The dank smell of antiseptic hung heavily in the stale air of the hospital. All around me, everything was pristine. I forced by bleary eyes to open themselves. My baby brother, David, was teetering and tottering groggily at the edge of his seat, no doubt feeling disorientated. He had no idea what had just happened. Avoiding an irate nurse pushing a trolley, I glanced at the clock for what must have been the umpteenth time: 3.45 am.
At midnight, Mum had started groaning about a racking headache. I had been rushing through a Geography assignment, as she ransacked the shelf for a painkiller to put her out of her misery. Without warning, she had collapsed helter-skelter onto the floor, wincing in pain. By the time I had phoned for an ambulance, she was semi-conscious and muttering to herself. And when the ambulance arrived in a whirl of flashing lights a few minutes later, she was already out cold.
Feeling jaded, I plunked myself down onto a metallic grey seat. David had nodded himself off to sleep a few minutes ago. Standing outside, I could not fathom what was going on behind the closed doors of Room 8. 8. An auspicious number. I only hoped that Mum would be all right. Scenes of hapless patients who passed on flashed through my mind. (In retrospect, it was probably from the countless Korean dramas I had watched.)
It was at this moment of despondency that the doors swung open with a click. There seemed to be a sense of foreboding in the air as an austere doctor strode out. I waited with bated breath, heart palpitating against my ribs. In my trepidation, I had lapsed into a semi-lucid state. My surroundings became indecipherable: formless objects, a gentle whirl in the background…
“Excuse me?” a nasal voice jolted me out of my reverie. It was the doctor. “Your mum’s okay but she will have to spend a month here.” The butterflies in my stomach evaporated and I heaved a relieved sigh. Euphorically, I picked up the languorous David and hailed a cab home.
It was upon entering the house that the present problem hit me like a sledgehammer. How was I going to take care of my baby brother? Mum was the sole breadwinner of our family. What if the house was plundered and purloined when I was away? I realised that I would have to call in my wizened old grandma. Nevertheless, I comforted myself by the fact that Mum would be as fit as a fiddle in a month’s time.
Despite the presence of my grandma, the life I led for that month was never the same. With Mum out of the picture and my grandma virtually powerless, I started reveling in my freedom. When Grandma went to bed at nine, I snuck out surreptitiously to watch the TV. I started hanging out with my friends till near midnight. It was a utopian fantasy for a teenage like me, whose freedom had been constricted for far too long. It was not until I flunked a test (for the first time ever) that I realised I had misused my freedom. It was an epiphany. I knew I was making a huge mistake, but somehow, I could not control the urge to slip out of bed every night. My personal attempts to instill a better sense of discipline proved fruitless.
That month proved to be the most tumultuous in my life. The hitherto obedient boy had morphed into a brazen punk. Part of me was exultant that Mum was not here to spoil my fun, yet the other half wished that she was here to exert a control over my life, which was rapidly spiraling out of control.
Before long, I had become more audacious, and started slipping out of the house to meet up with a few wayward friends. As such, it had become ubiquitous for me to return home late into the night. Tonight was no different. I stepped into the yawning darkness of the house, ignoring my gut feel that something was amiss. As I flipped the light switch on, I noticed a woman sitting on the sofa. I instinctively leapt backwards and muffled a scream. Goosebumps erupted all over me. It was Mum! Swallowing my fear, I said in what I thought was a jaunty, winning voice, “Hi Mum!”
In a flash, she was beside me, breathing fire and brimstone and with a look of unadulterated rage peppered across her face. Without waiting for me to explain myself, she berated me and gave me a tongue lashing I would never forget. Despite this, I was elated that my mother had returned back into my life. I did not bother to ask who informed her of my deteriorating behavior. I perhaps never will. After all, I had realised the pivotal role my mother played in my life.
Needless to say, my relationship with her strengthened by leaps and bounds after this eventful month. Although the life I led without her strict dictatorship was undeniably more exciting, I was still thankful that she returned just in time before my behavior went into free fall. Upon hindsight, I wondered if her falling ill was actually a blessing in disguise. It made me realise how much I needed her care and concern. I made a silent resolution never to bemoan about her incessant naggings again.
