Gabriela came by today and gave me the chance to go to the Apteka to refill Joan’s medications for the next three months. The total cost came to 186 PLN, about $50. It’s a striking reminder of how much Poland’s National Health Care system supports its senior citizens. For all the frustrations we might sometimes feel with bureaucracy, there’s a quiet dignity in a system that ensures the basics are affordable, even as we grow older and more vulnerable.
The last two days have been gray, cloudy skies, steady rain, and that persistent chill that seeps into your bones if you're out too long. Not the kind of weather you want to bring someone fragile outside in, especially someone like Joan. So we’ve stayed in. Maybe I’m overprotective of her health sometimes, maybe even a bit controlling. But at this stage, caution feels less like fear and more like love in its most practical form. It’s a necessary restraint, a small sacrifice for her well-being.
I’m incredibly grateful for Gabriela. Her twice-weekly visits are more than just a break for me, they’re a breath of fresh air for both of us. Those three hours give me time to step away, catch my breath, and reconnect with myself. But more importantly, they give Joan companionship, someone else to talk to, laugh with, and share stories with. A woman’s voice, a different energy. That balance matters. Gabriela and Joan get along wonderfully, and Gabriela almost always stays longer than she needs to. I get the sense that being with us offers her something unexpected, perhaps a glimpse into a life lived with depth and color, the kind of stories that don’t come from textbooks or training, but from time, love, and shared experience.
It’s not always easy, but there are these small moments—these pieces of connection and care—that stitch the days together with quiet meaning.
