A day after celebrating my brother’s birthday, my mom called me at around 4pm.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing, just some work. Why?”
“I’m on the way to Kajang Hospital. Abah’s in the ambulance. I’m following behind them.”
“Hah? Why? What happened?”
My father’s been having swollen feet for a couple of weeks. We assumed it was gout again. A week before this episode, he went to the doctor as it wasn’t reducing and got prescribed meds. But, nothing improved.
“His oxygen level is at 70. We went to the clinic to check his feet again. They called the ambulance.”
“Okay. I’ll leave soon.”
“No, it’s okay. No need to come home. I’ll update you. But if it takes very long, then maybe you need to come home because Safran will be alone.”
“Okay.”
10 minutes later…
“Come home. I think it’s going to take a while. He’s in the red zone.”
“Okay, I’ll wait for Safran at home.”
“Hey. I’m going home. My dad’s in the hospital. Got taken by the ambulance.”
“Is he okay?”, my bf asked.
“Yeah he’s fine. No worries. Surely, he’ll be home tomorrow, as usual. It’s just gout. Oxygen’s at 70. Talk to you later.”
I got home, chill as ever, and told my 8-year-old brother about Abah after he returned from school.
Then, I called my mom for updates.
“Still in the red zone. He’s on the tank. It’s already Maghrib. I’ll go home and pray then come back. See you.”
We live 10 minutes away from the hospital. So, she came home, prayed and we were planning to have a quick dinner.
“He’s alone there.”, I said. “Mama have dinner, I’ll go and see him then Mama come after Isyak.”
I left the house and drove to the hospital. They wouldn’t let me in. He was still in the red zone. This time, already with tubes in his mouth.
“We’ll give you a call if there’s any update.”, the nurse said.
So, I went home.
“I think we should tell Kakak what’s going on.”
“No need la. She’ll be worried for nothing. Let’s see how it goes.”, my mom said.
I agreed. But when I kept thinking about it, it didn’t feel right, for some reason.
“I’m calling Kakak. She needs to know.”
No answer. I texted her.
Hey. I think you should know this. Dad’s in the hospital. In the Red zone. Oxygen’s at 70. Feet are swollen. Call me when you get this.
She replied immediately with shock and panic. I called her. By God’s will, she was nearby for some work and told me to pick her up. At 9pm, we got ready and went to see her.
At the hospital, we couldn’t get in, still. So, we waited nearby the ER. My sister was pacing around. She couldn’t sit still. We were all talking when at some point, I asked,
“Why are you so worried actually? He’s gonna be fine. They’re treating him.”
“Yeah, Safrisha. Why are you worried? He’ll be home tomorrow.”, my mom said.
“He already has tubes in his mouth.”, she replied.
She went on to explain that she has known someone who died after having this kind of initial stages.
Panic started rising in me. I started Googling, looking for information.
What level of oxygen is dangerous?
"Normal pulse oximeter readings usually range from 95 to 100 percent. Values under 90 percent are considered low."
What does having oxygen tube in mouth means?
"Intubation is the process of inserting a tube,bla bla bla...
This process is done because the patient cannot maintain their airway, cannot breathe on their own without assistance, or both..."
I was petrified. That was why my sister was so worried. That was why she couldn’t sit still. My father is not able to breathe. I forgot the fact that Oxygen is the main reason we’re alive. That having it so low, is dangerous. I forgot. I learned that in Science. I am a damn human, but I forgot.
“Kakak, I’m sleepy.”, Safran told me.
It was late and on a school night. I took him to the car and put him to sleep. He fell asleep immediately.
I sat there in silence at 12.30am, calming myself down and after a while, Mama told me to take my sister home for us to rest and that she’ll keep us posted.
We couldn’t rest, obviously. We were talking till 4am. We were restless. How could one rest? We finally slept at 4am. I woke up 2 hours later, had a horrible sleep, and called my mom immediately. It was Thursday.
“They moved him to the ward. Still not stable. They can’t do anything until he’s stable.”
“Okay. Let’s swap. I’ll settle everything and fetch you.”
The ward doesn’t allow more than 2 people in per patient, at a time, except during visiting hours. We reached the hospital around 10am and my sister went in to see him. My mom and I waited in the car.
“This morning, probably a senior doctor came in and said they saw a spot near his lungs. They’ll do more tests later. Around 3am, a nurse came to check on him. I asked whether we can get a first class room. They said theirs is under renovation and even if it’s done, a patient this critical couldn’t be placed there.”
