My Episode of The Fast &Furious

I look at the stars at times and wonder whether maybe, just maybe those are the departed souls lighting their paths home. But, that is all a fairytale, the reality of things is quite different don’t you think? I think life is a kaleidoscope of situations. It shows you one thing one minute and the next, something different. This has been a constant manifestation in my life. I may say I am already used to it, but that would be a lie as different colours bring different emotions.

I am a last-born in a family of three, now two since I watched my elder sibling take her last breath. My other sibling settled abroad and so I was the only child left in the nest. I lived at home with my parents until I got tired of having random fights with my father. The only way to get peace was to move out, and so I did. Anyway, I was old enough to fend for myself. Flashback to when my sister passed on, my dad, having diabetes developed acute stress and this cost him his sight. Maybe that was the reason I stuck around because I wanted to be present, especially for my mother who was doing everything around the house. We kept in constant communication with her after I moved out. I would call her at most five times a day to check up on her while reminding her of her “doctor duties” towards dad. I took care of the caregiver.

I loved my mother fiercely, for her, I would have brought a castle down. I was close to her than I was with any other person in my life. After my sister went to eternal sleep, I remember walking through the grief process with Mum. We would hug, cry together, share memories, rant about life and somehow, it always ended up with a word of advice from her, and a word of encouragement from me. The bond that was invisibly created still stands to date.  I was getting used to life as it was until it decided to take me for a ride down the hill. On the 27th of July 2016, I received a call from my mother. As usual, I was happy and with utmost enthusiasm, I picked it up. “Hello, beautiful!” I enthused,  smiling foolishly (Johnny Bravo in the frame). With mom, I was free to be me, a kid, a man, vulnerable, cheeky, you name it. I had no limits when I was around her.

There a long pause on her side, her long hard breath was all I could hear. ‘’Son’’, she paused then went on, ‘’ You need to come home, your father…’’ She paused and disconnected the line. Psychology has it that a human being has two responses. You either flee when faced with a threat or you fight. I froze. It was hard to process what had just happened, and after a few seconds, I rushed through the door, grabbing whatever hoodie I could get. As a matter of fact, I only realized I was wearing my onesies when I got home. My mom was lying on the floor, and beside her was my dad. The floor was a pure mess of urine and vomit. “He fell, and I couldn’t pick him up”. My mom murmured in the middle of her sobs. My heart crushed, I almost broke down, but I had to be strong for her.

Holding back my tears, I picked her up and lay her on the couch. Her clothes were in a mixture of pee, poop and sweat. I then picked up my dad and took him to the bathroom where I run a hot bath and lay him in the water. I carefully cleaned him up and dressed him. My intention had been to do the same for my mother but I could not get myself to do it. I, therefore, called our female neighbour (about moms age), who cleaned her up for me. A myriad of questions was firing through my head, why now? What next? Why me? Let it be known that I am a pure choleric and thoughts as this were not really encouraging. I was determined to make everything work and so I started working out a plan to fix everything. One thing about a choleric person is that we are goal-oriented. Choleric people are very savvy, analytical, and logical. Extremely practical and straightforward, they aren’t necessarily good companions or particularly friendly but they remain loyal to their pack (just a quick fact).

 By the time my parents were waking up, I had already made food and cleaned the house squeaky clean. The following morning, after everything was back to normal, I went back to my house but made sure I was back home in the evening. Dad’s headaches kept on recurring and after the three days I had been with them, I ordered a taxi to come to pick us up so that we could go to the hospital. Apparently, my father had been experiencing painful headaches. Of cause, if they were the normal ones, we would expect them to subside with a painkiller. But in this case, they kept on recurring like a growing wave. This particular day the wave was so powerful that it threw him out of his chair. As my mother narrated the experience to the doctor, I was finalizing my back up plan in my head. I had to move back home for both my parents. My mother was traumatized enough, and I could not bear to watch her go through grief again. The doctor recommended that several tests be done on my father, and as we waited for the results, I took my mom to the psychiatrist.

