MAY 28 — Since I’m still in the dark about how much my next 13 Herceptin infusions will cost in total, I decided to withdraw some of my EPF money “just in case”.
It has reached a point I am too paiseh to solicit more donations when there are others earning less and suffering more than me, so why not try and use my own money, right?
No one told me it would be this challenging.
The good part: the Petaling Jaya EPF office is easy to get to, right across from the Taman Jaya LRT and it’s run very efficiently at first glance.
At the reception counter, you get asked why you’re there and then handed a number.
None of my multiple visits to sort out my withdrawal attempt took more than 15 minutes but here’s the bad part: I had to keep coming back.
Weirdly, EPF is behaving a lot like an insurance firm in how it keeps trying to get me to justify my large medical expenses and hinting that I should try and ask Socso instead for money.
Just so people don’t think I’m using my crowdfunding money to buy crypto, let me explain why I’m harassing EPF.
I have just enough after crowdfunding (after paying for four rounds of Perjeta, that cost RM21,200 in total) to cover 13 rounds of Herceptin but only if the price hasn’t gone up and, unfortunately, that is all my remaining donations will cover.
I have a month of radiation to do once I’ve healed from surgery and I’m waiting for tests to confirm that I have no more residual cancer.
If the surgery didn’t successfully excise all the cancer cells I might have to do more chemotherapy or perhaps endure more surgery.
Not to mention the cost of travelling to the hospital, occasional private GP visits in-between, and takeout (because cooking is difficult sometimes) so of course I get a bit anxious about money because my monthly budgeting prior to this did not factor in cancer treatment and recovery.
Yes, friends, being chronically ill is tiresome and tiresomely expensive.
I’m not destitute, just being pragmatic because as this cancer experience has proven, life can throw you one heck of a curveball at times.
Not so simple processes
My first visit to EPF, I didn’t bring a letter from my employer so I had to bring one the next time around but was then told my letter did not state explicitly that my employer was not covering my costs.
What I ended up doing was Googling “kwsp contoh surat pengesahan majikan tidak menanggung kos perubatan” and behold, someone else’s letter showed up, so I used it as a template.
Basically your letter has to state very plainly “we the employer of (so-and-so) are not covering the (specific medical procedure/expenses) of so-and-so.”
I felt I needed to be a bit more detailed so I added in the letter that I did not claim medical reimbursements from my employer nor from work insurance, and that I had stated upfront I was going to attempt to somehow find the money myself.
You’d think that would be the end of it.
Over many visits I had to keep explaining why I had switched from private to semi-government to public hospitals and why I kept hopping between so many institutions.
“Miss, could you get HKL to give you a medical report? Could you ask the Klinik Kesihatan to write a memo on your entire treatment progression?”
When I was asked that over the phone by the well-meaning EPF staffer, I was tired, my joints stiff and aching, my wound site itchy and a strange phantom pain in my under arm and my very annoying drain bag at my side.
I had to explain to the staffer that HKL could take up to three months (or more in some cases) to provide a report unlike private hospitals who usually take a few weeks, but warn you that it could take up to a month.
It was all very tiresome but imagining what it was like for other people, far sicker than me, with no one to help them with all the various forms or who needed to travel further to the nearest EPF branch, it must be so hard.
If you hop between various private and public hospitals, EPF will find it confusing and will attempt to get you to apply for a medical report from each institution again without considering that medical reports take so much time and cost.
If I had tried to apply for withdrawals or funding before starting cancer treatment, dear reader, I don’t know if I would be in treatment right now.
My cancer being aggressive meant that I had to start treatment soonest to not give the tumour time to grow larger or for my cancer to spread elsewhere.
Imagine — if I had tried to withdraw EPF money before starting treatment I might have Stage 3 or 4 cancer right now instead of currently recuperating from surgery.
Does EPF not know that late stage cancer is even more expensive and tedious to treat?
It would be darkly humorous if I wrote on my tombstone: “Here lies Erna Mahyuni who might not be here if EPF had processed my claims instead of letting my cancer spread to my bones.”
Reading about people who’d had their EPF medical withdrawals rejected for various reasons or who couldn’t get reimbursed by insurance because they’d been waiting over three months for their medical reports just makes me sad.
Speaking of sadness, I saw some pictures of me at a friend’s wedding dinner and seeing how much weight I’ve gained in the last six months got me a little depressed.
People often picture cancer patients as gaunt or skeletal.
As many breast cancer patients will tell you, the combo of steroids and being chronically ill means you pack on the pounds pretty quickly.
My whole body is now so stiff and achy that it feels as though I’m slowly turning into stone.
I made a brief visit to 1 Utama after yet another taxing visit to the EPF office to try and get them to let me withdraw my money and nearly passed out after walking for 10 minutes.
It’s all very depressing as the literature says I need to move as much as possible but right now what is possible isn’t very much.
Horor or medical comedy?
On Monday I finally had my drain tube taken out but, as always with me, it didn’t go quite as planned.
Seeing my nurse’s brow furrow as she began the process of taking my tube out I thought Uh-oh.
“It’s rather tight,” she said.
“I’m sorry but it’s going to hurt.”
All the times I was in terrible pain during this long cancer journey flashed in front of my eyes.
Since running away screaming was as usual not an option, I just told the nurse: “It’s OK.”
“When I tell you to take a breath, take a breath, OK?” The nurse said.
She would tell me to take a breath, then exhale and this went on for a bit as she began tugging on the rubber tube that was my drain.
Fortunately it wasn’t quite as painful as I had anticipated.
“Is it out?”
My nurse again was frowning.
“Yes, but… there’s a lot coming out.”
She hurriedly called over another nurse and they both exclaimed about how much extra fluid was apparently coming out of my body from the drain tube opening.
The other nurse asked if it hurt and I shook my head, more dazed than anything.
Thanks to this new exciting event I have to go back to the hospital in a few days just to make sure I’m not going to continue to be a geyser of bodily fluid.
I’m not thrilled about my cancer journey feeling like the medical version of The Office; hardly anything about it is mundane or routine, instead I feel like an unwilling actor in a TV show written by a sadist.
Whenever some new fork in the road appears I just think to myself: “At least I’ll have something to write about.”
Tune in next week to find out if EPF will let me have my money or I finally have a long overdue mental breakdown just because I can.
Source: 
Cancer Diaries: When having cancer is still not enough for EPF to approve my claims
