DAD

As I write this I am sitting in my dads hospital room. He is swollen all over. I hate to say it but he looks like hell. It looks like he has aged 20 years in the last three weeks. I didn’t know what to expect coming in here. I knew it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, as expected it is never easy to see family in physical pain. My Dad is on a morphine drip which I’m sure will keep him pretty well knocked out. His body is swollen and twitching, it is clear to see he is having trouble breathing. From time to time he turns his head and notices my presence. Surprised and startled he tries to make conversation. I tell him just to rest and I am here merely to be near him. It is amazing that this is what we call medicine. I remember going on hospital rounds with my father on the weekends. Whenever my Dad would go in and see a patient I would try and grab a quick glimpse of their face and I wondered about their condition. Sometimes as we would walk down the hall I would see people lying there as if mummies wrapped in white linen attached to machines. I always felt for those people but I was always detached from the situation. Through this process I am learning to relate to only the patients but also the families. Some have equated this treatment to torture. I keep thinking of the show 24 and how they cut off a pinkie here and there. It seems to me that that the loss of a pinkie would be easier to handle that this. I feel for him. I wonder how a docotor came to the conclusion that this could possibly help some one who is already sick. I love him with all my heart and pray for his health and comfort. I hope that if I ever find my self in a similar situation I will be able to face this hell with as much strength and resolve as my father.