How I Accompanied My Dad Until His Last Breath (Part 1 of 3)

One of the most difficult decision to make in life is to decide whether or not to allow your loved one to live handicapped to a bed for life or to pull the plug and allow his body to suffocate and die.

How is it possible for anyone to present this type of option for someone to make? It is cruel. It is evil. Downright wrong.

It is not my decision to make. It is his. It is God's.

Over the past few weeks, I went through the most awful period in my life. It all started out on a rainy Friday evening...

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The combined smell of wet soil and steaming vehicles brought an eerie calming sensation as I trotted my way down the steps to the main walkway. Bodies of people rushing past me as they made their way to the MRT station. How odd it was that I was at McPherson. My dad had been living around this area for the past couple of years. Yet, I did not make any effort to visit him regularly. You see, he was living with his mistress.

He was not the ideal or best father figure I thought he could be. He used to cane my sisters and I when we were younger. Or rather, it may seem normal in the Chinese culture to most people. He used to smoke and drink then physically abuse my mother back then. It was until to the extent that I fully supported my mother to run away from home and to go through with the divorce proceedings. He could verbally manipulate our thoughts and feelings. He taught me not to find a guy just like him to grow old with. He taught me how not to be a bad parent. Even though he had diabetes, he would still drink alcohol regularly and even caused himself to lose 2 toes from his right foot.

A gush of wind embraced me then abruptly halted which made a mess to my fluffy wavy hair. Frantically, I struggled and plunged my hand into my bag and grabbed my brolly. The drizzle was light and constant. If I could drench myself in the rain, I would. The sun was setting as the heavy grey clouds creaked above me. It was time for another round of viewing at a landlord's property. I had to work as a part time real estate salesperson to earn a little more pocket money for myself. It was not easy, but I still geared up and be hardworking.

With my bag on a shoulder, a carrier on my left arm and my brolly on my right, I had to shuffle through my purse again to pick up a call. It was as if I was in my own chaotic-land.

"Hello!?"

The information provided was vague. She called to inform that she received a call from the hospital that my father was admitted into a ward. What was it this time? His foot had another round of infection again? Was he going to have to amputate another toe? Gosh.

"He have been living on his own for about 1 month. Sometimes he would come back to take some clothes of his then off he go." She explained.

Fine. I gave the hospital a call and spoke to the doctor in charge.

"You mean he has his own business? I am certain that with his state of mind now, it is impossible for him to operate a business. He could not speak and he could not reply to our simple questions. He would just smile at us. I need more information about his history and his recent day to day happenings."

My mind went into a complete state of blankness. I could not provide any single information about my own father. I felt a tinge of regret. What happened to him? Could he had admitted himself to the hospital to gain our attention? Or that he had a minor stroke attack since he could not speak? He came back to our house a few days back to dismantle certain stuffs. He seemed well, I assumed.

I called my sisters and we decided to visit him later in the night. I had to settle my viewing appointment - just a quick one.

While waiting for the landlord, I called my mother and did a bit of research on my mobile phone. It had to be a minor stroke. He will recover within a few days to weeks. He will be fine. I had to suppress my stress and worries.

He was a strong person. He would exercise and take care of himself. He has plans to start a new hawker business. He has plans to make-over his current business. He sold his car to make ends-meet. He was down for a few months as he was recovering from his toe amputation and could not earn extra income by doing lock installations. However, he would still survive by himself. He was indeed strong. At times, he would still call me and asked me how I was. Being the nonchalant me, I replied flatly that I was fine. But, he was strong, I thought.

Once I was done with my viewing, I was weighing and contemplating whether or not to go straight to the hospital or wait for my sister at home and proceed there together. With the rain decreasing but the weight of stuffs holding me down, I decided to go home. At least, to put down all my heavy load of stuffs and go to the hospital comfortably.

Upon reaching home and had a 15 minutes rest, my sister together with her boyfriend and I left for the hospital. Still, something does not feel right. I could not wait to see my father. I needed to know what was up. The uncertainties was gnawing me alive. Then again, it could be a small stroke and he will recover from it.

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The glass door slid ajar and we were greeted with the smells of medicines, bed and alcohol wipes. With wide and quick steps, we jogged down the aisle to find the bed number. There he was, with his left arm pointing upwards whilst his elbow rested beside him. He had his eyes closed but was opening and closing his palm.

