Roomie: What are you doing down there?Me: PrayingRoomie: Oh, makes sense cause you look like you are dying. You should go to the doctor. I'm tired of listening to you cough all the time.Me: Doctors cost money. My health insurance kicks in next month. This will pass. (wheezing heavily at this point)Roomie: Look at you. I am not going to explain to the Minister (my mother) how I watched you die in our bathroom. If you don't go, I'm calling the Minister.( Calling each other's parents was a cover your ass last resort. To my caucasian friends I will explain that the most dangerous thing to do in the world is explain to a black mother how preventable harm came to their child in your presence!!! Trust me you don't want to go there!)Me: You wouldn't dare!!Roomie: I'm dialling now!!Me: Tattle-Tale!!
So she did call. And the Minister ripped me a new over the phone then ponied up the money for me to go to a doctor the next morning. Turns out I had pneumonia and my lungs were very inflamed. The doctor debated on whether or not to hospitalize me for a few days. Of course I did some quick talking to avoid that because "hospitals cost money!" When I look back it seems so stupid. I knew my mother would give me the money if I asked but I didn't want to ask. Sadly this was not my first or last stupid decision motivated by money or more specifically my lack of it.