ERP personal narrative: "a little act of love"

“Am I going to die?”

My sister whispered weakly, in between staccato-like breaths. She was barely audible amidst the Christmas carols and sounds of merriment that filled the shopping mall. Almost instantly, the pinkish hue that was usually dusted across my sister’s cheeks drained rapidly from her face and her lips turned pale. Inhaling with great might and pressing her fist hard against her chest, she stopped to gasp pathetically for air like a fish on land with every step she took. What was this monster that was squeezing the breath out of her, making her suffer and all of us cringe in fear? When would it let loose its fearful grip that was strangling her? Worse, was my sister going to die?

These questions went unanswered as the crowd went about their Christmas shopping, oblivious to our inner pandemonium as we stood shocked and seized with fear.

The hospital was only a stone’s throw away from the mall. Yet, the journey felt excruciatingly long. Painful steps and heavy breaths my sister took as we trudged towards the Accident and Emergency department. An X-ray and several frightful moments later, the doctor revealed, “Your right lung has collapsed due to a surface rupture. It’s pneumothorax.”

Pneumothorax? Was that the name of the monster? I was full of apprehension. I peeped at the X-ray and all I could see was the faint outline of a very small right lung, just slightly bigger than the size of her heart. Doctors saw an X-ray, but I saw a death sentence in that sheet of film.

My imagination ran wild. Was this the last time I was going to see my sister? I realised that my mother shared my thoughts when I saw her crying, shaking uncontrollably and inconsolably. A thousand and one questions raced through my head. I was confused, unable to make out much of the situation. With nary a second to lose, my sister was wheeled swiftly into the mini emergency operating theatre.

With a chest tube inserted, air that was trapped in her chest cavity was drained out via a special suction pump. The compressed lung would then have space to re-expand. With that, my sister would be on her road to recovery, explained the doctors. Or so we thought, and hoped. Yet, days later, in spite of various treatments and a large dose of hope and optimism, the rupture did not seal up naturally. An operation was the next best option.

The prospect of a major operation overwhelmed my sister who froze with fear. Courage draining from her, she began to break down. Plump tears rolled down her cheeks. All the pain caused by the chest tube and nausea due to the dosage of morphine had finally taken its toll on her. She squeezed my hands, her eyes clearly displaying dismay and uncertainty.

I wanted to help really badly. As she lay on the white-sheeted trolley which matched her pale face, I held on to her hand. At a loss for what to do and how to help, I instinctively bent over and kissed her palm gently. She barely mustered a weak smile as she was whisked promptly into the pre-operation room.


While she was in the operating theatre, I thought to myself, “That’s all?” I felt that that gesture was way too little. How would just a kiss like that help her tide over the trauma she was experiencing? I felt ashamed that I had failed as a brother, that I had not done enough to elevate her spirits in all that pain and trauma.

Five hours after slipping into unconsciousness, my sister lifted her heavy eyelids as we all gathered round in the high-dependency unit. Amidst the squish-gargle-thock of the recovery suction pumps attached to her lung, she said to me, “I feel weird. Tubes and electrodes stuck to me. Can you kiss my hand again? It makes me feel better all over.”

I paused. What did she say? I could hardly believe my ears. Without any further hesitation, I pranced forward and planted a loving kiss on her palm once again.

In retrospect, I truly did not expect such a simple act to make any difference. It was through this extraordinary incident that I realised that simple acts do count. It is not necessary to do big things. Little acts of kindness that come from the bottom of one’s heart do show that you care and it really makes a person feel good. You can buy expensive gifts, but I learnt that a little kiss with love in it can make a greater impact on a person. Presents are expensive, yet love is priceless.

So why not start with a little act of love today? You do not actually have to always put in a large amount of effort to make a difference. Small but heartfelt acts of love and kindness can really make a huge difference to your loved ones! Naturally, he or she will feel your love and sincerity and that is the best present that anyone can get.