Critical. He was critical. We weren't told that.
My sister came down and it was my turn. I went up to the ward. Bed number 20, 1st floor.
This is my first time seeing him after a week. He was attached to so many machines. He had a tube in his mouth. He was unconscious. His eyes were closed.
I was welling up. . trying not to make a sound. My hands were shaking. My fear since the night before multiplied, seeing him that way.
I touched his feet. They were cold. Before I came to the ward, Mama and Kakak reminded me to read Al-fatihah and apologize to him for everything and forgive him for everything too. He was unconscious, but he could still listen.
I couldn’t. I was shaking so badly. I couldn’t utter those words because what if he leaves right after I say them?
Two doctors came to examine him.
“Doctor, how is his condition?”
“Uhhh… not that good. We’re still checking on him regularly. We need to do tests and see how it goes and we’ll update you.”
I didn’t like the answer. They were being vague. The nurse at 3am mentioned he was critical. These doctors are not spilling the details.
“Honestly, how bad is it? I need to know.”
They took a second and spilled.
“He has pneumonia. Lungs are filled with liquid. It’s multiplied in size. Our normal lungs are supposed to be this size, but his are this size.”, she gestured the sizes with her hands.
“His oxygen keeps dropping. It’s not looking good. You need to get ready.”
This is a line I often hear in movies. Cliché and dramatic. That moment, it was uttered to me.
I had to leave. I had to drive my sister to get her things. My mom called me while I was waiting. “Safina, don’t take too long. His oxygen dropped to 40.”
I called my sister. We rushed to the hospital. On the way, we were tearing up, both holding back, trying to be strong. She held my hand and I knew, we were both scared we couldn’t make it in time.
Once we reached the hospital, we ran up and saw doctors just manage to stabilize him. His oxygen shoot back up to 75 and maintained.
“There was even a flat line just now.”, Mama told us. We stood in silence till the doctors left.
After this incident, Mama swore to never leave his side. When she was with my dad the night before, she saw two doctors suddenly running towards a patient nearby. After a while, she realized he passed away. He passed away alone. No one was reading the Syahadah for him. My mom’s not gonna have that happen to my father.
So, for the the next couple of days, my mother, my sister and I swapped shifts. My mom didn’t want to leave him but we didn't want any of us to collapse so we reminded each other to rest. It wasn’t a long rest. We only had 2-3 hours of sleep each day, we barely ate, we went home just to clean ourselves up. We took power naps in the car sometimes. We had each others’ back and boy was that important.
Friday morning came and the same thing happened. This time, all 3 of us were there. Everything was beeping and oxygen levels were haywire. All the while, we kept reading the Syahadah and Quran verses near his ear. When we’re tired, we swapped. That’s what we did for nearly an hour… and then he stabilized.
After I came back from Zohor, they’ve put him on dialysis. My mom went for prayer. My sister was taken to lunch. I was alone. I was contemplating for a while and finally had the courage.
“Abah, I know you’re suffering. You know I love you very much. I know we bicker a lot and we’re rarely on the same page. But, I know you love me endlessly. I am sorry for everything. I hope I’ve been a good daughter to you. I forgive you for everything too. If you need to go, I’ve already Redha. God loves you more. You've suffered enough. Don’t worry about Mama and Safran. I’ll take care of them.”
The past couple of years, my father had a hard time walking. Anywhere we go, I make sure to drop him at the nearest possible entrance. He couldn't sleep well due to sleep apnea. He couldn't exercise much due to hernia. He stopped making my favourite biryani because he's terribly exhausted to cook. So, when he gradually became more and more tired, we never thought it was a heart problem. We never realize that this time, it wasn't gout, it was water retention.
I hugged him. I had to be so careful because there were so many tubes. I cried it out because no one was there. I could finally cry it out.
By Saturday, his lungs failed.
Kidney failed.
Liver failed.
Oxygen level’s not promising.
Just not brain dead.
Sunday, at midnight, it was my turn to be alone. I just kept reading the Quran, holding his hand. By 2.30am, probably due to fatigue, I started ranting.
“Wake up. Please wake up. At least for a while. Why aren’t you waking up? Don’t leave.”
I went on and on until my mom came at 4am and we switched.
I managed to sleep after Subuh at 6.30am and then woke up by 8am. My mom called.
