Except for the one time when I was 2 years old suffering from dengue fever, I have never stayed overnight at a hospital.
I hate the smell of antiseptic in hospitals. Everything about the place scares me.
So when I was admitted to the emergency for the first time, I was terrified. I cried my eyes out when the nurse tried to put on the IV on my hand, I shook in fear as they took my blood and all that while trying to catch my breath.
I was on drips and still couldn’t manage to eat. Everything was fuzzy and I remember only blurred memories of my stay there. I remember that the doctor did an xray on me, and I was scared that he would find the tumour.
He found it and was concerned. My dad told him of my history and the doctor suggested that I should return to Penang and get this sorted out as soon as possible.
Weak but stubborn I was. I still refused to go back and get treatments. How I wish I did right now.
My stomach had bled because of the drugs I consumed. It was unclear whether it was caused by the herbal medicines or the painkillers but they probably contributed to the damage. Luckily my stomach was healed though it took a while.
I was at the hospital for a week. I remember only being weak, being on drips 24/7, dark room, people visiting me, my mum and dad being worried.
When I was finally released, I was sure that I would recover. I still hadn’t decided what I would do with my tumour, part of me wished it would suddenly disappear and I’d be one of those people who’d say “a miracle happened to me!”.
As I went home, my parents noticed something about me but kept it quiet to themselves as not to worry me further. They noticed that my skin had turned to a shade of yellow, it meant that there was something wrong with my liver. I didn’t realise it myself until later on.
This “yellowness”, as it turned out, was the beginning of something big.