I don’t like hospitals.. They’re always cold, the lighting is always depressing, and the doctors always seems like they’re on edge of a mental breakdown. They have this look on their faces that just let you know they’re friggin’ tired of dealing with sick people…dying people. How can someone take all that in, you know? Certainly they’ve seen many patients pass through.. Some on their own two feet, others in big black bags. I hate to sounds so gloomy about it.. I’d like to be the type of person that views hospitals as the place where people go to get better. But I was one of those people that saw someone go in and not come back out. Someone I loved.. very much.. I have nothing against the people who tried to save his life. I have nothing against God or his choice to take him away. I just…hate hospitals. You can forgive all you want, but the whole forgive and forget saying kinda doesn’t work. Not all the time anyways.. not This time…
And so I hate hospitals, and I know its something I should work with. But I can’t help it. It reminds me of the waiting…When you’re not the one in trouble, you’re the one waiting to see what happens. I’ve described what happened that day to so many people that its never going to really be unclear to me how that night went down. There was a time when I was just angry.. plain angry, and I figured I couldn’t go around bashing everything I saw, so I picked up writing.
Like I said, you can’t really go around doing everything you feel like, but it Does help to get it out. Talking is one way but its not always the best. See when you’re talking you don’t always have the exact words you want to say when you need to say them. When you write, things are different. You have time to reflect, restructure and even re-understand what you feel. You can even com to a point where you learn things you didn’t know about yourself. I like to write. I like to write and I show people what I write. Not everyone of course. There’s a saying that says the eyes are the doorways to the soul, well I’ve learned how to keep ’em locked down.. But my writing is pretty much handing over the key to my souls safe. I can’t help but be entirely honest when I write. Its like.. I wouldn’t be able to face myself if I wrote anything other than the truth.
But I’m going a bit off topic.. Here’s what happened…
I can still remember the sad yet hopeful looks everyone kept giving me as I walked through the hospital halls. I was cold.. Very cold and I knew it wasn’t the air conditioner. I had already had a bad feeling about it. I already knew what would happen.. But I wouldn’t voice such things until much later. So here I am with my mother, on my personal request because I wanted to see him. She got to talk to him one more time before it all happened. I didn’t.. But I at least wanted to see him.. He was still critical I think. They were still testing him for options because they had diagnosed him before and had been incorrect. But I think they finally were able to figure it out by the time I went to see him. Too little too late of course.. But I’m not there yet.
There are two things I really really hate about hospitals: their smell and the temperature. How the hell is anyone supposed to get better when you can’t tell the differences between scents. Everything always smells like disinfectant or stuff they use to cover up the stench of death. And honestly! Who can get comfortable when its that friggin cold! I dunno, I ain’t into criticizing much, but when I think about it, it kinda ticks me off...
My old man had been in the hospital for about 18 hours if I’m not mistaken. Maybe a little more. If I’d have shown up about 10 hours earlier I could have seem ’im while he was still conscious. But I guess I was just listening to everyone when they’d keep telling’ me he’d be ok. My gut knew better but I assume it was wishful thinking. So back to retrospection.. I was walking down the halls and everyone’s giving me that “ oh poor thing” look. Like it was just as bad to be a visitor as to be a patient where we were goin’. I ignored them.. I ignored everyone really. Hell I wasn’t even payin’ attention to my ma’. She’d be talkin’ about how he’d be ok and they he probably wasn’t going to look to good right now but he’d be fine. I know this because she told me.. But if it was left up to me to remember I wouldn’t be able to. I was too far gone.. My father the one person I’d come to fully trust and need. I depended on his fully.. I was exactly like him.. He was immortal in my mind. And the one person I would have dread to ever see in such a state. But in the end, life tends to hit you where it really hurts. God has this way of always proving you wrong once you think you’ve got it all figured out. And what I had figured was that he wouldn’t Dare take the one thing that meant everything to me. Daddy’s lil’ girl, some people would say. I grew up knowing how to fight for what I believed in.. He taught me that.. Hell I grew up practically fighting all the time. But that’s another story.. Point in this one is my old man was in the hospital which I had already come to loath and there was nothing I could do about it. And so we’d have to wait..…I hate waiting..
