My brother took my mother to the countryside for August – “let her have a break from the apartment building.” On Thursday, my mother called from a neighbor’s phone: she had run out of blood pressure medication, and “Wojtek couldn’t be bothered because he was angry.” I dropped the medication off on Friday. My mother was waiting at the gate with a bag.

“Mom, tell Wojtek to go to the pharmacy. Or have him call your doctor in Łódź, they’ll issue an e-prescription, and you can buy it anywhere.”

 

 

Silence. Then Mom said quietly:

 

– There’s no way to ask Wojtek. Because he’s angry.

 

“What do you mean, angry? Angry about what?”

 

“Lucynka, just bring me those meds. I still have some for my blood pressure, enough for two days. But bring them.”

 

I didn’t ask any more questions because I knew that tone. Mom used to say that when she didn’t want to explain, when she preferred to swallow a problem rather than name it.

 

 

I went to her apartment on Retkinia Street to get some spares. In the nightstand drawer were two blisters of amlodipine and a pack of perindopril. Next to them were prescriptions, carefully folded, with dates written in marker. My mother was organized – she always had a two-month supply. If the medication ran out after three weeks, it meant she only brought enough for two.