I’MPOSSIBLE — the story behind “I was shot in the face, what’s your excuse?” INTRO 3/3
DAY 2
“We’re getting you out of here.” Welcomed words to wake up to. A business associate is translating for my mom and attempting to arrange my transfer to Makati Medical.
As it turns out, Mr. Lim was a chemist graduate who went on to build a successful business selling medical supplies. Amongst his fellow graduates, was the head of Makati Medical and client of Mr. Lim. He had arranged for me to be admitted into one of the top 2 hospitals in the country.
But the morning soon turned to afternoon, as the hospital refuses to accept a credit card and demand cash as payment from my mother who had literally dropped everything to be by my side. Even a call to the Canadian embassy for assistance is met with, “try an ATM.” Being a stranger in a foreign country, under duress, that wasn’t the answer she was expecting. The embassy today, I hope, is no longer oblivious to the fact that ATMs in Manila had and still have a maximum withdrawal limit, far below what my one day hospital bill was.
In what seemed like a kick to my groin or slap to my face, I recalled an article from the previous year on how the Canadian government sent a naval warship at a cost of $94M to rescue Canadians who voluntarily visited southern Lebanon, stranded after tensions with Israel escalated.
After hours of negotiating with the hospital’s accounts payable, an agreement is finally reached to accept my mom’s credit card around dinnertime as we await a private ambulance arranged by Mr. Lim.
It’s been almost 36 hours since I’ve been shot.
MAKATI MEDICAL
7pm rolls around. The paramedics were on their way. A sense of hope and calm embraced me. I could see my Mom’s tension ease slightly as this was the closest thing to good news, all things considered.
In walked 2 paramedics. I distinctly remember their smiles. The pain seemed to go away as I was distracted by the meticulous procedure involved in transferring my dead weight from a bed to the stretcher. Everything felt surreal as I was wheeled back down the hallways I had entered yesterday clinging to life.
The private ambulance turned out to be a converted van, which would have brought on a head shake if I could move. I couldn’t complain. It did the trick. Weaving in and out of Manila’s jammed packed streets. Horn honking, flashing lights, and sirens did little to carve a path in bumper to bumper traffic. I’m a control freak, and not knowing where I was going, and how long it would take, would normally annoy me. Yet I found myself amused and settled as the paramedic continually apologized for the sudden stops. I can see my Mom in the front seat. I smile to make sure she knows I’m okay.
We finally reach Makati Medical and I’m re-acquainted to those fluorescent lit hallways.