"Oh, thank God." I thought.

I walked up to him, called his name. In an instant, his eyes opened. I smiled, waiting. His lips had an odd distortion downwards.

Stroke.

He looked from me, to my sister, to my sister's boyfriend. I waited and waited. He said nothing. So, I gave a shot.

"Do you know my name?"

He looked at me with a perplex look then swung his head to the other side in a way of telling me, "why are you asking such a stupid question?"

I smiled. At least he seems to be able to know what was going on. He will be fine. It was just a stroke. I had to get a doctor to explain his situation to us. We had no information at all.

"Just rest okay, just rest." My sister wanted him to rest, he seemed exhausted, fatigue, sleepy.

But something was telling me, we could not let him rest. He must stay awake and at least be with us. I do not care whether is he tired or not, he must be awake. He must know that we are here with him and at least just listen to us. I kept talking to him, asking him questions. I did not know how to face him, seeing him in such a bad state. What else should I say to him? I wanted to escape that situation. We are not good with expressing comforting words with one another.

My father used to teach us that we ought to be strong. No tears, be a man. Not much emotional comforting words to one another since young. What else I should say to him?

"Just let him rest, he is tired." My sister said.

We just stood there in silence and I decided to keep myself occupied by frantically looking for a nurse or a doctor to come and talk to us. We were in a 6 bedded-ward. It was late and the other patients were asleep. They are old. Old people. My father was warded in a room filled with old people. My father, whom still able to ride a scooter, a bike, a motor, running around providing locksmith services to people's home. Carrying heavy duty stuffs in his retail shop. But now, there he was, unable to speak anymore. How are we going to help him after he discharged? We will figure it out. We will.

I spun around and eagerly listened to what the doctor had to say. This was getting a little overwhelming. In my little busy head of mine, I was planning how to provide care for him as a stroke patient after his discharge.

"Are you his family members?"

Oh my goodness, in the name of Christ, OF COURSE! Just out with what you had to say, doctor!

"He just admitted to our ward here. We did a scan for him earlier on and found out that there are bleeding on his front left portion of his brain where it controls speech. He now have internal brain bleeding and blood clot which may be due to a fall. Did you know whether he recently had a fall?"

No, no, no. We do not know anything about his life. Damn it, a huge wave of regret drowned my soul. I should have call him regularly, yet, I could not overcome my ego and pride that he will be fine on his own.

"Okay, because he seemed fine and able to speak with the nurses at the Accident and Emergency Department (A&E). Until he admitted here, he could not speak anymore. He seemed unaware at times. Now, we have to bring him up for another scan and admit him into the Intensive Care Unit (ICU)."

For a moment, I could not comprehend. So was it the fact that he had a stroke? Or the fact that he have blood clot in his brain? It could be resolved by surgical operations, right?

"He may or may not be able to make it, as the clot is quite big. I am sorry, I have to rush now to send him up for a scan."

That was it. We broke down. How could he say such a thing? A stroke is different from bleeding in the brain. It was two different things. Can it be treated?

We turned to him, he was sleeping. We subtly try to wake him up, but he was drowning in and out of his own fatigue. The next moment, his entire bed was shifted out of its position. The nurses were rushing to get a go-ahead for the scan.

"The results of the scan may be made available to you tomorrow morning. After his scan, he will be in the ICU ward."

We silently stood at the walkway as they pushed his bed to another room. The doors flapped to a close. I decided that we should head back home to get as much rest as we need as we have to wake up pretty early the next day to come back to hospital. The worse was, I had to manage a company's event in the afternoon!

A few hours later, the very same night, I received a call from the hospital. My heart pounced vigorously against my rib cage. Please be good news. Please be good news.

"The size of the blood clot increased. There might be a chance we need to proceed with a surgery. This surgery will drill a hole in his skull and insert a tube to the white fluid area to drain it out. With the fluid being drained out, there might be a chance for the swell in the brain to decrease and aid in recovery. Also, his sugar level in his blood is out of control and his diabetes is in the life threatening range. Your father's situation is not good, but we will try our best to do what we can. Will you be able to come back to the hospital?"

Time check: 11:40pm.

Feeling exhausted myself, I reached home, had a quick shower then rushed back to the hospital.