Eventually we reached where they’d placed him. He of course didn’t have his own room because he was still in intensive care, but the nurse had just cleaned him up so he should have been more comfortable. Of course.. he wouldn’t know.. I Wouldn’t know. They had already had to put him in a semi-coma. Apparently his lungs had failed and they had to hook him up to this machine so he could breathe. I didn’t know the details.. Actually I still don’t. Ma’ doesn’t like to talk about it.. So here I am.. With my ma’ and some friends from church, staring down at my father who looked like some sort of a fucked up version of Darth Vader hooked up and a crappy machine. Ok.. So maybe he didn’t look That bad and onn a personal note I think my father was Much more attractive than the original actor of Darth Vader in the 6th Star wars movie…Then again Anikin had sorta been burned alive o.o.. heheheh.. ‘Scuse me.. can’t help but be cynical sometimes. Anyways… I guess its time to get serious.. Maybe not .. Who knows…
He was very pale.. All I could remember was me staring right at him for minutes without blinking. Eventually I would ask everyone to leave.. I needed a moment alone with him. My mother didn’t seem too sure about it but respected my wishes. There’s this theory that says that people that are placed or fall into coma’s can still hear their surroundings. A lot of people have been known to come back from their coma’s due to being spoken.. But my father’s was induced. See he had this tube stuck into his mouth all the way down into his lungs cuz he couldn’t breathe and they needed to keep him K.O.ed so the tube wouldn’t trigger that gag mechanism or make him uncomfortable. So no waking up for this guy. Nope..he’d be out till the end. I know I may sound cold about all of this sometimes. But you can get tired of being sad all the time.. You can get tried of crying, or hell even of bein’ angry. I’m not sure what I am right now.. But I always miss him… Here I am goin off track again..
Alone with my father.. I was staring right at him trying to see what the fuck I can say. Hell I didn’t wanna wake him.. He’s got a friggin tube down his throat. I wouldn’t wanna wake up to that. I start talk anyways. I can’t remember what I said because all I could really think about was how bad his last respiratory attack had been… His tube was covered blood. Did it hurt? It probably did.. Coughing up blood is never a good sign.. And yet they still have the nerve to tell me he was going to be ok. I eventually stoped talking… I don’t know if he could hear me but I do know I choked.. And I couldn’t talk anymore. For a second I figured maybe I was getting asthma.. I inherited part of my old mans breathin’ condition and sometimes I get these stupid asthma attacks.. but I have had one in a while so its probably not as bad as his… I was choking.. Because throughout this whole process I already knew he would die and I couldn’t cry about it cuz there was no proof. Technically there still wasn’t.. but I knew.. I saw him.. I saw the blood covered tube.. I saw how the machine was the thing making his chest rise and fall in order for him to breathe. I saw how pale he was.. Yes I definitely knew.. I have other reasons to believe I knew.. Yet again another story but I’ll fill you in on a few details. My ma’ says its some sort of gift, some friends say it’s a sort a sixth sense, some would even dare say its in my bloodline somehow. I didn’t care.. still don’t. I always just, know.. it’s a rule though.. I can’t tell anyone.. Who’s rule? Mine.. I’d rather be right and know myself then wrong and seem crazy…
So in my knowing…I cried…for those who know me, they can tell you how extremely hard it Is to make me cry… And I was crying.. Very hard… The thing is about crying.. is that in the end its good for you. Unfortunately for me, only in rare occasions could I ever bask in such freedom of feeling. So I took every second I cold to just Cry. Then I realized I couldn’t take anymore.. I couldn’t see this.. I didn’t want to be staring at my dying father knowing he would die and not be able to tell anyone. So as a good girl raised in a Christian home.. I prayed.. Maybe not the best way I should of.. For I cursed the moment I knew of what would happen. I cursed everyone that kept telling me there was a purpose in everything.. I’m not sure if I had the gull to but I’m pretty sure I even cursed God and his ridiculous game in purposes and will. His will non the less. I told him to take my father as quickly as he could.. My old man never did a damn thing to deserve a painful death so he should take him now and get it over with. Course as humorous and egocentrical as God is.. and I mean this with no disrespect to him only in truth as we as humans can understand it.. He would Not take my father in that moment. Only after.. When I would grow tired of crying.. When my mother took my by the arm and led me out. Visiting hours were over.. I wanted to stay… I wanted to say goodbye.. I wanted hear him one last time.. But I wouldn’t.. I’d never voice such desires. Again not until much later.
And now it was time to wait… Everyone still had it in them to tell me we’d just wait until body would start responding to the treatments and he’d be fine. Everyone waiting for him to come out… I didn’t though. I guess you could say I’d gotten over the denial of it all. I knew.. Don’t ask me how but I did. So I sat quietly waiting.. God I hate waiting. I hate the cold.. And that stupid smell. We went to my aunts house a bit after to wait there too. And we waited and waited.. And at 10 pm my ma’ got a call. I pretended not to listen.. But I was right up the stairs. They called her to go to the hospital. Of Course they wouldn’t tell her over the phone… But I’d have to wait again until she got back and confirmed what I already knew.. He was gone. Again.. I don’t know the details on how his death was… weather it was painful or peaceful.. Did he ever wake up? Never really asked. I guess I don’t really want to know if he was in pain before he died. Ignorance is bliss..
