kids still need attention. I can’t do it alone anymore.”
Taylor crossed his arms stubbornly. “No. You’re lying. And even if you’re not, taking them to the doctor won’t do any good. I’m not moving on this.”
He grunted. He didn’t like the idea at all. In his mind, Polly’s job wasn’t even “real.” She was a writer, working from home. Not like him—CEO of an oil company, always busy, always important. He would never say that out loud, but he thought it.
“No, it’s too expensive,” he refused again.
“We have plenty of money!” Polly insisted desperately.
Taylor snapped. “Just because we have money doesn’t mean we should waste it on unnecessary things. My mother raised me on her own for as long as she could. When she couldn’t anymore, I handled myself because my father didn’t care. And look at me! I grew up to be a millionaire. They don’t need a nanny. Just tell them to behave after school.” His voice was sharp, unyielding.
Polly sighed in defeat. She left him alone on the couch, her shoulders heavy with exhaustion.
Taylor leaned back, convincing himself he was right. “Kids need to be raised by their parents. That’s how I made it in life,” he muttered to himself.
A few days later, Polly collapsed in the middle of the living room. Their eldest son, Mark, only nine years old, grabbed the phone and called his father at the office.
“Dad! Mom fainted! Should I call 911?” the boy cried in panic.
“No! Absolutely not!” Taylor barked through the phone. “Call Mara. Her number’s next to the home phone. I’ll be there soon.”
Mara, their neighbor, was a kind nurse who worked night shifts. Taylor barely trusted her, but she was still better than any doctor. He rushed home, heart pounding, and found Polly awake again, with Mara kneeling beside her, checking her pulse. The kids surrounded their mother, their eyes wide with fear.
“So, how is she?” Taylor asked.
“Let’s speak in the kitchen,” Mara said firmly, pulling him away from the children. “Taylor, Polly needs to see a doctor. Fainting like that isn’t normal for a young woman.”
Taylor scoffed. “We’re hardly young. She’s 35. I’m 38.”
Mara narrowed her eyes. “That’s young, Taylor. She could have anemia. She needs blood work and a check-up.”
“Nope. No. Absolutely not,” Taylor said, crossing his arms.
Mara took a deep breath. “I know you don’t trust doctors, but she needs one—or it could happen again. Your kids were terrified. Please, listen.”
Taylor’s jaw tightened. Finally, he muttered, “We’ll get the blood work, but no doctors. My mother died because some idiot didn’t diagnose her cancer. He misdiagnosed her. I grew up with an abusive father because of that. That’s why I don’t trust them. That’s why we had home births. And look—our kids are thriving.”
Mara’s eyes softened. “Alright. I’ll respect that for now. Get the blood tests, and I’ll have a friend check them. But, Taylor… you can’t run from doctors forever.”
The tests showed Polly had anemia. With some medication, she recovered. But soon after, she asked again:
“Taylor, can we please get a nanny now?”
“No,” he snapped. “You’re better now. It’s a waste of money. We need to save for important things. I might be CEO today, but what if I’m just a regular worker tomorrow?”
Polly swallowed her frustration. She didn’t ask again.
One morning, Taylor rushed out of the house, yelling, “I’m late for a meeting! Don’t call me—I won’t answer!”
It was a big day. He had to meet an important client. But then traffic hit. A massive jam. Cars were barely moving. Taylor slammed the steering wheel.
Minutes crawled by. Then, sirens. An ambulance approached from behind. Cars started pulling over. Taylor saw it in his rearview mirror.
“Ah, hell no. They’re just pretending to have a patient. Not falling for it,” Taylor muttered, refusing to move.
The ambulance honked, but Taylor sat still.
A driver in the next lane rolled his window down. “Hey, man! Move for the ambulance!”
Taylor ignored him.
The ambulance driver, an old man, jumped out and ran to Taylor’s car. “Sir, please move! I have a kid in the back who needs urgent care!”
“No, you’re lying. And even if you’re not, doctors won’t help. I’m not moving,” Taylor said unapologetically.
The man’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious? This is illegal!”
“Sue me. Or call the cops,” Taylor shrugged.
The driver spat on the ground. “I hope no one you love is ever in this boy’s shoes.” He climbed back in and maneuvered onto the sidewalk, finally escaping the jam.
Taylor smirked. “Good luck,” he muttered, as traffic finally started moving again.
He made it to the meeting just in time. But as his client spoke, his phone buzzed. Polly. He declined.
She called again. And again. Finally, a message appeared: “Mark is in the hospital! Call me ASAP!”
Taylor’s face turned pale. “Hospital?” he whispered.
He shot up from his chair. “Roger, handle this meeting. My son’s in the hospital.”
He sped to the hospital, hands shaking on the wheel. He barely remembered parking, just ran inside. Polly was waiting outside the operating room, tears streaking her face, their two younger kids clinging to her.
“What happened? Where’s Mark?” Taylor gasped.
“He’s in surgery. His head was bleeding so much, Taylor,” Polly sobbed.
Taylor hugged them all. “It’s OK. He’s in good hands,” he whispered, though he was trembling.
Hours later, the surgeon appeared. “The surgery went well. Your son is recovering in the ICU. If he had arrived any later, the outcome might’ve been different.”
Taylor’s heart froze. Later?
He turned to Polly. “You were in the traffic jam this morning?”
“Yes,” she said. “It was awful. The driver even got out and argued with some man who refused to move his car. Can you believe that? But then he took the ambulance on the sidewalk. Thank God for that man.”
Taylor’s face went white. He knew.
He dropped into a chair, head in his hands. He had been the man who refused. His son had almost died because of him.
When Polly took the kids for snacks, Taylor broke down. He sobbed, guilt crushing his chest.
Later, when Mark woke up, safe and smiling weakly at his family, Taylor slipped out and found the ambulance driver, James.
The old man squinted at him. “Wait. Aren’t you the guy who wouldn’t move his car?”
Taylor didn’t hesitate. He hugged him. “I’m sorry. It was my son. You were bringing my son. I almost lost him. Thank you. Thank you for saving him.”
James softened. “How’s the boy?”
“He’s alive because of you,” Taylor said, wiping his tears.
They talked, and Taylor learned James was still working to pay for his wife’s hip surgery. Without thinking, Taylor offered him a job as his personal driver, paying triple what James earned.
Months later, James had enough money for the surgery. His wife, Helena, recovered—and Taylor hired her as a nanny.
Polly finally had help. The kids adored James and Helena. And Taylor? He had finally learned.
He started donating to hospitals, funding surgeries for children from poor families. He no longer hated doctors. He moved over instantly whenever he heard sirens.
Because he knew what it meant.
Lesson:
Childhood trauma shouldn’t control your whole life. Family happiness and helping others will always be worth more than money.