I cannot continue writing in this blog without first exhausting all these emotional baggage i have.
It has been the saddest turning point in my life when my father died.
Being a nurse myself, it was frustrating, relieving, and overwhelming at the same time. Frustrating because I have an idea of the prognosis. Relieving because I am medically-inclined. Overwhelming because I was the one whom they entrusted most of the decisions.
After 9 long months, I could finally say I have freed myself from the guilt of being the one to sign the consent to allow natural death. It was my name on almost every consent and refusal form. It was until lately, when my father appeared to me in a dream saying something like “it was alright”.
I remember the very first time I appraised him of his condition. It was me who kept the laboratory result. I waited 3 days gathering all the strength to tell him he might be dying. I felt like i was a traitor to him so I did not wait for the doctor to tell it. And when I finally said it, I regret. I knew how most of the patients respond to those news. What was even more painful was me crushing the very idea of hope he had left. Pa, I’m sorry.
I recall the last time we had (probably the best) a heart-to-heart talk one dawn while I was giving him a sponge bath. He could not sleep that night, he was probably in terrible discomfort. He told me all of his frustrations and fears. Most were concerns on what will happen to us if he will be gone, how he is utterly disturbing our work and rest, the medical expenses, etc. I was just there holding his hands as he caressed my face, reassuring him everything will be alright.
I, myself, didn’t believed what I was saying then.
But I thank God for giving us the chance to say goodbye.
It is amazing now that i am able to write this without losing focus from the flow of tears.
It has only been nine months but it seemed so long.
I miss you pa!