For the past few years, I've been having countless arguments with my father. We argued about almost everything. It started when I chose to shift to another degree program. That really pissed him off. I used to be really close to him, but through the years, I just somewhat lost my connection with him... Until last night...
I was having a difficult time breathing. I'm asthmatic, but I didn't really know what triggered last night's attack. The doctors said it must have the seafood I ate at dinner. We just could not pinpoint which one. I ate shrimps, crabs, octopus, fish, and all. See, I have never been allergic to seafood, until yesterday. My air passage was blocked. It felt a little sore.
It was raining cats and dogs. Papa's schedule for this morning was set. He had to wake up early for a wedding. The bride and groom kinda rented our ride to make it the bridal car. He volunteered to help set the car up. It was a little pass 10 when I had an attack, and papa had no choice but to change and drive me to the nearest hospital. At first, he was really annoyed because I had to drag him out of bed. He mumbled things and even asked if I got drunk this week. But when he saw me get really pale, he started panicking. He quickly grabbed the keys, his cap, and me.
The moment the engine roared, he asked me if I was okay. I wasn't. But I could feel him getting tensed, so I forced myself to talk and told him to drive safely. The road was really wet and the rain was pouring heavily. I was on the passenger's seat, struggling to breathe, and he was beside me, cursing the drivers as if they can hear him. He kept checking on me, saying my name in with a question mark in his tone, making sure that I did not pass out, saying three words over and over and over every time I responded.
"Hang in there"
I do not remember how many times he said it, but I choked back tears every single time he did. I didn't want to cry. But more than that, I knew that if I gave way to my tears, he would worry even more. I couldn't bear that.
I was almost blacking out when we stepped into the emergency room of the hospital. We've been through that exact same situation hundreds of times already, but for the past years, he would force me to talk and tell the doctors my pain. Last night, however, was different. He did not let me talk. He explained everything to the medical people as quickly as he could, and then, they did what they had to do.
Took my weight, let me lie down in bed. Took my blood pressure, measured my temperature, and calculated my pulse rate. There were like two nurses assisting me the doctor. A tube was placed in my nostrils for the oxygen, and a bigger tube in my mouth for the nebulizer. While I was trying real hard to breathe properly with the help of those apparatus, they injected me with an anti-allergy shot, that would help my body not turn even more red than it already was last night and so my air passage could relax and open again.
My world started to spin around (effect of the medicine injected). I looked around and I saw my father just looking at me from a short distance. I noticed he didn't have time to bring his jacket with him. He just wore a cap. I could tell that his body was feeling a bit cold but I could also sense that all his thoughts were directed to me. Seeing him like that, I wanted to get better right away. He looked really worried.
When the doctor stepped away from my bed, she talked to my dad and gave him a list of medicines I have to take for a couple of days. He listened intently and asked a few questions along the conversation.
I was feeling really high and my eyes were heavy when he walked toward my bed, leaned to my ear, and whispered that he'll be back. He just needed to buy the medicines prescribed for me. I seriously couldn't feel my entire body but at least I managed a light nod. He squeezed my hand lightly before he left. That squeeze, I felt.
I dozed off in bed for a few hours then the nurse woke me up. I needed to nebulize again. The moment I opened my eyes, I saw my father resting his head on the right side of my bed, a few inches away from my right hand, like the typical hospital scenes you see in the movies. I smiled. He woke up with bed marks on his slightly wrinkled face and directly stood up as the nurse placed that tube in my mouth again. The effect of the medicine was still kicking in and so I dropped like three times while puffing. Papa had to slap my face lightly every time that happened because it would be such a waste of medicine if I don't take in most of it. The doctor made me sleep for a couple more hours and then decided that I could be an out-patient for the night, which relieved my father.
On our way home, he put the seat belt around me before driving. It was the first time he did that. I slept again along the way.
When we got home, he led me to my room, made me drink that tablet as instructed by the doctor, and told me to just rest so the medicine could have its full effect. He said he'll clean the car so it would look clean for the wedding in the morning. The wedding, I forgot about that.
After a little while, I felt my father slide beside me in bed and said he'll look after me for the night. It was just like how he took care of me when I was little. Once again, I felt like I was 5. He didn't kiss my forehead like he used to though, and he did not hug me the way he did when I was a little girl. But he did make me feel taken care of and loved. I didn't see the father I had yelling matches with the other night. I saw the father I thought I lost.
He made me realize last night that just because I grew up doesn't mean I'm not his little girl anymore. I still am. And just because we had countless fights doesn't mean he's not my number one man anymore. He still is. Always and forever.
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From my previous blog. Edited.
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