39. Lina
Lina
There was a heavy tension in the air as a patient stood at the cash register with knitted brows and a pursed lip. The customer started yelling at Grace, who was the technician assigned to the register for the next two hours.
“The pharmacist told me I needed pre-authorization for my prescription, and I had to step out to call my doctor back. She already approved it and said she sent over the prescription electronically,” said the woman.
Her voice rose in a quick crescendo, echoing in our nearly empty waiting area.
“But you’re still telling me it’s not going through because it wasn’t pre-authorized?
Do you know how much time you’re wasting?
I don’t have time to wait for you guys to fill the prescription that’s already been authorized! ”
Jonathan and I shared a glance. Ironically, he was just on the computer sending PA requests to various providers’ offices for the prescriptions we received mid-morning.
Hers had more than likely already been sent to her doctor, or will be soon.
I nodded at him since he had been stuck on hold with an insurance company for the last few minutes.
He nodded back. Without another wasted second, I walked over to the register.
The patient turned to glare at me. Grace stepped away and allowed me to take over at once.
“You! You were the one that told me I needed authorization for my medication. My doctor already did that! That’s why she gave me a prescription in the first place,” she said, practically snarling at me.
Anger turned her skin into a ruddy color. Her eyes narrowed into slits as her mouth parted to say more. Before she could, I spoke up.
“Ma’am, as I explained to you earlier, a prior authorization is when your health insurance company wants your doctor to send them documentation about why you need your medication.
It’s not our pharmacy asking for that information.
It’s your insurance. We’ve already sent a request to your doctor to send those forms to them,” I explained, as calmly and politely as I could.
“Once everything is submitted, your insurance company will review the documents and the prescription your doctor requested,” I continued.
“This process may take several business days. They will either approve, deny, or ask for more documentation from your doctor. I suggest you call your healthcare insurance company if you have any questions or concerns about this process.”
Visibly, the anger that flared across her cheeks cooled. However, she still stood there with her mouth twisted into a frown. “Well,” she said sharply. “Can’t you call my insurance company for me instead?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Unfortunately, when it comes to prior authorizations, pharmacies can only call insurance companies for status updates,” I said.
She gave me a withering look, and the most I could do was give her a small but still polite smile.
“Fine, I’ll just call them myself then,” she muttered.
She stalked out of the door, nearly slamming our front door so hard I thought the glass was going to shatter.
We only had one patient, a middle-aged gentleman, sitting in our waiting area.
He and I glanced at each other for a split second as he gave me a sympathetic smile.
I smiled back and was about to step away from the front when the door swung open.
My heart and stomach dropped to the floor when I saw who walked through.
It was my older brother and mom.
They both came straight to the window. The lines on my mom’s face were deep and rigid with fury while my brother smirked a lopsided grin. The stench of hard liquor and beer penetrated through the glass divider that separated them from me.
“Li Nam! Koj yog neeg tseem tseem ceeb li los! Lub hli tag no, kuv hu koj tsawg zaus los koj tsis teb li,” my mom screeched thunderously.
Lina! You must be a very important person. Last month, how many times did I call you with no answer?
I took a shallow breath to control my emotions despite my heart hammering against my ribcage. Behind me, I could practically feel how the entire team came to a halt. They all stilled as they watched my family cause a scene.
“Your sister told me the other day that it’s more than likely because you blocked all our numbers.
Your father couldn’t reach you. Your brother and sister couldn’t either.
Yesterday, I tried to go to your apartment, but it turns out you’ve moved!
” she continued screaming. “Now that you’re all grown up, you think you could just cut your entire family off without saying a single word.
Your father and I worked so hard to raise you, and you repay us by abandoning us! ”
My throat dried up. I tried to swallow and couldn’t. I couldn’t bring my body to move or step away, as if my feet were forever welded in that spot. I wanted to say something to stop her from bringing our family drama into my professional life. However, the words withered at the back of my throat.
I was so exhausted of this.
