by Gabriel Mok
The bright white lights were blinding my eyes. Feet shovelling back and forth and metal clashes deafened my ears. The pungent smell of chlorine or ethanol cut my nostrils. My empty stomach twisted so hard that I was certain to vomit bile. I was no longer sure of my senses. My eardrums pounded to the beat of my ever-pacing heart. I closed my eyes, pictured my family and prayed…and I hoped.
“Ready…?” The surgeon pressed on, “Count to ten for me.”
“One, two… threee…” A heavy sense of drowsiness dwelled upon me and within a second, darkness consumed me.
“Mother, wake up. We are home.”
I felt the car pull onto our driveway. My daughter assisted me out of the car with one hand, whilst grasping onto the doctor’s report in the other. It had been so long since I felt the touch of her arm. It wasn’t because I was not an affectionate mother or that she was a distant child; it was just that things between us weren’t always so great. As a matter of fact, things weren’t always so great between my family and I; there was always that thin sheet of glass between us. I didn’t break it down and neither did they. I could not have blamed them really; after all, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
We went through the back door of our new house, though the door didn’t shut properly and creaked every time anyone stepped through as if it was about to give in. Although Pennsylvania had one of the lowest rates of all the states, (that was why we settled in Hazleton,) the recent property tax and the exponential increase in gas price posed a massive burden on me. I thought to myself, I’d just nudge the doorframe and let it take me; after all, my time was coming to an end. However, who was I to complain; people were dying of starvation on a daily basis back in the Dominican Republic. At least I had a job, at least I had income and at least I had my family.
My family members were all standing in the kitchen, faces grave, eyes gloomy, waiting for the cold air to freeze. My youngest daughter came up and hugged me tight, then one by one, they all did the same. We all sat in the living room while I gave them a thorough run down of my situation. They were tearful, they were fearful, but they were hopeful. They were supportive of me, which made me feel warm amid this chilly night. That night, we all cuddled up on the couch, in the comfort of each other. I held my granddaughter against my chest as she nuzzled on my breasts, treasuring that soon to be lost feeling before I drifted into a weary sleep myself.
“Mother, good morning. Can you hear me… Someone go get the doctor. Can you hear me mother?”
I closed my eyes and opened them again to a flashing light before my eyes. After a few more blinks, the image focused. There stood my entire family plus a nurse and my doctor. Was I still dreaming? Was I in Heaven?
“Hello, Nelly. How are you feeling? Your surgery went great. You are in the Hazleton General Hospital,” my doctor informed me. I dug my nails into my palm just to make sure this was real. Then, a sudden sense of overwhelming joy went over my head. It was happiness mixed with relief and gratefulness that sent my eyes tearing, “Gracias a Dios.” I thought I would never wake up to see my family again.
I thanked God for this second chance to be reborn, to be better, to live life differently. From then on, my family was of utmost importance to me; I was set to patch things up. It appeared to me that my family had that same realization as I did; they felt the despair of losing someone. As insane as this might sound, I was glad to have had breast cancer, not because I was suicidal, but that it gave me the opportunity to change, (plus how often does one get to be treated like a queen and have all attention on her, except actually being the queen or maybe your wedding?)
As time went on, I was recovering from my surgery, but yet suffering from chemotherapy. Moreover, my wallet was suffering from an extreme weight lost. You see, my company had this policy, wherein an employee can only receive their private insurance for so long an absence. Apparently, I was off work for far too long, so I had to suffer the consequences. I knew little of such laws. But when reality hit me hard, I did not give up because I was given a second chance to live. I did not let the little things get to me, for I was as hopeful as ever; it was a possible side effect of cancer recovery. With the help of our family, we found a way out – Pennsylvania Public Welfare.
I could not have thanked this country enough for all its benefits. According to our family’s income, I was eligible for full coverage from the state, which if I was back in Dominican Republic, I would have been unable to receive treatment and died. My doctors were in full support and understanding of the whole financial situation. Another thing about this country was that the medical staff were trained to care and heal, rather than to scare and steal. With money out of the picture, my treatment ran smoothly towards the end. After my full recovery, I sought out a new job and settled down quite comfortably in this land of opportunities, forever carrying hope with me.
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