At the ward

I heard a child cry, and did not think too much of it. A few moments later, I saw my sister-in-law walk out of the oncology ward, and saw that her eyes were moist and red.

I suspected as much, but did not ask. Instead, I gave her a weak smile in an attempt to tell her that it is alright. Brother walked out soon after and stood next to her. "There was a little child," he said, "He was crying because the nurse put a needle in him. She saw that, and started crying..."

Perhaps it was the first time my sister-in-law saw anything like it. Whether it is the first time, the second time, or the last time, it always moves you, always affects you. Even to this day, every time I walk into the oncology ward, a heavy mood sets in. A mood that easily trickles tears to flow, at times unexpectedly and out of control. The suffering of another fellow human being, the pain and fear in their eyes is at times too much to bear.

Mum sat in her chair. Toxic chemical began dripping into her shoulder, into her veins. I don't know how many times she has been her for I have lost count. Perhaps she does know, for every time is an ordeal, a struggle and a test of the mind and body. "Come back in three hours or so. Please, go and don't stay here. The air is stale and polluted here," she said to all of us, as she always does.

I looked around, at the nurses, at the patients patiently waiting for their turn. I looked around, and saw the patiently waiting relatives, the foreign care workers, the children, saw the sons and daughters, saw the mother and fathers of cancer patients who are about to undergo a testing ordeal. Their faces barely masking their  sadness and desperation. "I'll be back later," I said to mum, as I patted her on the shoulder. As I patted her on the shoulder, I wondered how many more times I can be here to pat her shoulder, to silently transmit my well-wishes and care from my open palm into her body.