After what seemed like forever, the tests were finally out. A ball of the tumour had detected on dad’s head and this confirmed the cause of his painful headaches. This meant, he had to be in and out of the hospital for a check-up. My mom, on the other hand, was given three appointments a week for therapy sessions. She was beyond broken by the news and the thought that kept popping in her head was that she was going to lose her husband. Being the fragile woman that she was, her heart was sinking deeper with each day. They say blood is thicker than water, but when it comes to relationships, the bonds between this husband and wife seemed thicker than blood. My mom was well aware of this and to her, my father was her rock, her anchor. The man who had held her heart in its rightful place. Watching him suffer from every passing day devastated her (scrap that!). It tore her apart bit by bit.

 My days were filled with hospital schedules, feeding plans and very little time to sleep.  My sister was a thousand miles away, with troubles of her own and I could not bug her with more troubles at home. Women are rather very emotional (a fact). The manner in which they process situations involves a huge explosion of emotions at first then as time goes by, logic starts to kick in.( Just an observation, do not come for my neck). I knew that if I broke the news about the horrible situation at home, my sister would fall deeper into depression than she already was. I chose to fight the battle like the Leo I am. My mother on the hand seemed like she was in a state of random emotions. One minute she was extremely happy, the next minute she was furious, then angry and finally she would cry herself to sleep.

I was honestly in a fix, but I was focused on being present for my parents that I lost track of my emotions. I was worried that my mother was also suffering in silence. She hardly spoke like she used to, hardly had an appetite and was always somewhere in a corner in deep thoughts. On the next trip to the doctor, I insisted that some tests be done on her. She just wasn’t the same after dad’s diagnosis. The doctor, however, insisted that with the therapy, she was going to snap out of it. I believed him. A month later, we rushed mom to the hospital as her condition had become worse. My dad, on the other hand, had lost his leg functionality as he was always in bed. He had developed bed sores and I, therefore, hired a physiotherapist to aid with this. They would clean up his wounds, then help him out of bed to exercise his leg muscles.

Fast forward to a few months later, dad was making very little progress and well, mom was drifting away. Days later, she took her last breath and left me in the dark. I could not process her passing away because dad still needed me. I knew if I allowed grief to take over, then I could not have the strength to take care of dad. My family stepped in with the burial organization and a few days later, we lay mom to eternal rest. She too had joined the dancing angels in heaven. I hired a nurse who took over caring for dad during the day then I could resume the duty at night when I got home. Through all this, I was using all my savings and my bank was drying up as dads medical bills were demanding. With this, I had to give up paying the rent for my house, where my friends were boarding and my parents’ house. Physiotherapy had become too expensive to maintain and so I cut it off too. 

I thank God for faithful friends and family because were it not for them, I could not only have ended up an orphan but homeless too. They chipped in when my savings finally run out. With the pool of contributions, I moved into one big house, talked to my uncle and cousin, who accepted to move in with me and look after dad when I was away looking for ways to make ends meet. Of course, I had to give them a stipend too because it was as if they were working for me, but it was different because they were family. Dad still experienced the painful headaches and the only solution to stop this was to remove the tumour. We scheduled for surgery with the doctor but on the day of the surgery, the doctor did not show up. I called him but he arrogantly replied that the surgery rooms had been booked. We therefore scheduled for another surgery day. This day, he came up with another excuse, which honestly threw me off. He, however, recommended that we visit another hospital that specialized in tumour surgery.

An ambulance was hired and we made several trips to the hospital for scans and medicine and I was finally getting some hope. We scheduled a day for the surgery but history repeated itself. The doctor who was to perform the surgery was administering another surgery elsewhere. We, therefore, postponed the date but it never worked anyway! What was even more frustrating was that at this time the doctors in public hospitals such as the one we were in had gone on a national strike. The next resort was to run to a private hospital. I honestly still get surprised at the strength I had, but I was not going back. The goal was to get the tumour out of dad and I was stopping at nothing. After thorough research and recommendations, I found a private hospital where I could take dad.

