After been given the clear, it was time for me to recuperate, gain strength, return back to some normality. After spending many weeks in a hospital bed, I found it difficult to walk, to balance, to utilise my muscles. My mother would soak the ends of a cotton-bud with water and coat the inside of my lips, hoping some moisture would get through. I was frail. It took some time for the counts in my blood to increase. The nurses would help me walk, guiding me, pushing my drip along. Eventually, I could walk alone, but only for small distances, my legs would shake. I still remember, I was wheeled out-doors on a wheelchair. The first hit of fresh-air was unmatched. Was nice to breathe again.
Leaving the hospital, I would still have to come back to complete my radiotherapy sessions, my sister use to take me. I remember after each session, I would fall asleep instantly in the car. No energy. My appetite was not there, a bite of a fish finger would keep me full for the whole day. Anything more would come back out. Everything was tough, a chore and stress. But we got there [Alhamdulillaah]. Shout-out to my mother, my father, my sister and my brother, the staff and anyone I've missed, I'm in dept to you, forever.
Following many weeks, days, after periods of time, something I can't remember specifically. Still during the recovery period, but I was in a more healed state. My beloved Baba [Granddad] use to live with us, he was old, 80 plus easy. However, he was fairly fit for his age, he would look after himself well. He would wake early. In front of the fire place he would do his squats, whilst my mother would prepare his Weetabix in hot milk. I believe his favourite was fish and chips from the local chippy, but he never admitted. Being humble and all. Otherwise straight dhal and vegetables for the win. He would carry his water up the stairs when going to bed. One time, he called my name. He told me to bring his water to his bedroom. I entered, the light was still on, I placed his water besides his bed. He was sitting upright. As I was stepping out the room, I heard him utter "Allaah". I froze. Very unexpected, bewildered I was. After some contemplation, walking into my room I came to the conclusion he was praying, or specifically making a supplication. But why "Allaah"? The following day I explained the whole scenario to my father. He mentioned the village my Baba was from in India was by and large Muslim. Therefore, he may of picked up on some of the wording and procedures in short, hence he called out to Allaah. This is something that has never left me, felt like a reminder at the time. A spark trying to ignite my fitrah.
Shortly after, my Baba passed away upon kufr. I couldn't even see his funeral thoroughly. My body was not strong enough to cope with such matters and crowds. So I sat in the car at a distance, feeling nauseous, watching away.
Next blog I talk about my return to year 11 secondary school and my first ever encounter with Muslims.
Comments