Soon, I had the courage, courage to go in and see my Mum. My beautiful Mother, laying on a hospital bed, who with the help of Allah, fought a brain tumor, Alhamdulilah. I remember looking back at my Aunt as she smiled back at me. I guess she could tell I was really nervous but I had to do this no matter how hard it was. My Mum was in the last bed in the bedroom she shared with 3 other patients. As I open the door with my body slightly shaking with nervousness, I step into what was, a brand new world. It smelled of medication and sounds of coughs, crying, wheezing and all sorts of sounds of illness aroused. I saw my Dad in the far right noticing me beside the door telling my Mum that I had come. Beside her were two other friends of hers from school, who came to visit.
And from that very moment, as I walked through the curtains into my Mum’s area, I saw what was probably, the worst sight I had ever seen. The sight of ‘intensive care’. My Mum, my beautiful, young Queen. Laying there, face all swollen, big white bandage on her head. Pipes coming in and out of my Mum as the suctioning sounds were in the background alongside the beeping from the two tall soldier-like machines that stood on each side of my Mum’s bedside. After a long but yet short observation of the atmosphere I had entered, my eyes set focus onto my Mother. Whom at that moment, I didn’t recognize.
She was looking to her right and I was on her left. My Dad told my Mum, “look she’s here, which daughter is here?” And my Mum replied “Noorjahan” which is my birth name. My heart felt so warm at something I usually find so cringe. But because my Mum said it with such a beautiful huge smile; it was just so special. My Dad said that I should go to the other side of the bed because my Mum found it hard to turn her head and so I did. She tried talking to me. But all she could manage were a few murmuring noises. Baby sounds. Not even full words. She smiled. I smiled back. She was just looking at me and I didn’t know what to think let alone say. She was sweating and her eyes were big. Her eyes had that beautiful sparkle from before, she was still the same. She was still MY MUM. My amazing Mum. Her eyes had the look, the look of help. She was tired, so tired and it was ever so visible. I just couldn’t do it. My STRONG Mum weak? It can’t be true. But it was, and this was just the beginning.
I couldn’t do it. That perfect scene of walking in and smiling, was the last thing on my mind. Instead, I cried. I cried and I cried and I cried. All my emotions of sadness, anger and confusion just burst out. As I looked at my Mum, I looked at the brain tumor too. The affects. The causes. This wasn’t my Mum. “Its okay Milly, don’t cry. Just make Du’a to Allah and He’ll make your Mum better soon In shaa Allah.” Although it was true, I didn’t want to hear that from my Mum’s friend, I didn’t want to hear that from anyone. Because all it did was make me cry even more and angrier with the fact that my Mum wasn’t well nor looked it. I didn’t see how everyone could talk about my Mum getting better, for it seemed like a such long way away. I guess I was at a stage in life at that moment, in which I was just so low, thinking positive was not possible. For the phone calls to my Aunt while she was at work, was always tearful. As tears flow I look back at my Mum, and I remember blinking really fast a few times just to come to terms that this was real, it was no nightmare. I had such a tight feeling in my throat and chest as I tried to keep the tears in, to no avail. At that point, my Mum began to cry and it was the worst.
But no, I had to be strong. We had to be strong, for my Mum to be strong. My Aunt walks in a few moments later and being the bubbly self she is, brings some life to what was a miserable atmosphere. We stayed with my Mum for about 15 minutes more as it was getting late and the kids back at my Nans began to get frustrated as they wanted to go home after a long day.
The walk home from the hospital to my Nans which is about 10 minutes by foot, was a very long and emotional endless walk. I walked alongside one of the friends who was there at the hospital the same time I was, the same one who said everything would be okay. She grew up with my Mum and so together we reminisced my Mum’s legendary strength of walking from one market to another. My Mum’s braveness in achieving anything she desired, MashaAllah. She was telling me about her niece who went through similar as my Mum at a very young age and now is well, after months and months of being in recovery, can now live her life as normal with no thought to pass on what challenge she overcame. This friend of my Mum’s I guess was telling me, to show that my Mum would get better in due time. Its all about patience; Sabr. I guess going through the pictures of her niece gave me a sense of relaxation and better faith, to go on and live our lives and be strong and supportive towards my Mother. Which we did successfully with many ups and downs, for the next 2 months.