So what’s the point in all this? Why did I tell my old mans story ? Mostly everyone I know knows it by now I think. I guess there’s real no point. I just hate hospitals. I hate remembering the reasons why we’d always have to be there. I hate the cold.. I hate the Smell. Maybe hate is a strong word for it.. Hell I could just say I have a strong dislike for them. But I don’t think it would quite cut it… In time I believe This hate Could turn into a strong dislike.. Maybe even simply not care.. But for now I’ll simply state and affirm what has been told…
And so I hate hospitals, and I know its something I should work with. But I can’t help it. It reminds me of the waiting…When you’re not the one in trouble, you’re the one waiting to see what happens. I’ve described what happened that day to so many people that its never going to really be unclear to me how that night went down. There was a time when I was just angry.. plain angry, and I figured I couldn’t go around bashing everything I saw, so I picked up writing.
Like I said, you can’t really go around doing everything you feel like, but it Does help to get it out. Talking is one way but its not always the best. See when you’re talking you don’t always have the exact words you want to say when you need to say them. When you write, things are different. You have time to reflect, restructure and even re-understand what you feel. You can even com to a point where you learn things you didn’t know about yourself. I like to write. I like to write and I show people what I write. Not everyone of course. There’s a saying that says the eyes are the doorways to the soul, well I’ve learned how to keep ’em locked down.. But my writing is pretty much handing over the key to my souls safe. I can’t help but be entirely honest when I write. Its like.. I wouldn’t be able to face myself if I wrote anything other than the truth.
But I’m going a bit off topic.. Here’s what happened…
I can still remember the sad yet hopeful looks everyone kept giving me as I walked through the hospital halls. I was cold.. Very cold and I knew it wasn’t the air conditioner. I had already had a bad feeling about it. I already knew what would happen.. But I wouldn’t voice such things until much later. So here I am with my mother, on my personal request because I wanted to see him. She got to talk to him one more time before it all happened. I didn’t.. But I at least wanted to see him.. He was still critical I think. They were still testing him for options because they had diagnosed him before and had been incorrect. But I think they finally were able to figure it out by the time I went to see him. Too little too late of course.. But I’m not there yet.
There are two things I really really hate about hospitals: their smell and the temperature. How the hell is anyone supposed to get better when you can’t tell the differences between scents. Everything always smells like disinfectant or stuff they use to cover up the stench of death. And honestly! Who can get comfortable when its that friggin cold! I dunno, I ain’t into criticizing much, but when I think about it, it kinda ticks me off...
My old man had been in the hospital for about 18 hours if I’m not mistaken. Maybe a little more. If I’d have shown up about 10 hours earlier I could have seem ’im while he was still conscious. But I guess I was just listening to everyone when they’d keep telling’ me he’d be ok. My gut knew better but I assume it was wishful thinking. So back to retrospection.. I was walking down the halls and everyone’s giving me that “ oh poor thing” look. Like it was just as bad to be a visitor as to be a patient where we were goin’. I ignored them.. I ignored everyone really. Hell I wasn’t even payin’ attention to my ma’. She’d be talkin’ about how he’d be ok and they he probably wasn’t going to look to good right now but he’d be fine. I know this because she told me.. But if it was left up to me to remember I wouldn’t be able to. I was too far gone.. My father the one person I’d come to fully trust and need. I depended on his fully.. I was exactly like him.. He was immortal in my mind. And the one person I would have dread to ever see in such a state. But in the end, life tends to hit you where it really hurts. God has this way of always proving you wrong once you think you’ve got it all figured out. And what I had figured was that he wouldn’t Dare take the one thing that meant everything to me. Daddy’s lil’ girl, some people would say. I grew up knowing how to fight for what I believed in.. He taught me that.. Hell I grew up practically fighting all the time. But that’s another story.. Point in this one is my old man was in the hospital which I had already come to loath and there was nothing I could do about it. And so we’d have to wait..…I hate waiting..
Eventually we reached where they’d placed him. He of course didn’t have his own room because he was still in intensive care, but the nurse had just cleaned him up so he should have been more comfortable. Of course.. he wouldn’t know.. I Wouldn’t know. They had already had to put him in a semi-coma. Apparently his lungs had failed and they had to hook him up to this machine so he could breathe. I didn’t know the details.. Actually I still don’t. Ma’ doesn’t like to talk about it.. So here I am.. With my ma’ and some friends from church, staring down at my father who looked like some sort of a fucked up version of Darth Vader hooked up and a crappy machine. Ok.. So maybe he didn’t look That bad and onn a personal note I think my father was Much more attractive than the original actor of Darth Vader in the 6th Star wars movie…Then again Anikin had sorta been burned alive o.o.. heheheh.. ‘Scuse me.. can’t help but be cynical sometimes. Anyways… I guess its time to get serious.. Maybe not .. Who knows…
He was very pale.. All I could remember was me staring right at him for minutes without blinking. Eventually I would ask everyone to leave.. I needed a moment alone with him. My mother didn’t seem too sure about it but respected my wishes. There’s this theory that says that people that are placed or fall into coma’s can still hear their surroundings. A lot of people have been known to come back from their coma’s due to being spoken.. But my father’s was induced. See he had this tube stuck into his mouth all the way down into his lungs cuz he couldn’t breathe and they needed to keep him K.O.ed so the tube wouldn’t trigger that gag mechanism or make him uncomfortable. So no waking up for this guy. Nope..he’d be out till the end. I know I may sound cold about all of this sometimes. But you can get tired of being sad all the time.. You can get tried of crying, or hell even of bein’ angry. I’m not sure what I am right now.. But I always miss him… Here I am goin off track again..
