I realized today that I’m traumatized by the physical pain my dad experienced on a certain day, and by witnessing his hopeless eyes fixed on his hands after every failure in understanding what he was trying to tell me without a voice.
I want to forget all the pain he went through.
I want to forget that day when one doctor, at last, took his dark cold dying right hand seriously and decided to suck out all the built up water in it.
They continuously said; “a side effect of Levophed” but it kept getting worse. I knew it’ll continue to do so but it was the least of their problems.
Being a doctor is about saving lives, regardless of the quality of those lives, eh?
I have no opinions in that area, but it killed me to see how little attention they had previously given to a dying hand that I kept talking about endlessly.
When that one doctor decided to take action, it was after my dad started showing real pain on a mere soft touch.
I have high tolerance for pain, blood and violent visuals. I’ve been around loved ones in many critical painful situations and I cruised just fine.
When at the beginning of my dad’s illness I woke up to see his whole bed was covered in blood he said was coughing out, and I saw his mouth like a black hole because of the blood in it, My first reaction was “maybe it’s a nosebleed that’s slipping down to your throat coz you’re lying down”
All that to say that I’m not easily shaken by such intensity.
On that day though…
The moment the doctor held my dad’s hand and decided to do something to ease the pain…
I’m still traumatized.
I dont wish to pain anyone with detailed descriptions so I won’t.
But I couldn’t stand on my legs anymore, I did though.
I was about to throw up, I didn’t though.
I held my dad’s left hand, squeezed it so he’d squeeze the pain he was experiencing back, and I looked at his face which was showing a level of pain I can’t put a number on.
My dad had even more tolerance to pain than I could ever imagine. Yet he put on that face I’ve never seen.
I’m still in chest pain just thinking about it.
I’m still pained by his inability to talk and all the slow frustrated expressions he’d put on both when we understood what he was asking, giving him disappointing answers, and when we failed and he just let go of the conversation.
I so want to forget that long gaze towards nothingness that he used to wear.
I pray… I pray hard that he’s painless now. That he’s got his voice back and he’s fast-walking towards his loved ones the way he always moved. With haste.