“Why are you crying all of a sudden? I just left to heat some soup. What happened?” The female caregiver was confused and couldn’t figure out the situation.
Apart from confusion, she also felt nervous and flustered. She had been paid a lot of money, and with that money came great responsibility. If she couldn’t take good care of Ms. Protich and something happened to her, the employer would definitely blame her.
The caregiver didn’t want any trouble, so she took extra care of Ms. Protich.
No matter what she asked, Ms. Protich wouldn’t respond. She just clutched her chest and cried. Blood from the back of her hand stained the blue sheets with red spots, like scattered red plum blossoms.
Ms. Protich cried uncontrollably, clutching her chest. Her face was pale and sickly as she cried until she couldn’t breathe. At that moment, it felt like a knife had pierced through her heart. She clutched her heart and collapsed on the bed, trembling from head to toe.
The caregiver stood by helplessly, growing more frightened as she watched. She held a tissue in her hand, wanting to wipe away the tears but not daring to get close.
The once quiet hospital room was now filled with Ms. Protich’s sobs and the noise from the television.
Ms. Protich hugged the blanket as if she were holding onto someone.
Her phone rang on the floor, drawing the caregiver’s attention. She walked over, picked up the phone, and handed it to Ms. Protich.
“Ms. Protich, your phone is ringing.”
Ms. Protich’s eyes were red and swollen from crying as she squinted at the phone screen. It was another call from the insurance company.
The more she looked at it, the sadder she became. The caregiver didn’t understand why she suddenly started crying and didn’t dare to ask too many questions. Holding the still-ringing phone, she asked, “Should I answer it?”
Ms. Protich remained silent, which likely meant consent. The caregiver answered the call in front of her and placed it near her ear without using the speakerphone.
A man’s voice came through the phone: “Hello, is this Ms. Marie Protich?”
Ms. Protich’s throat tightened, and she couldn’t make a sound for a long time.
The caller repeated: “Hello, is this Ms. Marie Protich? Is there no signal on your end? Can you hear me?”
“I… I can hear you,” Ms. Protich said stiffly.
The man audibly sighed in relief: “We are from Peachshire Insurance. Last month, Miss Winifred Dawson purchased an insurance policy for you that requires your signature to take effect. Are you aware of this policy? If not, I can explain it to you in detail. It’s a high-value insurance policy that covers medical expenses and accidental death…”
The man spoke clearly, each word reaching Ms. Protich’s ears distinctly. She knew about this insurance; Leland Burns had mentioned it to her last month.
She had been skeptical since no one had notified her directly, but thinking about it, Leland Burns had no reason to lie to her, and this seemed like something Winifred Dawson would do.
Moreover, Winifred Dawson had said that she had prepared a gift for her this month.
Now this gift was right in front of her, unwrapped.
This gift was too precious; Winifred Dawson’s grand gesture was meant to ensure her future safety and financial stability without worrying about money.
This pension could start being collected this month and would increase with age. If she ever got sick or died accidentally, the insurance company would pay out a large sum.
Winifred Dawson’s intention was simple: she wanted Ms. Protich to live a peaceful life without illness or disaster.
She thought of everything for Ms. Protich but left nothing for herself.
Ms. Protich couldn’t focus on what was being said later in the call; afraid of revealing her sobs, she covered her mouth tightly to stifle them.
The man spoke a lot but received no response from Ms. Protich: “Ms. Protich, are you still listening?”
“… I’m here.”
“It might be inconvenient for you to listen over the phone; how about we meet somewhere so I can explain everything in detail?”
“I’m not available these days.”
“Why?”
“I’m in the hospital.”
“Are you unwell? That’s perfect; once you sign, we can cover your medical expenses.”
Ms. Protich wiped away her tears: “Come tomorrow.” She gave him the hospital address.
“Alright then, see you tomorrow,” he said politely before hanging up.
Ms. Protich hung up and noticed that doctors and nurses had entered the room while the caregiver stood by worriedly watching her.
“I’m fine,” Ms. Protich sniffled and forced herself to speak calmly.
The caregiver asked, “Was that a family member calling?”
“No.”
The caregiver didn’t ask further questions and stepped aside as doctors and nurses attended to the wound on her hand.
They changed the needle; there was still half a bag of medicine left for infusion which would take less than half an hour to finish.
Ms. Protich’s condition wasn’t severe; it was mainly due to brain stimulation requiring rest for recovery. Brain nerve damage wasn’t minor but not extremely serious either; if not treated promptly, it could leave permanent neurological sequelae caused by severe brain stimulation leading to fainting spells resulting in rapid brain cell death.
At nearly fifty years old with risks like high blood pressure surging into her brain causing potential falls leading possibly never waking up again or becoming bedridden permanently-the attending doctor patiently asked: “What happened? What made you cry so hard?”
Ms. Protich silently shook her head while tears continued falling down her cheeks.
“Where are the tissues?” asked the attending doctor.
The caregiver quickly handed over tissues; gently wiping away tears from Ms. Protch’s eyes-the doctor softly advised: “Don’t be sad anymore-whatever troubles may come-they will pass eventually-it’s late now-get some good sleep-tomorrow will be another day-crying won’t solve anything-it’s better just relaxing-for now-your health matters most.”
Though understanding these words logically-the weight felt heavy when truly implementing them-like carrying burdens across scorching deserts under blazing suns-living happily wasn’t easy at all-
“I understand-I’ll manage my emotions better.”
Nodding approvingly-the doctor encouraged: “That’s right-rest well-for early discharge-and don’t move your hand too much-it’s already swollen-it must hurt.”
“Mm,” replied Ms. Protch softly-
Seeing nothing else needed-the attending doctor left quietly closing door behind-
Once again-the room only held both caregiver & Ms. Protch alone-