Chapter 7

The next day, I applied for a no-pay leave and went to visit my mother in the late morning. According to the nurses there, the official visiting hours are “12 p.m. to 2 p.m.” and “5 p.m. to 8 p.m.”, but they would usually be more flexible.

My mother was sleeping when I reached the hospital. I went to the food court for a quick meal and went back to the fifth level at about noon. When I was outside her ward, I peeked in through the glass opening. There was no one on her bed. I reached for the door knob and, then, saw her struggling out of the toilet as if she was drunk. I wanted to open the door immediately and reach for her, but somehow, I stopped in my tracks and did nothing.

As she walked, she pushed along the IV Pole that was attached to her. When she finally reached her bed, she positioned the IV Pole beside her and lay down.

I pushed opened the door. She coughed and, then, I heard sounds of her groping her throat. She searched for something beside her, as if she was going to vomit. A few seconds later, she dropped her head on the pillow and half-closed her eyes.

She did not even know that I had just entered the room.

Her face was snow-pale. She looked like she had not drunk any water for the past few days. Her eyes stayed half-closed, as if opening them would suck up all her energy.

“Ah girl?”

I fingered my hair behind and turned. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

She opened her eyes completely upon seeing me. “Good! Great. I can play a full basketball game. You don’t need to work today?”

“No.” I said. “You want water?”

“No.” She started to lift herself up. I reached for her shoulders and cushioned a pillow on her back. “Thank you, ah girl.”

I merely smiled.

“Have you eaten?” she said.

“Yes.” There was a piece of black and white drawing on the table beside her bed. There were six stickmen, all of them carrying some sort of weapons like guns and swords. They were attacking a small ball which had eyes and a mouth.

“What’s that?” I said and pointed to the drawing. I was trying to find a topic.

“I drew that. Yesterday, some idiot came to talk to me. She asked me a lot of questions and, then, told me a lot of stupid things. Then, she told me to think positively, that I’ve got over millions of normal cells in my body fighting only some cancer cells. Then, she asked me to draw this picture, and said that whenever I feel like I am losing this battle against my cancer, I just have to look at this drawing.”

I diverted my attention to the drawing. The stickmen looked cute.

“These,” she pointed to the stickmen, “…are my normal cells. These,” she pointed to the weapons that the stickmen were carrying, “…are the medicines that fight cancer. And, this…” she pointed to the ball with eyes and mouth, “…is the cancer cell. Idiotic, isn’t it? Do I look like a kindergarten student? I can’t believe that we pay money to these idiots.”

I laughed at her remark about her looking like a kindergarten student.

“She said it’s a popular form of positive thinking that will help me fight my cancer cells. It’s called ‘imaging’. Isn’t there normal people in this hospital? Everyone here is an idiot.”

I touched the drawing. The idea sounded good. It seemed to induce some kind of positive thinking. I smiled a little. “It’s cute. Maybe, I can draw something better for you.” I said and, then, looked up at her.
She was beaming so widely that her lips might crack. A robust pinkness suddenly coloured her cheeks. “Really?”

“No.” I muttered. “No, I don’t think I’ll be free. I’m busy.”

“It’s okay. Work comes first.”

There was another awkward silence.

I avoided her glare by looking at the drawing. Two of the stickmen were carrying swords. The other four stickmen were pointing their guns at the ball. The ball was frowning, whereas the stickmen were smiling.

I looked up at my mother. She was sitting on the bed with her back on the wall and her eyes were closed. Her face had paled up again and she was breathing deeply.

I shook her a little. She jerked up, blinked a few times and snatched her head.

“Go to sleep.” I said.

“I’m not sleepy. I can still play badminton.”

I took the pillow away from her back and gently pushed her head down to the bed. “Go to sleep.”

“I am not tired. I can even play soccer-”

“I’ve got to go.” I said, knowing that this was the only way to persuade her to sleep.

When she laid down, I stood up and walked off. Before I opened the door of the ward, I turned my head and looked at her. She was already snoring.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When I reached home, I fished out my drawing pad and straightened it on my drawing table. Then, I selected a few drawing pens and began my drawing.

Firstly, I sketched out Superman. Then, I outlined Batman beside him. Next, I drew Spiderman swinging his web in the air. I drew Spiderman three times, as I had forgotten how his uniform looked like. Then, I went to the internet to search for pictures of Wonder Woman before I sketched her. I tried to think of more superheroes and, in the end, I drew out Captain America and, finally, Daredevil.

When I had drawn every superhero in detail, I scanned all of them into my computer. I powered up Adobe Photoshop CS2, a powerful picture editing software, and started to colour the characters.

When all the superheroes were ready, I tried to design a villain. I thought for a few minutes, but no inspiration came to me. Eventually, I logged in to the internet and searched for pictures of leukaemia cells. Then, I drew one of the cells and scanned it into my computer.

After five hours of drawing and editing, I composed the pictures together. Superman was beaming a red heat flare from his eyes to the leukaemia cell. Batman was kicking the cell, while Spiderman was shooting his web towards it. Captain America was tossing his shield at the cell. Every superhero was attacking the single small leukaemia cell.

I erased off the shattered pixels on the final artwork and, finally, printed it out using my laser printer. Then, I laminated it, framed it using a photo frame and then tied it to my bike.

I started my bike and went to National University Hospital.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When I reached the ward, it was six in the evening. My mother was still sleeping. I took the stickmen drawing and slotted it into the drawer. Then, I placed the new artwork that I had created on the table.

“Ah girl?”

I jumped. My mother opened her eyes slowly and then rubbed her left eye. “Hello.” she said. “I was just taking a nap. I’m not tired. Have you eaten?”

I nodded. When she saw the drawing of the superheroes fighting the cell, her eyes brightened up. She sat up from her bed and shook her head slowly, as if to fight fatigue.

“Wow.” she said and touched the framed drawing. “You drew that? Is that Wonder Woman?”

“Yes.” I said.

“Wow. That’s so nice! Is it for me to do ‘imaging’? That’s a cell? Blood cancer cell? All these comic people are fighting the blood cancer cell?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “Well, not exactly…” I pointed at the picture, shook a little and stuttered, “You see, last week, there’s this client, he wanted to … he wanted some superheroes thingy. So, I drew this and he… he changed his mind. I thought you might like it. It’s just like the stickmen drawing.”

“It’s nicer than the stickmen drawing, ah girl. You’re so talented!” my mother was stroking the picture as she said that. “Superman, Batman, Spiderman, this man who wears all blue, this man who wears all red and Wonder Woman are my cells. This small ball is the blood cancer cell. I’m feeling better already!”

Someone opened the door. A young nurse with long tied-up hair and frameless glasses strolled in. She was holding on to something that I could not make out
.
“Ah nursie! Look at this!” she showed the nurse the superheroes drawing. “Nice?”

I stood up. The nurse seemed to be holding on to some sort of file and thermometer. “I’ve got to go.” I said. “Terry said he needed me in the office. Enjoy the picture.” Before my mother could reply, I started for the door.

As I was near the door, I heard my mother saying these to the nurse: “My daughter drew this for me. See, this is Wonder Woman. You know who is Wonder Woman? This is Superman, the only guy in the world who can wear underwear in the streets…”

When I was out of the room, I leaned against the cold wall, covered my face with my hands and started to cry again. My mother was still holding her conversation with the nurse.

“Yes, my daughter is very talented… she is very busy… yes, of course… she’s twenty-four years old this year… of course!

“…she’s my daughter…”

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