I was just six months old,
my entire body turned blue, and I began shaking so hard. My father held me tightly in his arms, trying desperately to calm me down, or to keep me alive. He didn’t cry, just wanted to stop me from slipping away. My eyes rolled back and turned white, and I kept trembling, helpless in his arms.
I was just six months old, my mother was beside me, crying and crying not knowing what to do, she almost fainted. The hospital told them there was no hope, and they refused to treat me. It was like they had given up on me, leaving my parents to deal with that crushing reality on their own.
I was just six months old, but somehow, I stayed, I held on, even when no one believed I could. I probably felt the relief back then too. I often wonder what really happened that day. Did I die for a moment? Am I living a second life now? Like everyone who faces something bad, I asked myself, “Why me?”
I was just six months old, now I imagine how terrifying the pain must have been—the fever, the cold in my feet, the struggle to breathe, the suffering. I know I experienced it, but I don’t remember how it felt. I don’t know how I survived something so frightening, especially when everyone had lost hope. If my time ends, will I experience the same pain again? Will my body remind me of what it felt like back then? I was just six months old, and last week I turned 28. I forgive myself for the things I couldn’t control, for the emotions I feel (even when I don’t want to feel them). Maybe I’ve died more than once, but somehow, I’m still here, here I am living now.
I was just six months old. How did I survive?
– Hasnah Ima Hikmatul