I hurried back home as fast as I could, but missed them by mere minutes.
Anticipating a prolonged hospital stay, I gathered spare clothes, toothbrushes, and other essentials.
Just as I was about to leave, I remembered I had several bottles of special turmeric that my friend Patrick had introduced me to, known for its inflammation-reducing properties.
I grabbed two bottles, jumped back on my scooter, and made my way to the hospital, arriving about 25 minutes after my family.
Upon entering the ER, I was met with an eerie sense of déjà vu.
My son was lying on a gurney in the exact same triage unit where my father had been treated for a dislocated shoulder back in 1994.
I was just 19 at the time, and I vividly recalled watching a young man pass away after a scooter accident – the first time I had ever witnessed someone's death.
The memories of that traumatic experience, long buried, resurfaced with such intensity.
The pain and grief etched on the faces of the young man's family felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.
It was a bizarre and unsettling coincidence that life had brought me back to this same spot.
Upon arrival, I found that my friend and wife had already managed to distract my son, who has a severe needle phobia, while the doctors inserted a PICC line into his hand to administer anti-venom intravenously.
His hand and forearm had become alarmingly swollen and discoloured, so it was crucial to keep him calm and his arm immobilised to prevent the venom from spreading further.