Last Friday, I remember crying at two in the morning as I texted my boy how painful my chest was whenever I breathed in. The pain was unbearable that I couldn’t even walk around the house the whole day without feeling giddy. It felt like there was a heavy weight pressing on my chest. Screaming in silence, what crossed my mind the most was death. I tried to gather my wits and do what I know is best for my body, but I couldn’t work it through. I popped pills of painkillers; nothing helped. There was a desperate urge to wake my parents up but I didn’t want them to wake up with a shock. So I waited for hours in major pain and tears till I was being sent to the National University Hospital in an ambulance.
Life is so unpredictable, isn’t it? The days before I was having so much fun and the next thing I know, BAM! I'm in the hospital! I wasn’t surprised though; it was a bit of déjà vu for me. Thoughts of what I would be doing if I wasn’t in hospital plagued me, the work that had to be done, interview that now had to be postponed, dates with friends and events I couldn’t attend etc. It was pure frustration. I longed to eat my mom’s cooking, be in my own bed, cocooned in the comforting silence of my own flat instead of saturated with the sounds of despair. I felt hard done by.
I was told that I had low blood pressure and a breathing condition called Bronchopneumonia.Fear was eating my soul alive. I don’t like injections and having phobia of blood did not seem to help at all. There were death cases of pneumonia; I was even more afraid that I was the next to die. Tears streamed down my face- so did my mother- when I had to be admitted to Intensive Care Unit (ICU) on my second day after several scans and x-rays showed that my heart was also affected by the infection of my lungs. Doctors made me starved for two days; I couldn’t even quench my thirst with plain water. I only had to rely on the antibiotics and fluids that were injected into my veins. Pills after pills. Drips after drips. Blood tests again and again.
Trying to hold onto a little optimism, I slipped my hand under my head pillow to take the little book of invocations that my best guyfriend has passed to me during his visit. Remembrance of God; that's what he always remind me. There’s something about his presence that never failed to lift the atmosphere of the room. Nights after nights, he sat next to my hospital bed sharing about Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) like bed time stories. We joked crazily at wee hours teasing each other about the lamest things, ever. I always thought that he’s a gift that God has given to me but I know it is only temporary. Things will never be the same anymore in a few more months. So times like these… will always be treasured.
After 4 nights, I was discharged. Alhamdullilah. So far I've been pretty stable and breathing well. I’m under medication for the next two months which means my plans for June have officially been destroyed because the doctor said I can’t do activities that will raise my heart rate. But that’s okay, God has better plans for me, I suppose? Thank you my fellow relatives, friends, followers, readers, for all of your well wishes and prayers for my health! I love you guys, please take care xx
♡ ♡ ♡
Nadiah Latiff
P.S: Yay for my 100th post!
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