I remember the days when my mom was full of life, always ensuring our well-being. But everything changed when she started coughing and sweating excessively. She became withdrawn, sleeping all day, wrapped in blankets despite the heat.
One day, while cleaning, I decided to tidy up her room. As I knelt to look under the bed, my mom burst in, shouting, "Don't you dare!" I stood up, confused and frightened. "Why, Mom? I just wanted to clean," I explained. Her response shocked me: "I'll clean it myself. Don't come back here again."
I tried discussing my concerns with her friend, but she knew nothing. Every time I passed my mom's room, I heard muffled crying. I longed to comfort her, but her previous words stopped me.
Weeks passed, and my mom's condition worsened. She stopped going to work. One Thursday, after cooking, I took a plate to her room. When I returned later, the plate remained untouched. I sensed something was wrong.
I fetched my key, unlocked her door, and was met with the same mess and a foul odor. My mom lay asleep, unresponsive to my attempts to wake her. Panicked, I called the ambulance, which arrived 16 minutes later.
On my way to the hospital, I discovered a bottle of pills on the floor. At the hospital, the doctors revealed they were for Tuberculosis. They praised me for acting quickly, saying that if I hadn't, the consequences could have been fatal.
That's when it hit me: my mom needs me, now more than ever.