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The sight of several tubes creaking out from all over his body sickened me. His mouth was ajar from a feeding tube down into his esophagus. It must be extremely uncomfortable. They had a tube for Insulin, a tube for some other medicines which I am unsure of.

Inkling needle pinches began all over my heart and eyes. My eyes stung with hot tears. With an intense squeeze in my soul, I looked upwards, not allowing any tears to fall. Does he know what is going on? He will wake up, I will wait for him to wake up and hear from him again.

"I have to be strong, until he wakes up."

Shuffling sounds of papers could be heard. I peered to my left side and I was presented a set of documents by the doctor. His words seemed to be hammering onto my heart - word by word.

"To be honest, his condition does not seem good. We will still try to do what we can. Now, we need you to sign this and we will proceed with the surgery. It will be a quick one. One of the risk would be, if the blood in the brain gets too thick, it may clog up the tube. Which may need another round of surgery to clear the tube. He may or may not wake up, depending on himself."

They just keep saying that. He will wake up, alright? Just drain the fluid and he will wake up!

"Furthermore, he have infection in his toes. You know he had toes amputation right? Right now, we could not do any further operation to his toes infection because his body is weak. So, all we do is to keep the wound as clean as we can. Also, we suspect that he had a fall or an impact to his head."

As I tried to focus my visual onto the doctor's screen, his cursor pointed to a dent which indicated an injury to my father's front left of his forehead. Behind us, a few nurses are hustling around preparing for the surgery.

"However, we tried to find any bruises around his head, there was none. Unless, he had a recent fall, which may take a few days for bruises to show".

Feeling tired and cold, I stumbled a bit with the pen and inked down my name.

It seemed simple enough. Just a procedure to drain out the clear fluid in his brain to prevent any swelling and to allow oxygen to his brain. Accepting the fact that they cells around the blood clot was damaged, he definitely will be able to wake up. I was beginning to accept that he could no longer speak to us anymore. At least he can see us, listen to us, write whatever he wants to tell us. This will be how we are going to communicate. By basic hand signs and a lot of writing. We can do this. His own business and company? I will just pin it aside for now.

On my way home, I was juggling with the option whether or to keep sending him to more possible operations or let nature takes its course. It was tough. I shove it under the rug. My tired mind could no longer process any more thoughts.

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The sun was rather dull. It was a cooling day outside, the breeze was friendly and the function rooms in the hotel seemed quiet. I can do this afternoon event and off I will head to the hospital.

Soon, colleagues began to stream in to help prepare the set up of a small seminar. Briefly, I related to one of them that my father was in the hospital. Just in case, you know, if anything happens, I had to rush over. Whilst setting up the registration table, my phone rang. The familiar number flashed onto my mobile phone's screen. Without hesitation, I answered the call and jogged away to a secluded corner. 

"Yes, doctor?"

The negativity just poured in again.

The surgery went as planned and my dad is resting with medicines to keep him asleep. I understood that there was no way for him to wake up and feel the excruciating pain from his open wound at his skull and brain. He should rest. Let him be in the state of induced coma.

Basically, the doctor presented to us 2 options.

1) To actively save him -  If the blood gets thicker, it will clot the tube. When the tube is clot, the team will send him in for the operation again and insert another wire needle to un-clot the tube. The risks will be that there will be potential bleed from the newly inserted wire needle and even if he recovers, he will be living his life entirely on a bed. The cells in certain part of  the brain was damaged by the blood as no oxygen will be able to reach the cells. This being said, a huge financial commitment have to be set aside for life support care. (Which we are fucking poor, but the money part was not our worry at that point of time.) We could not think straight.

2) To let nature takes its course and he will slowly slip away.

Immediately, I broke down - hard, in public. How can anyone ask me to choose such things? It was unbelievable. My hands were shaking, my heart was aching. I could not speak anymore.

"Time is not on our side. But you need time to discuss with your family and think about it. But, have to let me know soon, on what is your decision. Because, anytime, there might be a sudden possibilities that the tube may clot and we have to act fast."

I got to hold myself together. I cannot make this decision for him.

I called my sister. And, my God, it was the hardest conversation I ever had with her of all time.

No doubt, she cried over the phone. She could not make this decision.

"Okok, stop crying, I still need to go back to work. Why not we wait for him to wake up then ask him?"

"Okay, let's wait for him to wake up."


Read more: Part 2