My mom had done this before. When my brother was arrested for driving intoxicated with his children at the back of the car early last year, I refused to help pay the fine he’d been slammed with.
She came to the big chain pharmacy I previously worked at, caused a debacle, and embarrassed me in front of my colleagues and our patients.
I bent to her will then—and every other time she did that. But I wouldn’t this time.
I knew Neng was going through a rough patch in his life. He lost his previous job after serving minor jail time because of a DUI, and now he was working a minimum-wage job. He lost custody of his kids and hadn’t been able to see them since the incident. I knew it was killing him on the inside.
He loved his children. So, when his ex-wife fought tooth and nail during their nasty divorce, we were grateful he was granted shared custody. Regardless of that win, everything went down the drain due to alcohol.
I loved my brother. Despite everything, I would always care for him and my family.
I may choose to step away. I may choose to cut myself out of their lives.
But I would always support them through other means, even if it were only through the hard-earned money I made.
I still supported them, and I still cared greatly, enough to do so.
I knew in my heart I didn’t abandon them. I became what they saw me as—their money-making machine. Their bank account. Their source of financial comfort.
When push came to shove and the demands were too unreasonable, I would say no. I’d said it several times before already, and they refused to listen. So, I’d gladly say it again.
“Don’t you know that Neng misses his children?
Give him the ten thousand dollars he needs for a new lawyer for the custody battle.
You know your brother needs them in his life!
” shouted my mom. “Ten thousand isn’t even much!
It’s what you make in a month—so what difference does it make if you gave him your earnings this month or the next?
You’ll still be bringing home another ten thousand next month! ”
I parted my mouth to finally say something when she interrupted me with a sob.
“Thov koj hlub koj tus nus thiab niam laus nkawv nawb! Koj txiv wb yuav tsis nyob ib txhim. Hnub twg koj txiv wb tuag, yuav tsis muaj leej twg yuav hlub koj npaum li nkawv. Koj yuav tau siab zoo rau koj cov nus muag. Koj tsuas muaj nkawv xwb,” she said with big tears welling up in her eyes.
Please, love your brother and older sister. Your father and I will not be here forever. When your father and I die one day, there’s going to be no one else who will love you as much as them. You need to be kind to your siblings. You only have them.
She let out a soft cry as she continued to say more, pleading with me to hand over the money.
My chest hurt from how hard my heart was hammering against my chest. I wanted to walk out and lie down.
I’d heard the same thing again and again.
Her sobs and pleas were often manipulation tactics to get me to do everything she wanted.
She did this when I moved out, and she did it last year in front of my colleagues.
I wasn’t surprised she was doing it right now.
Her act wasn’t new. It was her usual dramatic performance, and I was tired.
I didn’t want to deal with this anymore.
A heavy sigh passed through my lips. Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me, one that loomed large and intimidating. Neng took an immediate step back despite standing behind our mom, as if Jonathan would lunge at him through the divider. His arrogance hardened into a bitter scowl.
My mom’s wet eyes turned up to my boyfriend as a searing flood of heat washed over me.
Her face pulled into this pitiful and anguished look, demanding attention and sympathy from him.
It was a show about how horrible a daughter and sister I was.
She wanted his pity, and that was the last straw for me.
The embarrassment I felt a second ago ignited directly into blazing anger.
“Niam. Yog koj yuav tuaj quaj li koj xwb ces mus tsev mam tham,” I managed to say in a composed voice.
Mom. If you’re going to come and cry like that, go home and we’ll talk.
No emotion filtered through despite the silent rage surging underneath my apathy. She and my brother looked at me with the same wide, furious eyes. Her lips pursed into a thin line.
“How do you expect me to find a time and place for this when I can’t even contact you?
” she screamed. “I call, and you won’t answer me.
I come to your apartment; you don’t even live there anymore.
Leej twg yog tus nhriav rau koj noj thiab nhriav tsev rau koj nyob es cia koj mus kawm ntawv tau kiag ua tus kws muab tshuaj? ”
Who was the one that fed you and kept a roof over your head so you could go to school and become a pharmacist?