We booked him in and I was advised to leave him in hospital for close supervision. At this point, I tend to think my uncle and cousin had experienced enough and they, therefore, asked to take a break. They packed and went back to their respective homes. Dad was in the hospital and I was finally at home alone. These silent moments gave me a period to debrief. I broke down most of the nights. Had mirror meetings with my other-selves and cried in the shower every night. I had been raised as a believer and so I somehow knew God was in control regardless. There were times I questioned everything but I did not make this an excuse to be swayed away from my faith. Dad’s condition becomes worse and he was moved to the ICU.

I later came to learn that, after yet another surgery was postponed, he was left in the wards with very little care from the nurses. I cursed the day I got him to that hospital. The final doctor who looked at dad was honest with me. He told me that surgery was not an option. The only thing left was to take dad home and take care of him until his final day. This was after dad had been in the hospital for a couple of months and the bill had accumulated to a couple of millions. Mind you, my bank had run dry and I had no idea how I was going to raise that amount of money. God watches over us, well I believe He does because He made it possible to clear that bill. I got dad home and resumed my nurse duties. During grooming, I realized that he had developed more sores on his body than he had when I took him to the hospital.

Burning with fury, I approached the hospital but they were defensive about it. No apologies whatsoever. To add salt to the injury, the management was so rude to me when I questioned their competency. I filed a complaint against the hospital, got my doctor friend to sign a letter as a witness to dad’s deteriorated condition from that hospital and took the case to court. I had to wait for the case to be opened in court. Meanwhile, I focused all my attention on caring for dad. I could clean him, turn him in bed and feed him. Solid food was not in the menu as he was could only feed through a nasal gastric tube. On this one day, I fed him and went to bed. Late in the night, I heard him cough like he was struggling to breath. I run into his room confused about what was going on. Regardless, I administered first aid and after minutes of rescue attempts, he resumed his normal breathing. It was hard to watch him suffer for this long.

Most times, I got myself asking God to take away that cup of suffering from him. He had experienced enough and honestly, it was better if he joined mom rather than continue suffering. Later on, during the early morning, I woke up to give him medicine as I turned him, but he lay in bed lifeless. I went to confirm his pulse but I felt nothing. I went out of the room terrified, got back in and confirmed his pulse. I could feel nothing. This time I was sure he was gone. I let a sigh out. If I am being honest, it was a sigh of relief that finally, his suffering had come to an end. My friends came in yet again and took charge of organizing his burial. I handed them everything, including my phone as I was in no capacity to entertain questions or sympathy from anyone. Dad was finally buried beside my mom and that was the end of my caregiving journey.

A year later, the case against the hospital I had filed was opened in court. The irony of it is that when I needed justice, it was unavailable. When I had finally given up on it, it was throwing itself at me shamelessly. Honestly, I do not hold a grudge against the justice system but the people in charge of administering the justice itself. For in a world full of corruption, innocent people hardly find favour in the eyes of justice. Or do I say, merit does not yield happiness for it is often tried by suffering? You be the judge.

 Death to me is a subject that I have become numb to. I still get random triggers as I was not able to mourn my mother but I am getting through it by the day. Healing? It is a process. It has been a solid four years but I still have wounds that resurface every time I think about what life would have been with my mother still around. She did not get to see the wife I will marry but, it is what it is!. 

Life keeps showing me different views,

I have seen the highs,

I have been drugged through the bottom pit,

But here I am!

I have been hurt,

I have lost all hope for a better tomorrow,

But here I am!

We have been there, (no scrap that!)

I have been there!

I have felt it all yet I stand even stronger now.

Believe me, my heart stands at the centre of this piece.

For I know I am not alone,

And friend, neither are you!

My name is Shawn, proud to have been experienced caregiver and this is my story!