Childhood 2

I woke up in the hospital, the soft flicker of lights coaxing my dry eyes open. A wave of dizziness washed over me as I realized I was in a room, likely placed there for rest after treatment. Attempting to move, I felt a twinge of pain from the bandage wrapped around my leg, reminding me to stay still. Resigned to my limited mobility, I contented myself with exploring the room visually, taking in every detail with my eyes.

As I glanced around the room, my heart sank as I realized Karun and Mother were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the sterile scent of medicine filled my nostrils, a reminder of the hospital atmosphere I despised. Determined to find them, I attempted to get out of bed, only to stumble and nearly fall. In an instant, my father was by my side, scooping me up with gentle urgency, his voice stern yet filled with concern as he warned me not to walk.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I clung to my father, overcome with worry and confusion. Exhausted from the emotional turmoil, I buried my face in his shoulder, my sobs muffled against his comforting presence. Through the haze of tears and fatigue, I managed to inquire about Mother and Karun, my voice trembling with fear.

With a tender touch, my father carried me to them, his steady presence a source of reassurance amidst the chaos. My heart skipped a beat as I saw Karun lying in the ICU, surrounded by beeping machines, his condition uncertain. And there was Mother, her face etched with worry, waiting anxiously outside the room.

Mother initially objected to my father bringing me there, but his stern insistence prevailed. "She needs to understand the consequences of her actions," he asserted firmly. With his guidance, I was brought closer to the glass door separating us from Karun's unconscious form. My heart clenched as I beheld him lying motionless in the bed, surrounded by a tangle of tubes and machines emitting ominous beeps. Doctors and nurses bustled around him, their urgency a stark reminder of the gravity of his condition.

In a hushed voice, my father explained the severity of Karun's injuries. My own injury paled in comparison; Karun had sustained a severe blow to the head and had lost a significant amount of blood. The realization hit me like a freight train—my beloved brother was in a perilous state, and that he might not wake up. Tears streamed down my cheeks as exhaustion overtook me, leaving me drained and helpless.

I sought refuge in my mother's lap, finding solace in her comforting embrace as I watched over Karun. The thought of leaving his side filled me with dread; I couldn't bear the idea of him being alone, even for a moment. Fearful that he might slip away from us in the blink of an eye, I remained steadfast by his side, unwilling to retreat to my own room.

Fortunately, Karun regained consciousness the second day after the accident. However, our road to recovery stretched over a month in the hospital. While I nursed a broken leg, Karun battled the effects of a head injury. I vividly recall the moment he opened his eyes, lying in a bed I prayed he'd never occupy again. It was a day filled with regret, resentment, and self-loathing. I despised myself for my reckless actions, and as time passed, that resentment extended to everything associated with the incident.

Though I eventually made peace with the road, driving, and traffic signals, I couldn't find solace when it came to hospitals and medication. The slightest whiff of medicine would make me faint, and the mere sight of a hospital would send shivers down my spine. It was then that my father sought help from his friend, Uncle Travian, a kind-hearted man who would visit us to provide medical care instead of taking us to the hospital. This routine continued until we were fully recuperated.

Despite these efforts, panic attacks continued to plague me, often driving me to rush to Karun's side to ensure his well-being. The trauma of that fateful day lingered, casting a shadow over my every thought and action.

In later years, my father explained that he took me to Karun that day so I would reflect on the consequences of making impulsive decisions. I had to promise each of them that I would never run away again. Thus ended the story of me, sensitive to the smell of medicine and hospitals. The trauma slowly vanished from my life, or so we thought. However, coming onto this dangerous mission was enough to trigger my childhood trauma back into existence, as the strong smell of medicine hit my nose once again.