The reason why my dad refused to go to the hospital was more of a traumatic emotional scarring by the death of my youngest sister. My sister was born much later than me and my other 2 siblings, about 7 years later, thus she was the baby of the family. She spent the whole of Ramadhan in Kuala Lumpur General Hospital (HKL) with a condition that baffles the doctors. So it was a barrage of tests, including a trial and error application of medicines. Everyday without fail, my parents would visit her, and everyday they carried a change of her clothes, just in case the doctor would say "you are well and discharge". At that time, medical care at public hospitals were quite bad. Facilities were limited, patients were overwhelming and the medical staff were overworked. All these leads to nasty, foul mouthed nurses, whom during my late sister's tenure in the ward, had unleashed some of these unprofessional attitude to her and my parents. My dad had prayed for her to be discharged in time for Raya, and true enough, the doctors discharged her a few days before Raya. My parents were happy.
However, on the second day of Hari Raya, she had a relapse of her symptoms and had to be brought back to the HKL. To cut the story short, that was to be her last Hari Raya with us. God had answered my dad's prayers, but her time was up. We were not prepared for her sudden demise. Everyone was shattered, and me being the eldest son, had to clench my teeth (to put on a 'strong face') and arrange for her burial. She died at the age of 15 years old. Ever since then, my parents had avoided going to hospitals, especially HKL.
|My dad's room in Ampang Hospital|