"Jane!!!" I heard my mom's voice as she weakly called out to me.
I was an only child, and I had to take care of her and make sure she got all that she needed. It was a tough time for us, and my dad spent a lot to see that she got better. Little did we know that we were treating the wrong illness.
"Yes, Mom." I answered and came to her side.
She reached out her arm to me, and I helped her to her feet. Honestly, seeing my mom that way was kind of scary; I earnestly prayed that I wouldn't lose her.
I helped her to the restroom, and she emptied her bowels, then we came back to the couch, where she now preferred to lie on. It was then that I noticed the tears in her eyes, though she made a futile attempt to hide them from me.
"Mom, why are you crying?" I asked her and began crying too. I was only twelve, and I couldn't relate to the kind of pain she must've been feeling at that time.
"I'm fine, don't worry." She replied to me and patted my back, but I heard her sniffle.
I knelt down beside the couch, and I held her hands. I looked at my mom; her lips were chapped and her hair was disheveled. She looked unlike herself, and I felt bad seeing her that way.
"Mom, you'll be fine. Nothing's going to happen to you." I tried to assure her, but she only gave me a weak smile.
That night, when my dad returned from work, he noticed that my mom wasn't getting any better, so he decided to take her to the hospital, but my mom argued against the idea of a hospital.
"What will I be doing at a hospital that hasn't been done here already?" She asked.
"Honey, the hospital operates differently. They'll run some tests, and we can know what exactly is wrong with you. I can't continue this self-medical administration that we've been doing; it's clearly not working. Your face is losing its color with every passing day; your lips are unrecognizable. We need a hospital." In the end, my dad won the argument, and the next morning, he took my mom to the hospital.
After a series of tests, it was confirmed that my mom had a fibroid growing inside of her. I went with my dad to speak with the doctor, and I watched them. Though I couldn't understand a single word that they spoke, I knew from the look on my dad's face that all was not well.
My dad kept his head down for some time, and when he looked up, I noticed the change in the eye color. It dawned on me that my dad had been crying right in front of me, and this made me cry uncontrollably.
"Dad, is Mom dying?" I shook him, but he held me close and tried to keep me calm.
The nurses had to come and get me out of the doctor's office. It was later that I learned that the doctor had advised that a surgery be carried out, but he had also warned that my mom might not be able to have any more babies in the future. He asked my dad to seek my mom's consent, but seeing how weak his wife was, my dad gave the approval for the surgery and pleaded that my mom makes it out alive.
The surgery lasted for over five hours, and when they were done and the doctor finally stepped out of the theater, my dad rushed to him and held him.
"How's my wife?" He asked.
"The surgery went well, and your wife is fine. It's a good thing that we did that surgery; we would have lost her, but trust me, your wife is a strong woman. She fought well." The doctor said and patted my dad's shoulder.
Two weeks later, my mom recovered fully and was discharged from the hospital. She was always unhappy, and her constant mood swings didn't help at all. I was soon to learn that being told that she couldn't have any more children had really messed up her mind, so I couldn't blame her for her irrational behaviors.
My dad, on his end, would try to cheer her up, and he would always fail, so he called her mother and asked for her assistance. Two days after that, my grandma was at our house.
"Joyce, what's with the recent attitude that you've been giving your husband and child?" Grandma confronted my mom.
"I do not wish to banter words with anyone right now." My mom responded.
"I know how you feel, but you don't have to take it out on them. They've been with you through it all. What makes you think that you can't have a baby anymore? Aren't you supposed to be happy that you at least had one child before all of this came to light?" My grandma tried to console my mom.
"The doctor said it. He said, I won't have any more children." My mom sobbed.
"Doctors can be wrong, my dear. All you need is faith, and you never can tell; a miracle might happen." My grandma said to her.
I felt bad to know that I was going to be an only child when all I've ever wanted was to play with my siblings.
Moving on, three years later, my mom's belly began to grow, and we got scared. She went back to the hospital and was told that she was pregnant. My mom couldn't believe her ears.
"This must be a miracle." The doctor said to her.
My dad was still in doubt; he took her to other hospitals, and they confirmed that she was truly pregnant. To cut the story short, my mom gave birth to a boy and two more girls after that.
A woman once said to be barren, finally had four kids of her own. Since then, my dad has always been a happy man.
It was on this note that I decided to believe that whatever I had to go through was only a phase that would pass. Whenever I looked at my siblings, I'd nod my head and acknowledge the fact that faith can really move mountains.
Thanks for reading
