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| I was 9 the summer that my mother had to be taken to hospital. She hadn’t been feeling well pretty much since the end of the school year, but she refused to go to the doctor, saying that all she needed was a bit of rest, and that she’ll be better after our holidays. She was wrong.
The doctors didn’t know how long they’d have to keep her there. It all depended on how well she recovered from the surgery, they said. That didn’t seem to worry my mum as much as about who would be looking after me while she was gone. My dad had just begun an important project at work and wasn’t able to take any days off, My mother’s parents were abroad, visiting my uncle, and they wouldn’t be back for another week or so. (Later I learned that my dad didn’t even give them the news. The doctors had assured him it was a routine procedure, and that she’d be fine, and my dad didn’t want to worry his in-laws unnecessarily during their time with their son). Sending me to a summer camp was out of the question. It’d … |
Source: Beer Philosopher
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