They always say start at the beginning, so I suppose I should.
My only issue is knowing where it all began. My alcoholic father? My self-loathing, self-deprecating mother? The first man who took advantage of me? The person in the mirror who became the Hunter?
This isn’t intended to be bitter- even though there may be spots- it’s intended to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. I think it really started when I looked down to see you walk up from the dark of the basement steps.
This is part fiction, part embellishment, mostly truth, as is every memory.
It all started that day.
It’s a sad day in Trinidad and Tobago when you wake up to buy the newspaper and the headline for a philandering man is bigger than the one about yet another mother dying after a cesarean section, a major but common surgery. In the past two weeks, there have been three birth-related deaths. Being the richest island in the Caribbean, you would think that their fetal death rate would be the lowest, instead of the highest.
Paying $1.3M to a panel of people to examine what were found to be accurate autopsy findings instead of helping the mother whose child was butchered at Mt. Hope is ludicrous. More than a year later, and still nothing. Yet, a retired judge whose husband dies from prostate surgery is awarded $18M quite quickly.
Paying $100M to build and reconstruct religious buildings instead of reform the healthcare system is asinine.
People of this nation need call the government to do something.
Unfortunately, many don’t bother themselves unless it affects them directly, which is sad in itself. People are quick to protest WASA (Water and Sewage Authority) after not having water for two days, yet aren’t enraged while women and babies are dying at a rate that should put any medical system to shame.