Horror Story:Home

Breakfast at our home in Hong Kong in the early sixties was probably like breakfast in many homes; kids and adults gotta eat, everyone needs to be properly dressed for work and school with lunches packed and milk glasses drained. And it's time for morning prayers. In the midst of all this I suddenly heard a scream from nine-month-old son Tim. He had gotten away from the table and was on the floor. He had discovered the basket of washed and dried clothes waiting to be put away. Inside the basket he had found a wire coat hanger. In the process of playing with it he had managed to get the hanger hook lodged between his eyeball and his eye socket. Amidst his screams he was frantically swinging the hanger back and forth. I picked him up and slowly withdrew the hanger.

Then it was off to the emergency room, always a nightmare. When we arrived we saw what we always saw at street clinics – a line of persons waiting that stretched to the end of the block. Never one wanting to claim any special treatment I held Tim in my arms and went to the end of the line.

However, in only a matter of minutes a staff person was there and invited us to the head of the line. My desire to see my son treated speedily overcame my reluctance to accept special treatment because of my “foreign status”.

The doctor examined the eye. He noted a gouge in the eyeball, but said that it was not too deep. He applied some antibiotic ointment, assured us that he saw to it that it got to the bottom of the gouge and sent us home

Tim’s eye healed well. But there are still moments when in my mind’s eye I see that hanger being shaken, attached to Tim’s eye socket. And the horror returns.