Chapter 7 #2
An hour later, someone finally examined him.
If it hadn’t been for Linda, I honestly wouldn’t have known what to do.
She’d practically taken charge from the moment we got into the taxi—calm, confident, the kind of person who somehow always knew which desk to go to, what form to sign, what queue to stand in.
Without her, I would have been lost, paralyzed between anxiety and confusion.
Even though the healthcare system here in Malaysia wasn’t exactly complicated, it was unfamiliar to me. I’d read somewhere that the country was a hotspot for medical tourism—affordable treatment, modern facilities, physicians trained overseas.
People came from neighboring countries and even as far as the United States for surgeries or treatments that would have cost ten times more back home.
I used to think it was just clever marketing, a vacation disguised as medical care. Now that I was here, sitting under the sharp chill of an overactive air conditioner, I was starting to believe it.
At Green Eagle Hospital, the emergency department was bright and sterile, all glass panels and polished white tiles that gleamed under fluorescent light. Nurses moved briskly from one patient to another, their soft rubber soles whispering across the slick surface.
The man who finally saw Dannie was a soft-spoken older gentleman with silver hair and he had the kind of face that made people sit up straight. His accent carried that old-school British crispness—the kind that made every sentence feel thoughtful, deliberate.
I found myself wondering where he’d gone to medical school. Oxford? Cambridge? Somewhere with ivy-covered walls and ancient libraries, maybe. I made a mental note to ask later, when Dannie wasn’t hal-delirious on that bed.
The doctor performed a quick but thorough examination—listening to Dannie’s lungs, checking his pulse, tapping on his abdomen.
He moved in calm, efficient silence, nodding occasionally as he scribbled notes onto his clipboard.
After a few moments, he straightened and spoke quietly to the nurse, ordering a blood screening and some additional scans for “further investigation.”
Scans? My brows knitted together. What kind of scans? And for what reason? Dannie had a fever, not a life-threatening condition. It didn’t make sense, but I didn’t want to question him in the middle of the exam room.
The nurse, efficient and polite, led me out to the reception counter to handle the payment before any procedures could be done. The woman behind the counter stood with the poised confidence of someone who’d perfected her pitch.
She eagerly explained their special health packages while I stood there, my heart still pounding from the unease.
Since a sample was already being drawn, she suggested adding a “comprehensive wellness panel”—an extensive round of laboratory screenings that covered everything from cancer indicators to genetic vulnerabilities to rare metabolic conditions.
There was even a “Platinum VIP” option that came with a personalized report and lifestyle consultation.
It took me a second to realize she was upselling me.
“No, thank you,” I said quickly. “Just the basic lab work, whatever was ordered, please.”
The shift in her tone was immediate. The brightness in her expression dimmed, replaced by a neutral, almost mechanical cadence as she processed my request. I felt judged, like I’d just ordered the wrong dish at an upscale restaurant.
As I waited for the receipt, my brain wouldn’t stop spinning.
Maybe this was how these facilities made their real money—not from treatment, but from fear.
Offering endless tests, whispering the word “prevention” like a spell, hinting at hidden diseases that might not even exist. It was easy to say yes when you were scared.
Easier to swipe a card than to risk missing something fatal.
Or maybe I was just imagining things. My thoughts always went to strange, paranoid places when I was anxious—and with Dannie burning up on that bed, it was no surprise I was spiraling.
I finally understood why you should never treat someone you care about. Emotions blur everything. Logic, judgment, restraint—all of it disappears the moment someone you love is in pain.
“How is he doing?” Linda asked softly, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. She’d followed me to the reception desk, her handbag tucked neatly under her arm.
“Dannie has a severe allergic reaction,” I said softly, “and possibly some kind of infection.”
“Any idea what caused it?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted.
“What did he eat yesterday?” Her usual ease was gone, replaced by a tight frown.
“He ate a lot,” I said, replaying the night in my head. “Street food in the afternoon and then a full spread of shellfish for dinner.”
Linda’s hand flew to her mouth. “Seafood? Oh no. My husband’s allergic. Do you think—”
“It’s possible,” I said quickly. “But Dannie’s eaten those dishes before. If he was allergic, he would’ve known… right?”
Her hesitation was obvious. “Are you sure you don’t want to do the extensive tests they offered? I think package B includes allergy screening.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly. “It’s not a bad idea, but it’s not my decision. I should really let him choose that.”
“You could just leave a deposit,” Linda suggested helpfully. “They’ll bill the final amount to your credit card later. My little one’s been admitted here a few times—I’m not proud to say this—but I’ve become somewhat of a regular.”
“I see.” I nodded, relieved she’d clarified. For a second, I’d almost assumed she worked for the place. “So… they don’t have medical insurance here like in the U.S.?”
“I’m not sure how it works over there,” she said, shaking her head. “Here, there’s public healthcare for everyone, but most locals also buy some kind of health plans. It lets them skip the public queues—faster service, nicer rooms.”
“I see. Can foreigners use the public system?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” she said with a shrug. “My husband just made us get medical policy. He loves his comfort—swears the private wards feel more like five-star hotels. One even had a grand piano in the lobby. It’s like walking into the Ritz.”
“Sounds… expensive.” I muttered.
“It is,” she said, sounding a touch brighter, “but absolutely worth it.”
“I guess for now,” I sighed, glancing toward the hallway where Dannie was, “I’ll pay out of pocket. We’re already here. Might as well see this through.”
Linda nodded knowingly. “At least you’re in good hands. This facility is one of the best. My kid actually liked it here—if that tells you anything.”