CHAPTER 29:THE FRAGILE THREAD
838 Words
A crisis rarely announces its arrival. It doesn't give you a blueprint to study or variables to calculate. It simply strikes at the foundation of your life, testing whether your structures can hold or if they will collapse into dust.
The semester was progressing smoothly until a single, frantic phone call from a cousin shattered my Tuesday afternoon.
"Malia,insan, si Roy ito," Roy is my first cousin,son of Papa's brother . "Nandito kami sa emergency room ngayon. Ang Papa mo, ang taas ng presyon niya,natumba siya kanina sa harap ng bahay niyo...."
My heart dropped into my stomach. I didn't even remember packing my drafting tools or saying goodbye to my blockmates. The next thing I knew, I was sprinting out of the university gates, desperate to find transport. Since I was at the DMMMSU-MLUC campus and my father had been rushed to the Ilocos Training and Regional Medical Center (ITRMC) in Parian, walking wasn't an option. The distance felt like an eternity.
I hailed the first tricycle I saw along the main road, my voice cracking as I told the driver the destination. "Sa ITRMC po, Kuya. Bilisan niyo lang po, please."
The warm La Union breeze felt freezing against my skin as the tricycle sped down the highway, weaving through the afternoon traffic. My mind raced through a million terrifying scenarios with every sputter of the engine. By the time the massive gates of the regional medical center came into view, my hands were shaking.
I practically threw the fare at the driver and sprinted toward the bustling, chaotic environment of the emergency room. The sterile smell of alcohol, bleach, and medicine instantly hit my senses, bringing back a ghost of a memory from my past life—a memory of hospitals, cold white sheets, and the paralyzing feeling of complete helplessness.
I found my mother sitting on a plastic chair outside the ward, her eyes bloodshot and her hands gripping a rosary so tightly her knuckles were white. Roy was standing beside the door,looking at his phone.
"Ma," I breathed out, kneeling in front of her, trying to catch my breath. "Ano pong sabi ng doktor? Paano si Papa?"
My mother looked up at me, tears fresh on her cheeks. "Severe hypertension, Malia. Umabot sa 190 'yung presyon niya. Pero ang mas inaalala ng doktor ngayon... may nakita silang diperensya sa puso niya pagkatapos ng ECG. May irregular heartbeat siya, anak. Kailangan siyang i-confine para sa mga seryosong tests."
"Tests?" I echoed, the word sounding like a death sentence to my ears. Tests in a regional medical center still meant a barrage of expenses for specialized laboratory work and continuous monitoring. "Magkano raw po ang kailangan para sa admission at sa mga initial laboratory procedures?"
My mother couldn't answer. She simply handed me a folded piece of thermal paper—the initial billing statement and the list of medications required by the pharmacy before they could clear my father for a proper room. The total amount at the bottom was a staggering five-digit number, and that was only for the first twenty-four hours.
My breath hitched. My father was a hardworking mechanic, and my mother ran a small retail business from our home. Our finances were always carefully calculated to last until the next month, with barely enough savings for a minor emergency. But this? This was a catastrophic failure of our financial structure.
"H-Huwag kang mag-alala, Malia," my mother whispered, trying to sound strong despite the visible trembling of her shoulders. "Tatawagan ko ang Tita mo sa Maynila. Baka makahiram tayo. O kaya ay makiusap muna tayo sa social worker ng ospital."
"Ako na po ang bahala, Ma," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady, solid, and unyielding. I stood up, gently squeezing her cold hand. "Bantayan niyo lang po si Papa sa loob. Ako ang mag-aasikaso ng billing at ng mga gamot."
I walked away from the ward and headed down the long, dimly lit hospital corridor toward the pharmacy line. My legs felt heavy, as if I were carrying the weight of an entire concrete slab on my shoulders. I pulled out my old wallet, counting the remaining cash from my allowance, knowing fully well it wouldn't even cover ten percent of the bill.
I leaned against the cold hospital wall, closing my eyes as the harsh reality of my second life began to settle in. I had survived the academic hurdles, I had burned Cheska's pride with my intelligence, and I had protected my scholarship. But none of my mathematical formulas could solve the cold, hard equation of poverty.
The weight was settling in, a heavy, suffocating pressure on my chest. I wasn't breaking down—not yet. The survival instincts of a daughter took precedence over everything else. But as I stared at the long line at the hospital pharmacy, the first cracks in my carefully reconstructed armor began to show.
- Writer
