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She was getting better, finally. She could feel it. For the past year, she has been in and out of the hospital. Mostly in. The doctor gave her a new medication. One that was not too strong to cause hair drop but strong enough to kill those bastards. That was the main requirement she gave to the doctor. She didn't want her hair to drop and so far, her hair was still intact.
Tonight, she will be going home after 2 weeks in the hospital. She had been given the green light to be discharged and she was to come back next week to go through a CT scan. After which, the doctor was planning to provide a follow-up treatment to continue killing the bad guys in her.
She was looking forward to it and her husband had arranged for a short trip with the family to the highlands tomorrow. A breath of fresh air was what she needed although she would still need to carry her bag of urine with her everywhere she went. It wasn't much of a choice considering the disease had squeezed her urethra shut.
The trip to the highlands was a wonderful one. She ate and drank all that she could, after not doing much of that for the past year. It was a victory celebration for her, knowing that she was winning the battle. It was a tough one but she battled it out with all her might.
That night, she was catching up on her favourite drama when she heard the door. Her son had come home. Drunk. She went to fetch him, as he wobbled into the house, yelling. When she got hold of him, he yelled for his father.
Both her husband and son had not been seeing eye to eye for years now. This was not the first time her son came home drunk. His father disagreed with some of his life choices and plans, and because of that, he was always fighting with his father. One of the reasons why she had been so sick.
This time, it was different. Her son was shouting at the top of his lungs for his father. There was fury in his eyes. She tried to calm him down, almost crying. He didn't care. His logic and senses were overtaken by his drunkness. He wanted to ask his father, what was it that he wanted him to do. But his father wouldn't go to him. He got angry. He took the table fan and slammed it onto the glass table. The glass table shattered.
She couldn't understand it. How did her son become so drunk, while she was still trying to get better from the disease? She tried to hold him but he pushed her away. She fell on the shattered glass.
The son, seeing his mother on the ground, he couldn't take it and left the house. They waited for him to come back but he didn't. She became worried sick. She had scratches and decided to treat herself, to avoid people from asking.
A week passed and she missed her CT scan. Another week passed, still waiting for her son to come back, when she suddenly felt bloated, to a point that she couldn't sit. Her husband brought her to the emergency ward and she was hospitalized again.
The doctor said that the disease made a harsh comeback and caused some liquid inside her to keep producing. She had more bags around her that she lost count. She couldn't move much. She couldn't eat, nor drink. She had given up hope. She told the doctor, no more medication for her. Nothing worked and she was too tired to try anymore.
Her son came to visit the other day. But she was too weak to talk, to listen. He cried by her bedside. She closed her eyes while the drug dripped into her, to stop her from feeling more pain than she was already in, while she waited for her time to end.