I loathe hospitals. They are always so sad and so...lonely. They radiate a vibe of hopelessness. People go to hospitals to get better because in some ways they are ill. Hopeful that they will get better. Its ironic then that I always feel hopeless whenever I ended up in a hospital- just visiting or admitted.
My uncle was involved in a hit and run today. A motorcyclist hit him as he was crossing the street to buy savouries from the night market. There were witnesses. They say that the motorcyclist was thrown off his bike but quickly get up and sped off as my uncle laid on the street, bleeding. No one could identify the motorcyclist. It happened too quickly. Plus, anyone who had ever watched and episode of CSI knows that witnesses are unreliable.
I was talking shit in school when my father called me telling me to come home so that we can go to the hospital. "It doesn't look good" he said. When I got to the hospital, some of my relatives were already there. Quite. Speaking in whispers. Holding up the walls. Its...wrong. Eid is on this coming Saturday. We fasted a month, we were supposed to celebrate. Not holding up in anxiety of what is looming.
I watched as his wife, my aunt, sat quietly. A far away look in her eyes. I watched as the youngest daughter sat by her mother, holding her hand with tears running down her face. I watched as the adult son thanking people for coming on such a short notice, trying to put on a brave face but failing. I watched as every one's face tells what they know is coming but no one is saying out loud.
I know that my face mirror theirs.
My uncle is 61 years old. He is in a coma now. Saturday is Eid. A day for family and festivities. Accidents are never good but it is especially bad when it happen round this time of year.
I do not know my uncle. I do not know his family. We are not close. Even so, blood bonds us all together and when tragedy strikes, blood comes together. I look at my father and I think what if the situation reverse itself? What if it is my father who was there? Who is in a coma, of whom the doctor described as "a 20/30% chance for survival?" How will I cope? Will I take quietly the way my aunt and her daughter are taking it? Or will I be dignified the way the son is?...Or will I lose it all together?
Questions of which I never want to know the answers.
My mom says that things like these are not good but they are nonetheless, the reality of life. Everything must come to and end. Facing it helps builds strength and character, she says.
It builds strength.
It builds character.
But it does not make it any easier.
My uncle has woken up from the coma.
There is hope yet.
He will need to be hospitalized for a while but there aren't internal bleeding like what the doctors suspected at first so its all good now. Thank god.