Mexican Warren
Today I want to share something I wrote on March 5th, the day Elizabeth Warren dropped out of the presidential race. The same day, the first coronavirus case appeared in Maryland. This story, that I wrote not even a month ago, is no longer relevant. But, I wrote it with all my heart, so I wanted to put it out there into the universe. It’s unbelievable how everything changes so quickly, so apologize for how outdated this piece feels.
Here I go:
Mexican Warren
By Ofelia Montelongo
I wanted my first vote in the United States to go to Elizabeth Warren.
I had cancer once. But I keep forgetting I did.
Why am I even thinking of cancer right now? Yesterday, I was listening to Senator Warren on a talk show saying that one out of ten people doesn’t approach her just for a fun selfie. Sometimes she would encounter a mother confessing that her little girl has cancer and she needs health care. Once in a while, a person would admit he or she is buried in student loans and can’t get out. Warren almost broke down when she said this. Then Jimmy Kimmel made a joke to keep things moving.
This broke me down because I envision myself as that little girl. And that’s when I remembered that when I was sixteen, I had cancer.
Fuck. I had CANCER!
My parents were public school teachers just like Elizabeth Warren, so we had access to ISSSTE, a hospital especially for government workers in Mexico. I went there to get a lump in my ear removed, but when it got examined they found out it was cancerous. I was sent to a private hospital to get radiation. However, the same doctor worked in both places, so we didn’t have to pay if I was coming from ISSSTE. There was an agreement that if there’s a procedure that ISSSTE doesn’t have, they could send me (or anyone) to a private hospital without paying extra. Well, it wasn’t like my parents didn’t pay anything. In every paycheck, they got to pay a fee for this service. And also I can’t say everything was 100% free, all the rides to the hospital weren’t. We were in between cars during those months so we had to ride public buses and take taxis or walk. The emotional turmoil wasn’t free either.
Someone always came with me to my radiation appointments, my mom, my dad or my older sister. There, dozens of children, men, and women passed by the waiting room with wrapped heads or other parts of their bodies. I barely can remember their faces, except for one. There was a baldheaded girl maybe around thirteen or fourteen years old that would come on a stretcher. She was always smiling. I remember looking down when she arrived for her appointment, but her smile made me look at her. She was so full of life. I have no idea what happened to that girl, but I wish that just like me, she has recovered and forgotten about her cancer.
I can’t even imagine what that mother who was at the Warren rally must be feeling. Not knowing how to cure her child. I never questioned money when that happened to me. Maybe because I was sixteen, but mainly because I knew we were covered, like many of us in Mexico. I don’t know what is the situation in Mexico now; I can’t speak for that. What I know is what had happened to me and what I’ve encountered here in the country.
I had no idea there was no health care for all in this country until I had been living here for a few years. I paid my insurance through the company I worked for, so I never really questioned what was out there. I was a privileged Mexican immigrant. I had no idea I was lucky, to begin with.
I can’t wrap up my head around how one of the most powerful nations in the world can have this lack of humanity; this lack of common sense. I don’t know how it let that happen for so long.
People might say, well, if you don’t like it here, go back to Mexico. But I’m an American as well and I’m not going anywhere. For so long I had been quiet, trying to blend in. “No te metas en problemas,” my family and my husband always tell me. But I’m tired. I’m so tired of ignoring and not getting into trouble.
I wanted to vote for Elizabeth Warren because she gave me hope; hope that this country could make sense to me; that it could find its humanity. I don’t know what I’m doing next, or whom I’m voting for. But I want my first vote ever in this country to go to someone that can bring back the common sense and humanity to the United States.
