Last Friday was just another bad day.
I woke up at around 4 am, waiting for my mom’s call to get up and get ready for the prayer meeting. But when she called, I knew exactly we would not be able to attend the prayer meeting.
I got a towel to cover my self and ran toward the nearest neighbor who owns a car. In my mind, I was praying that nothing will happen between my run until we finally reach the hospital. I was yelling at the doorstep of my neighbor, asking for help, pleading that they move a little bit faster so we can bring my pop to the nearest hospital.
Mom carried pop to the vehicle and off they went to the hospital. I changed my clothes, got my phones, a scarf, a wallet, our keys, and rode the bicycle to the village’s gate and hailed a jeepney. By the time I got to the hospital, the same procedure was being done—suctioning fluids from my father’s lungs, injecting dextrose and setting up the life ventilating system (respirator) and getting the oxygen tank ready.
I have memorized all of these things for almost four years now. Step 1. When mom calls that pop’s having an attack, I should be carrying my phone to the nearest neighbor which has a vehicle and ask them to bring us to the hospital. Step 2. Either I join mom in bringing pop to the hospital (if there is someone that will be left in our house) or I get left behind, ensuring the security of our belongings before I head to the hospital. Step 3. When the hospital personnel have already brought pop into his room (ICU or another room), I should be heading home, getting all the things we need: toiletries, clothes, blanket, pillow, pop’s meds, some food and water, spoons, forks, plates and soaps. Then go back to the hospital immediately.
I have memorized all of these, including what to do inside the hospital, where to go, what food to buy, how to feed pop—technically all of the things that should be done.
While holding back tears and keeping my own sanity intact, I was half-scared for the worst things that could happen and half-hopeful, that nothing I have not memorized could happen.
Believe me, while 8 times of going back and forth into critical care of the hospitals made me a more responsible daughter in times of crisis, I am not so sure of my self when THAT moment arrives.
I have not been any more prayerful in my life. And I’m only asking for three things; faith, strength and pop’s longer life.
Friday was just another bad day. There shouldn’t be anything worse. Tweet
I woke up at around 4 am, waiting for my mom’s call to get up and get ready for the prayer meeting. But when she called, I knew exactly we would not be able to attend the prayer meeting.
I got a towel to cover my self and ran toward the nearest neighbor who owns a car. In my mind, I was praying that nothing will happen between my run until we finally reach the hospital. I was yelling at the doorstep of my neighbor, asking for help, pleading that they move a little bit faster so we can bring my pop to the nearest hospital.
Mom carried pop to the vehicle and off they went to the hospital. I changed my clothes, got my phones, a scarf, a wallet, our keys, and rode the bicycle to the village’s gate and hailed a jeepney. By the time I got to the hospital, the same procedure was being done—suctioning fluids from my father’s lungs, injecting dextrose and setting up the life ventilating system (respirator) and getting the oxygen tank ready.
I have memorized all of these things for almost four years now. Step 1. When mom calls that pop’s having an attack, I should be carrying my phone to the nearest neighbor which has a vehicle and ask them to bring us to the hospital. Step 2. Either I join mom in bringing pop to the hospital (if there is someone that will be left in our house) or I get left behind, ensuring the security of our belongings before I head to the hospital. Step 3. When the hospital personnel have already brought pop into his room (ICU or another room), I should be heading home, getting all the things we need: toiletries, clothes, blanket, pillow, pop’s meds, some food and water, spoons, forks, plates and soaps. Then go back to the hospital immediately.
I have memorized all of these, including what to do inside the hospital, where to go, what food to buy, how to feed pop—technically all of the things that should be done.
While holding back tears and keeping my own sanity intact, I was half-scared for the worst things that could happen and half-hopeful, that nothing I have not memorized could happen.
Believe me, while 8 times of going back and forth into critical care of the hospitals made me a more responsible daughter in times of crisis, I am not so sure of my self when THAT moment arrives.
I have not been any more prayerful in my life. And I’m only asking for three things; faith, strength and pop’s longer life.
Friday was just another bad day. There shouldn’t be anything worse. Tweet
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