It doesn't matter what age you are.
It doesn't matter what medical condition you have.
There are just some things that are really not pleasant to the ear.
Being asked, frequently, "why your medicine so expensive" is one of those things.
Being told, mere hours before your doctor's appointment, that there is "no more money for your medicine, go and take cheaper medicine la, anyway you recovered already" is another.
Yet this was what Miss Brown had to hear- and no less from someone who called himself her daughter's boyfriend. Someone whom had committed to look after her daughter, and whom, by the same thread, had committed to look after her as well.
It was no statement spoken out of mere financial stress.
If it were, even if the words sounded harsh and hurtful to her ears, Miss Brown could still understand.
After all, a stroke was a stroke was a stroke, she was seeing a very qualified doctor- he had appeared on one of MediaCorp's television shows- and also it would have to take a very patient, long-suffering saint to not feel stressed out from the pressures of caregiving, or a very wealthy person to not feel worried by the additional burdens acquired by her tests, treatments and medicines.
Her primary caregivers were not rich people and they were not saints.
Neither were her daughter and her daughter's boyfriend.
However, it wasn't just a mere bunch of statements that her daughter's boyfriend was making. It wasn't just a bunch of sarcastic statements spoken in a fit of anger or because they were feeling spiteful or even resentment born out of the additional pressure.
He really meant it.
They really meant it.
And they acted upon it.
Both of them.
That afternoon, after seeing her doctor at Mt. Elizabeth's Hospital, she had to very nearly go home without her medication because the supposed money transfer much earlier requested for had not been done, and frantic phone calls to him went unanswered and ignored.
She stayed there in the clinic's waiting area for over an hour and in the end had to ring her husband who then drove down to the hospital to pass her primary caregiver the much needed cash for her medication.
The saddest part of this whole matter, however, was that she never got to ask her daughter, or her daughter's boyfriend the reason behind their decision.
It had been so sudden.
It had been so unbelievable.
She never got a chance to ask them why it was that they couldn't, or didn't, want to carry on the financial contribution for her to reach an optimal condition of health.
It was true that the medication prescribed by this doctor was more expensive than elsewhere, but it was her health, and the positive results from her blood tests indicated that this medication worked well for her. If so, why then did they not want her to maintain her still-improving health with the goal of achieving a full recovery?
But there was no one left to ask.
They had moved out of the house by then.
And she had no idea where they stayed.
It doesn't matter what medical condition you have.
There are just some things that are really not pleasant to the ear.
Being asked, frequently, "why your medicine so expensive" is one of those things.
Being told, mere hours before your doctor's appointment, that there is "no more money for your medicine, go and take cheaper medicine la, anyway you recovered already" is another.
Yet this was what Miss Brown had to hear- and no less from someone who called himself her daughter's boyfriend. Someone whom had committed to look after her daughter, and whom, by the same thread, had committed to look after her as well.
It was no statement spoken out of mere financial stress.
If it were, even if the words sounded harsh and hurtful to her ears, Miss Brown could still understand.
After all, a stroke was a stroke was a stroke, she was seeing a very qualified doctor- he had appeared on one of MediaCorp's television shows- and also it would have to take a very patient, long-suffering saint to not feel stressed out from the pressures of caregiving, or a very wealthy person to not feel worried by the additional burdens acquired by her tests, treatments and medicines.
Her primary caregivers were not rich people and they were not saints.
Neither were her daughter and her daughter's boyfriend.
However, it wasn't just a mere bunch of statements that her daughter's boyfriend was making. It wasn't just a bunch of sarcastic statements spoken in a fit of anger or because they were feeling spiteful or even resentment born out of the additional pressure.
He really meant it.
They really meant it.
And they acted upon it.
Both of them.
That afternoon, after seeing her doctor at Mt. Elizabeth's Hospital, she had to very nearly go home without her medication because the supposed money transfer much earlier requested for had not been done, and frantic phone calls to him went unanswered and ignored.
She stayed there in the clinic's waiting area for over an hour and in the end had to ring her husband who then drove down to the hospital to pass her primary caregiver the much needed cash for her medication.
The saddest part of this whole matter, however, was that she never got to ask her daughter, or her daughter's boyfriend the reason behind their decision.
It had been so sudden.
It had been so unbelievable.
She never got a chance to ask them why it was that they couldn't, or didn't, want to carry on the financial contribution for her to reach an optimal condition of health.
It was true that the medication prescribed by this doctor was more expensive than elsewhere, but it was her health, and the positive results from her blood tests indicated that this medication worked well for her. If so, why then did they not want her to maintain her still-improving health with the goal of achieving a full recovery?
But there was no one left to ask.
They had moved out of the house by then.
And she had no idea where they stayed.