Hospital scene

I saw mum, dressed in that pink hospital gown, sitting in bed smiling. She was surrounded by teddy bears, by pictures, paintings. It was a colourful and cheery decor.

"Not, it cannot be", I heard myself saying to myself... it cannot be.

The next moment, all these family members appeared and surrounded her bed.

"It cannot be..." I heard myself in my head.. "You died already..."

She approached, her arm thin and dry and with various tubes connected to it. I held her hands with mine. The touch of her hands were "This cannot be... you already left..."

But it felt so real, as if she died again and again and came back again and again before me.

Mother's Day

A day to remember mums all over the world. I woke up to various posts by friends expressing their love and gratitude to their mums on Facebook.

In my Memories, there were pictures from four years ago. Flowers for mum, picture of mum in her really beaten up state after a stint at the hospital. How frail she looked, how fragile. That would our last mother's Day together (even though I headed back to Canada for exams that same week, so we were not together. I made a conscious decision not to share those pictures.

As always, her birthday fell two days before Mother's Day (on 6 May). Before, this period , this week , would be such a painful and  difficult time.  This year, I went out on a long long walk, took the ferry to The islands and watched the sun go down on the city... It was beautiful, it was uplifting and a far cry from allowing myself to descend into the depths of depression and sadness.

For much of the past two weeks, a good friend was admitted to hospital (ER no less). I went to see her twice, despite her protests and urging me not to (hospitals are not nice places.. I fell ill and became so exhausted immediately after the first visit...) She's been experiencing  extremely low red blood cell counts, which the doctor treated with tranfusion after transfusion... The last time she was admitted, the doctor found something else and told her she needs immediate surgery. Scheduled for next week.

I went to pick her up and drop her home last Friday (mum's birthday, coincidentally). She told me the twelfth floor. When I got there, I realised it was the oncology ward. Then it struck me. A few moments later she revealed the surgery would be a hysterectomy.

She looked so frail and pale as I wheeled her out of her semi private room. Down was her burst of energy and her usually loud energetic  voice. How grateful she was to leave the hospital, even if she would have to return in around a weeks time for surgery. Poor her... Besides bringing her food and fruits, I wished I could do much more for her.