Shall We Lose You?

There’s that one person that you’re willing to lay down your life. This, I realized as slept eludes me last night and today. That person can make you let go of your dreams, abandon your quest and just be with them wherever they are. And I do have that person in my life.

I have just come home and was about to eat late dinner when my phone beeped, alerting me to a message. At a glance, the message was from my Mom. I stopped eating and read her message. And read again..and again, and again and again. And before I knew it, pain was blossoming inside my chest. There’s one thing I’m always afraid of – anything that concerns my younger sister.

We were born quarter of a decade apart. We had very different childhood and was raised differently. Me, under my grandparent’s watchful and disciplinarian ways, she in my parent’s somewhat lenient complicated way of child rearing. But, that never stopped us from being close, in our own way.

We almost lost her to dengue hemorrhagic fever seven years ago. My most vivid memory of that time was watching her from the viewing area of the hospital’s Intensive Care Unit, all those tubes, needles and hoses clamped, pricked and taped to her lithe frame. That was the most helpless moment of my life. When the doctors told us we can do nothing but pray and asked for a miracle, I hold on to my faith that everything will be fine. I saw her fingers turned from pinkish white to purplish blue, her chest heaving with every single breathe that she struggled to take. She was like that for a week. Seven days of pain, uncertainty and fear. And I swore, I don’t wanna go through that kind of hell again.

And now, this again. Mom’s message was like a nightmare slowly turning into reality. My little sister’s unable to wake up for the last forty eight hours, her platelets count is down, her white blood cells is down and fever’s running high. Last night, she was hooked up to a machine to kept her breathing, and potassium is injected to her veins.

And the most painful thing now – not being there by her side. Not knowing if we still have another shot of seeing each other. Not being there to tell Mom and Dad that everything’s gonna be alright, that everything will work out fine. And all I can do is pray for another miracle. 

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