I woke up at 5.15 (5.30, usually) to a stranger telling me my father was in a motorcycle accident. Grumpy for being abruptly awakened, by such a bad news, no less, I regarded the call as fraud attempt and end the call. The phone ring again, and then a text saying that the person on the other end of the line is being serious. I called my father's number, only to find nobody answering. Tried again, and the voice of previous stranger answer my call. I end the call, thinking that this must be one sick joke. Texted my mother to warn of the possibility of the fraud attempt that, by now, must be all too familiar to everyone living in this day and age. Took my breakfast, went to the office. As usual, the damp air of my office at such an ungodly early hour due to the AC yet to be kicked up welcomed me. I sit down on my desk and turned on my computer. I can't shake the feeling of uneasiness. My throat felt to be stiffer and narrower. Called my mother. No answer. Called her again. She answered in convulsive sobs. Shit.
A few 'yes' and 'uh-huh' later (like any call to my parents always goes), I ended the call. Shit.
First of all, my father is not the most loveable of all father. He is definitely not a Dad of The Year material. He did not even receive a higher education. He is not eloquent, nor knowledgeable. I am closer to my mother, perhaps due to the old saying that boys are closer to their mothers and vice versa. But he is my father. He is forever my father and I am forever his son. We shares the same affection for cats, and with it the same delusion that they can actually understand human language. I started to blame his recklessness (like I did when he lost his phone not too long ago.) How could this happen? He knows our family could not afford such financial blow. At this point in my career, the best I can do is not being a financial burden. But an accident? The possibility of things go downhill is just to vast for our family to bear, financially or otherwise. I blamed him in my mind. I cursed in my empty office. I blamed myself.
Weekend came and so I went home (like I do every weekends.) I met him. He's infinitely older than the last time I met him. His facial hair unshaved, covering his face with grey signs of age. He's getting older. I should have known.
I asked my mother how do we face this. She calmed me. BPJS, she said, we have it. You don't have to worry. But I should. What if the next blow is waiting around the corner and caught us unprepared? That is for another time.
I give her what little money I have left and told her to take my father to a surgeon. This kind of thing will not recover by itself. A broken bone is not a flu.
Another week passed. The surgery is done. He can lift his arm and write again, and we only have to pay Rp 5500. Now I know there is a lot of talk going on about BPJS. Of how it is a burden for the doctors. Of how it is inefficient and unfair. But BPJS saved my family from a financial blow that could left my family crippled for a considerable amount of time.
I know maybe some of you are against it, some of you are for it, but with all its flaws, BPJS saved my father and saved my family.
Thank you, BPJS.