We were taken to a bleak, white building full of windows. My eyes settled upon the lettering above the sliding doors. ‘Farmfield Hospital,’ it spelled out. I had been here many times before but now, it seemed like a different building altogether. We went through the doors. There was a lifeless feeling about this place that matched the colour. I breathed in the smell of iodoform. I strongly hated it. We walked upstairs to the children’s unit. It was not as cheery as I remembered.
There was a colossal board on the wall writing someone’s name. ‘Amirah Azabyjhan,’ it spelled out. Thank goodness. A large wave of relief swept over me. This was for many different reasons I can’t explain. I soon realised that my sister’s name could appear on the screen at any moment. I sighed sadly. I stayed quiet for a few minutes. It might have even been hours but things like this seem to occur incredibly quickly. At long last, it was spelling somebody’s name: Esmee Sanders. My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach and became stony cold. Tears of fear kept rolling down my pale cheeks. I felt sick.
I walked very slowly and very lightly down the hallway to the operation room. We got to the doctor’s room. My mother rapped on the door. Silence. Then a deep call of, ‘Come in.’
We stepped into the room. I looked at my little sister. She looked at me. We both looked at Mum. She was just as scared as us. The doctor peered at us over his glasses. ‘Esmee, come with me whilst your sister and your mother go out and wait,’ he grunted. I was terrified but my brain seemed to wander from the subject. I soon wondered what he was going to do to my younger sibling. I listened. I heard nothing. I closed my eyes and tried to rest, but something inside didn’t agree with me. I gave a tearful glance at my mother. She looked at me, but very sadly, her head turning slowly. Mum buried her head in my shoulder. I soon heard sobbing. My mother’s eyes were red from crying; my shoulder was damp and soggy. I started sniffing. Soon, I was crying buckets and buckets and my knuckles became white; my skin became pale and I was trembling.
I listened some more and hoped for the best. I heard some low mumblings and some stout answers. I could hear some more questions being asked in a low monotone. The patient still answered very shortly. I heard scuffling of feet, tapping of a shoe and a rustle. I made out that she was getting on the hospital bed. Now there was a loud, chugging noise. A loud yelp followed it. I didn’t listen anymore. I looked up at the blank roof, praying that this would soon be over. I began listening again. I heard, ‘Almost done!’ Soon after, there was a deafening scream! Then silence. What would happen to my sister?