A chicken under the needle

I was crying like a little chicken when the nurse injected the needle into my skin. I am absolutely a needle freak and scared of seeing a tiny little bit of blood. I don’t know how many more of this still need to be injected or taken out of my body. Today, in the Western hospital, I was told that I very likely to have TB disease and needed to be closely examined in the next a couple of weeks.

Merry lights were flashing on the Christmas tree, quietly. I was the last one waiting in the Clinic waiting room, alone. No one surrounded. Looking through the empty corridor stretching to a deep end, my tears were rolling around my eyelids. I wasn’t worried about my illness at all; it was the feeling of loneliness that upset me. I know there is no one I can turn to: parents are not around; good friends are far away; a five-year friendship recently drained away; and don’t want to let grandma worry. Problem can only be solved by myself; I don’t want to trouble anyone else.

The final pathology result will come out on next Wednesday, the day before my graduation ceremony. I was told that even I was confirmed of having TB, I would be given 6 months to stay in Australia to cure the disease. Given the medical advancement, I would be easily cured by taking pills. This was as far as what I knew.