Superman and Woman
Parents are supposed to be Superman/woman.
My father was hospitalized for breathing difficulty last Thursday. Four of us the kids arrived Thursday night and were allowed to spend 10 minutes with him. It was tough to watch, you knew that already. He still could walk and joke with us like usual, although you'd notice the heavy breathing. He had this tube on his nose that he took out after five minutes. That was the first time he slept in a hospital. It was harder to watch when the other patients around him looked so much sicker (or should I feel the other way around? I don't know). I hated to show how painful it was seeing him in that room. I actually had this huge smile across my face the entire time. I think we all put on a brave face.
We visited him again on Friday and he told us about his first night in the hospital: Patients next to his bed came and went. One discharged, one transferred, and one died that morning -- not before five or six people performed CPR on him -- in front of my father and everyone else in the room. That afternoon, the fourth patient, another severe case, was placed on that bed. OMG, do they have to put them next to my father? (Ok, I'm sorry.)
He was discharged on Saturday, hopefully because he was getting better, and not because his case was not the worst in the ward and they needed the bed. He brought back a basket full of medicine. He was his usual self the day he was home and even smoked! Our house was noisy like usual during the weekend.
He usually goes sembahyang right after azan. My heart sank when he took a longer nap on Sunday and only sembahyang Asar at 6+. My mother helped him shower Monday morning. I wish I didn't know that too.
I got back to KL yesterday with a heavy heart. God, please make my father healthy again, and keep my mother healthy too. I didn't ask about his medicine. It would feel so real if I were to know what kind of medicine he has to take. But I remember hearing my sister fixing his 'brown inhaler'. Finally, last night before going to sleep, I googled and read about the blue and brown inhalers.
Ok, I want to stop being sad and scared.
My father had been sick before and recovered. He'll be healthy soon and will continue his routine: solat Dhuha in the morning; do laundry; cook rice; boil water; read and nap in the afternoon; go to the warung after Asar, have teh tarik and read newspapers; go to the mosque and recite azan; and watch the news, or his usual police TV series, or, his favourite, war movies. He'll bounce back. He'll have many more healthy and happy years ahead of him. Fathers are Superman.
My father was hospitalized for breathing difficulty last Thursday. Four of us the kids arrived Thursday night and were allowed to spend 10 minutes with him. It was tough to watch, you knew that already. He still could walk and joke with us like usual, although you'd notice the heavy breathing. He had this tube on his nose that he took out after five minutes. That was the first time he slept in a hospital. It was harder to watch when the other patients around him looked so much sicker (or should I feel the other way around? I don't know). I hated to show how painful it was seeing him in that room. I actually had this huge smile across my face the entire time. I think we all put on a brave face.
We visited him again on Friday and he told us about his first night in the hospital: Patients next to his bed came and went. One discharged, one transferred, and one died that morning -- not before five or six people performed CPR on him -- in front of my father and everyone else in the room. That afternoon, the fourth patient, another severe case, was placed on that bed. OMG, do they have to put them next to my father? (Ok, I'm sorry.)
He was discharged on Saturday, hopefully because he was getting better, and not because his case was not the worst in the ward and they needed the bed. He brought back a basket full of medicine. He was his usual self the day he was home and even smoked! Our house was noisy like usual during the weekend.
He usually goes sembahyang right after azan. My heart sank when he took a longer nap on Sunday and only sembahyang Asar at 6+. My mother helped him shower Monday morning. I wish I didn't know that too.
I got back to KL yesterday with a heavy heart. God, please make my father healthy again, and keep my mother healthy too. I didn't ask about his medicine. It would feel so real if I were to know what kind of medicine he has to take. But I remember hearing my sister fixing his 'brown inhaler'. Finally, last night before going to sleep, I googled and read about the blue and brown inhalers.
Ok, I want to stop being sad and scared.
My father had been sick before and recovered. He'll be healthy soon and will continue his routine: solat Dhuha in the morning; do laundry; cook rice; boil water; read and nap in the afternoon; go to the warung after Asar, have teh tarik and read newspapers; go to the mosque and recite azan; and watch the news, or his usual police TV series, or, his favourite, war movies. He'll bounce back. He'll have many more healthy and happy years ahead of him. Fathers are Superman.
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