Alone with my father.. I was staring right at him trying to see what the fuck I can say. Hell I didn’t wanna wake him.. He’s got a friggin tube down his throat. I wouldn’t wanna wake up to that. I start talk anyways. I can’t remember what I said because all I could really think about was how bad his last respiratory attack had been… His tube was covered blood. Did it hurt? It probably did.. Coughing up blood is never a good sign.. And yet they still have the nerve to tell me he was going to be ok. I eventually stoped talking… I don’t know if he could hear me but I do know I choked.. And I couldn’t talk anymore. For a second I figured maybe I was getting asthma.. I inherited part of my old mans breathin’ condition and sometimes I get these stupid asthma attacks.. but I have had one in a while so its probably not as bad as his… I was choking.. Because throughout this whole process I already knew he would die and I couldn’t cry about it cuz there was no proof. Technically there still wasn’t.. but I knew.. I saw him.. I saw the blood covered tube.. I saw how the machine was the thing making his chest rise and fall in order for him to breathe. I saw how pale he was.. Yes I definitely knew.. I have other reasons to believe I knew.. Yet again another story but I’ll fill you in on a few details. My ma’ says its some sort of gift, some friends say it’s a sort a sixth sense, some would even dare say its in my bloodline somehow. I didn’t care.. still don’t. I always just, know.. it’s a rule though.. I can’t tell anyone.. Who’s rule? Mine.. I’d rather be right and know myself then wrong and seem crazy…
So in my knowing…I cried…for those who know me, they can tell you how extremely hard it Is to make me cry… And I was crying.. Very hard… The thing is about crying.. is that in the end its good for you. Unfortunately for me, only in rare occasions could I ever bask in such freedom of feeling. So I took every second I cold to just Cry. Then I realized I couldn’t take anymore.. I couldn’t see this.. I didn’t want to be staring at my dying father knowing he would die and not be able to tell anyone. So as a good girl raised in a Christian home.. I prayed.. Maybe not the best way I should of.. For I cursed the moment I knew of what would happen. I cursed everyone that kept telling me there was a purpose in everything.. I’m not sure if I had the gull to but I’m pretty sure I even cursed God and his ridiculous game in purposes and will. His will non the less. I told him to take my father as quickly as he could.. My old man never did a damn thing to deserve a painful death so he should take him now and get it over with. Course as humorous and egocentrical as God is.. and I mean this with no disrespect to him only in truth as we as humans can understand it.. He would Not take my father in that moment. Only after.. When I would grow tired of crying.. When my mother took my by the arm and led me out. Visiting hours were over.. I wanted to stay… I wanted to say goodbye.. I wanted hear him one last time.. But I wouldn’t.. I’d never voice such desires. Again not until much later.
And now it was time to wait… Everyone still had it in them to tell me we’d just wait until body would start responding to the treatments and he’d be fine. Everyone waiting for him to come out… I didn’t though. I guess you could say I’d gotten over the denial of it all. I knew.. Don’t ask me how but I did. So I sat quietly waiting.. God I hate waiting. I hate the cold.. And that stupid smell. We went to my aunts house a bit after to wait there too. And we waited and waited.. And at 10 pm my ma’ got a call. I pretended not to listen.. But I was right up the stairs. They called her to go to the hospital. Of Course they wouldn’t tell her over the phone… But I’d have to wait again until she got back and confirmed what I already knew.. He was gone. Again.. I don’t know the details on how his death was… weather it was painful or peaceful.. Did he ever wake up? Never really asked. I guess I don’t really want to know if he was in pain before he died. Ignorance is bliss..
So what’s the point in all this? Why did I tell my old mans story ? Mostly everyone I know knows it by now I think. I guess there’s real no point. I just hate hospitals. I hate remembering the reasons why we’d always have to be there. I hate the cold.. I hate the Smell. Maybe hate is a strong word for it.. Hell I could just say I have a strong dislike for them. But I don’t think it would quite cut it… In time I believe This hate Could turn into a strong dislike.. Maybe even simply not care.. But for now I’ll simply state and affirm what has been told…
