A different type of love


         I’ve been away from blogging for over two weeks. However I have a very valid explanation. My mum’s been in hospital for 23 days. She was suppose to have had a simple gallbladder removal operation and was discharged on the day of the operation which left 3 small incision scars on the abdomen. However things went a big wrong, the day after the operation she was left with severe pains and couldn’t keep anything down. So we took her to the emergency centre at the nearest hospital which is 25 minutes away. She was told she’s have to operated again that same day, she had the operation at 1:30am. This time they had to cut her from the bottom of her chest to the top of her belly button. They suspected she had a bile leak from the gallbladder removal. A week later, she had an internal infection from the second operation and the doctors didn’t anticipate in telling her she’d have to have a third operation. She resisted and the doctors said they’d try intravenous feeding to get her energy levels back up as she couldn’t be mouth fed because her bowels weren’t working, again the results of the second operation. Long story short, she’s being discharged from the hospital today and she didn’t have the third operation because somehow her bowels started working again. 

            As with all of life’s experiences, I learnt something from this. I learnt how to cope without a mum being there 24/7. Seeing her the day after the second operation was heart breaking. She was still sedated and the doctors told us to be there when she came out of the sedation because she needs to be around recognisable and familiar faces. It was shocking. I had never seen somebody come out from a sedation before. As she started blinking and opening her eyes, the tears started falling down my face. She wasn’t the mum I know and love. She didn’t look as if she recognised us. She seemed confused and distressed. She fought to breathe from the breathing tube in her mouth. I didn’t know what was going through her head and that scared me. I knew she’d be fine but I just wanted her to feel like herself again. I wish I never have to see like this ever again. My brother and my dad have never seen me cry before. I never cry. But at that moment, nothing else mattered but the unconditional love I have for my mother. She is the one I confide in and have known all of my life. Thoughts of me having to live without her flowed in my head at that moment, and the tears became unstoppable. I never want to lose her. She is my protection, my life and my guide. I am not the emotional type in front of others but I know who I truly am, and only I can understand my feelings and my thoughts. I hope none of you out there have experienced seeing a loved one coming out of sedation, it’s unreassuringly scary. But life is a stepping stone and we are learning everyday, and I am grateful for my amazing mum.




Reconnecting with the past.

             Recently I've just stumbled upon one of my oldest friends from primary school, through the help of the biggest social networking site, 'Facebook'. I had been trying to find this person for years now. The last time we saw each other was eight years ago, I was eight and so was she, now were both 17. We were best friends. However everything changed when I moved to England eight years ago. Our last goodbye was in the school playground, where we took our last picture together, there was me, her and her twin sister. That picture remains with me until this day, downstairs in the living room nailed to the wall, that's it's permanent home. 
              I was on one of my brother's old friends' Facebook when I came across a familiar name. Her last name was vague to me but her first name was glued in my memory. Nonetheless the minute I saw her name it became unambiguous that this was the person that I've been trying to find for eight years. I added her and the day after she accepted. I openly stalked through all her pictures and saw how she'd changed. Not much of a difference though, she still has the same frame I remember her having. Her hair had changed through. She came online, and we spoke. It felt like we had never separated. Almost like we knew each other the same way we knew each other eight years ago. It was strange but comforting. 
              A sense of bliss and relieve came over me. It was reassuring to know that I now have somebody in my world that I've known since I was in kindergarten and grew up with. Why?... because the friends I have now I find difficult to connect with, difficult to talk to at times and difficult to confide in. Not that I had instantaneously found that in her. But I was reassured that a part of my childhood remains whole and solid. I hope we can see each other again in person some time. I'd love that.