by RORIE R. FAJARDO

EVERY NOW and then representatives of pre-need companies offer me insurance packages for my parents and me. Name it, they’ve tried to sell it to me — life and accident insurance plans, health plans, even memorial plans. But I always say no. It’s not that I’m not interested; I simply don’t have the extra money to pay for the premiums. Whatever I make as a media worker and from occasional writing and editing projects is just enough for my parents’ and my own daily needs. Which is why many view my family’s ability to hurdle major medical emergencies as nothing short of miraculous.

	A MOTHER and her new-born being treated at a government hospital. [PCIJ file photo]

Like many Filipinos, my family lacks a financial security net. We are not rich. We do not own our home. In the early 1990s, we had to sell our house in Laguna because Papa became jobless for a long time; the 1991 Gulf War forced him and other Filipino workers to leave their lucrative jobs there and head back to the Philippines. Yet while he was able to work abroad again, and my brother and I have held jobs for years, none of us has been able to afford to get sick.

That remains true to this day. Still, we have also found out that our family can survive serious health crises through a combination of sheer luck, audacity, an unwavering faith in both God and the innate goodness in other people — and perhaps the career path I chose.

I cite the last reason because honestly, it was through recommendations and tips from media colleagues that I was able to get help from the Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office or PCSO and the Philippine Amusement and Gaming Corporation for one of our family’s latest medical emergencies. They turned out to be the main source of support for us. Of course, even if I weren’t a journalist, I would probably have approached these agencies anyway. But I would surely have had to go through the frustrating and painstaking process that most other Filipinos experience had I not known whom to seek there in the first place. I concede, the saying “it matters whom you know” applies here.

I also say luck because during my older brother’s hospital confinement last year, after he had a heart attack at the age of 37, I got to know several families, mostly poorer and lesser in opportunities than us, who really had no idea where they would be able to get the money to pay for their rising medical expenses.

Indeed, my greatest joy these days is that even as the medical bills (for drugs and check-ups) keep on coming, my family is still complete and with me as we await the coming of my child, a boy whom my partner and I plan to call Rafael — which means God has healed — when he is born in April.

TO THINK that just last February, my sister-in-law Kate and I were being told by doctors at the Philippine Heart Center in Quezon City to prepare at least P300,000 because my Kuya Ronnie’s heart problems may need major procedures to correct. They also said we could not afford to waste any time because a second heart attack could be fatal.

But where to get the money? Kuya was then a contractual call center agent while his wife worked as an engineer in a fabric company. While he was a member of the Social Security System (SSS) and the Philippine Health Insurance Corporation (PhilHealth), these were not enough to cover the looming expenses. Neither he nor his wife had any other insurance plan to rely on, and had counted only on their combined monthly salaries of P25,000 for their everyday needs, as well as any emergency that may arise. Whenever they could, they also put something away for their two-year-old daughter Jesi’s education.

Meanwhile, I was already helping take care of our parents. While Papa had a retirement pension from the SSS, this came to only P3,500 a month, and went mostly to buy groceries. Sometimes, Mama and Papa would treat themselves to a movie or two or eat in a fastfood chain. I had volunteered to pay for the rent of their apartment in Bulacan, as well as for Mama’s maintenance medicines for her heart and blood pressure problems (she had a heart bypass in 2000).

Papa’s stint overseas had not meant a bonanza for us. When the modest business he set up after he returned home for good failed in 2005 — after just several months of operation — he lost most of what he had earned all those years toiling in a foreign country.

It’s a good thing both my Kuya Ronnie and I already had jobs when that happened. Then again, we had been working long before that. My brother even had to forego college to help out, while I managed to stay in school and earn a degree even as I also did my bit to contribute to the family’s finances.

Kuya Ronnie eventually finished a two-year computer course. I took up journalism in the University in the Philippines. Papa is a mechanical engineer while Mama has a degree in architecture. But all those certificates and degrees have not necessarily translated into a financially secure future — or present, even.

In fact, before we transferred Kuya from our town hospital in Bulacan to the Heart Center, Mama and I had to pawn her pieces of jewelry, raising about P16,000. I thought that was a good enough buffer as we looked for other sources of money, but there were the doctors, talking about hundreds of thousands of pesos more. Money or no money, though, we were all determined that Kuya Ronnie would have whatever medicine, whatever treatment he needed and see his little girl grow up.

Two hours after he was admitted into the Heart Center, Kuya had angioplasty for two of his three blocked arteries. By day four of his confinement, our hospital bill was already running close to P400,000. All in all he was at the Heart Center for 23 days, and our bill reached nearly P1 million.