I am not frightened. No, not me. I’m terrifi ed! I hate the
smell of hospitals – that mixture of disinfectant and human
waste and stale bodies – and fear. And I don’t know what
I’ll fi nd when I see her. My mother, I mean. Luckily, Auntie
Swee Eng is with me. There’s something comforting about
her. She makes me feel safe, even when these terrible things
are happening. Of course, she’s old – but somehow that
doesn’t matter. I know that she’ll help me to face whatever it
is that waits for me behind that white door.
The nurse in her smart white uniform calls us over and
pushes open the door to the private room. Auntie Swee Eng
gives me her warm hand and together, hand in hand, we go
into the room. Suddenly I think how strange it is – I’m only
sixteen but I tower over the tiny fi gure of Auntie Swee Eng,
who must be at least fi fty years older than me. But, tall as
I am, I’m still terrifi ed. Thank goodness she’s with me. She
may be old and small, but she seems so strong. She’s tough
all right!
After the bright lights of the corridor outside, we
fi nd ourselves in the darkness of the room. It takes a few
moments before I can see anything. Then, gradually, my
eyes get used to the darkness, and objects start to come into
focus – the bed and the bedside table with a glass on it; the
plastic curtains open by the bed; the dark shape lying under
the sheets with tubes coming out of its nose and arms,
connected to the frame with a bottle hanging from it
I am not frightened. No, not me. I’m terrifi ed! I hate thesmell of hospitals – that mixture of disinfectant and humanwaste and stale bodies – and fear. And I don’t know whatI’ll fi nd when I see her. My mother, I mean. Luckily, AuntieSwee Eng is with me. There’s something comforting abouther. She makes me feel safe, even when these terrible thingsare happening. Of course, she’s old – but somehow thatdoesn’t matter. I know that she’ll help me to face whatever itis that waits for me behind that white door.The nurse in her smart white uniform calls us over andpushes open the door to the private room. Auntie Swee Enggives me her warm hand and together, hand in hand, we gointo the room. Suddenly I think how strange it is – I’m onlysixteen but I tower over the tiny fi gure of Auntie Swee Eng,who must be at least fi fty years older than me. But, tall asI am, I’m still terrifi ed. Thank goodness she’s with me. Shemay be old and small, but she seems so strong. She’s toughall right!After the bright lights of the corridor outside, wefi nd ourselves in the darkness of the room. It takes a fewmoments before I can see anything. Then, gradually, myeyes get used to the darkness, and objects start to come intofocus – the bed and the bedside table with a glass on it; theplastic curtains open by the bed; the dark shape lying underthe sheets with tubes coming out of its nose and arms,connected to the frame with a bottle hanging from it
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