“Just now a doctor came. So happened, it was my ex-student. Today, she’s the specialist that came from another hospital to check on Abah. I sat her down with me and asked her to talk to me. She said it’s a matter of time. She told me, when the time comes, the staff will use a machine to keep his heartbeat going.”
“You mean a defibrillator?”, I asked. I’ve watched medical dramas. That thing is scary. That thing gets the characters crying. Pretty sure I’d cry too.
“Yeah that machine. She asked whether we want to allow that? She said if that is done, there’s a possibility his bones might rupture.”
“No need. I don’t want that. I’ll talk to Kakak but I don’t agree to that.”
My sister wanted to wait for another test, I forgot what was it for. But, we did all wanted the test too. Unfortunately, it could only be done on Monday. If he dies before Monday, we agreed to not have them using the defibrillator. Everything has already failed. We didn’t want him to suffer even more.
After lunch, my sister had to return to her home. My mom went home too and it was my shift. My uncle came after a short while and kept me company. Before he came, I was pacing around the bed. The past 4 days in the hospital has made me obsessed with the machines. I googled whatever I can to understand each reading and what the machines were doing everytime I was there. Around 2pm, I thought to myself.
“Today is going to be the day.”
Reason was, everything that’s possibly holding him back has been settled. We have all apologized and forgiven him and halal-ed everything. I have personally apologized to everyone he knows on behalf of him, in case of any wrongdoings throughout his life. He doesn’t have any debt for me to settle, so that’s done. Whoever that's supposed to come and see him, has came, near or far. Nothing else is left. Also, probably it was my gut as a daughter so that I would be extra prepared.
As I was obsessed with the machines, I realized around 3pm that the oxygen and heartbeat levels were fluctuating for the past half hour. I called the nurses and told them something’s not right. The oxygen levels went from 90 to 75 to 60 to 80 to 50 to 40 to 30 to 20 and the blood pressure was as haywire. They took a look at him and started calling a bunch of doctors.
“Call Mama and Kakak now.”, I told my uncle.
I started reading the Syahadah and cried non stop. I knew it was time. After a while, I realized there was already a doctor on a stool about to defibrillate my father and I stopped him just in time.
My mom arrived half hour later with Safran and continued my reading. We watched my father with his eyes open after 4 days, looking up at the ceiling. My mom closed his eyes and continued reading. Safran looked at us and started crying silently. At 5.17pm, we stopped reading. He passed away. My sister didn’t make it on time.
By 10pm on November 18th, 2018, Abah has already been buried.
Four days going through this made me more grateful than I have ever been.
As my father is a Bangladeshi, my paternal family are either back in Bangladesh or have already migrated to the US. They prayed for my father a lot.
So, due to the distance, we got very close to my mom's side. The 20 of us have always been tightly-knit. But this time, they were beyond wonderful. They parked the car when we were rushing and couldn't find parking, they flew in from another state, they brought us food, they helped us organize our house so that we'll come home to a clean house, they stayed over, they kept Safran busy so that I could focus, they tried to make him understood what was going on, they bathed my father at the funeral, they prayed for him non-stop, they visited every single night despite working, they stayed all day during the weekend and then, they helped bury him. Being grateful to have such a family is an understatement.
Due to this incident, God also granted us another family through my sister, around 10-15 of them that did the same things my family did. Such strength we had.
In those four days, I tried hard not to break down. I kept the steady front because I didn't want to cry in front of my family. Everyone asks "How's your mother?", "Take care of your mother." So, when a couple of people including my best friends and bf asks me how I am, I broke down. They were the ones I could turn to. They stayed at the hospital for hours with me, they took me out to eat, they calmed me down when I was hyperventilating, they drove 5 hours to come see me, they stayed all throughout the funeral and after... basically, they were there.
We also had massive amount of colleagues and neighbours of ours that came for the prayers, funeral and visited at home and gave donations to help. It was overwhelming but made me filled with gratitude.
I didn't know what to feel, being reminded everyday that my father died.
We never expected to have such amount of people, all praying for my father.
My mother has always been a tough person. An independent woman, loved by everyone. She brought me up to be like her. But, I have never been as tough as she is. She is tougher than my father. My father changed a lot because of how much my mom believes in Him. Also, he loved my mother endlessly.
Unlike the patient that died alone on the first night, another patient had a huge family. When the patient was seconds away from dying, most of them were talking, one or two were reading the Syahadah. Then, he passed.
My mom saw that and told me,
"Safina, make sure when the time comes, those who are here for Abah, are not talking or taking pictures, etc. Make sure they are either quiet or reading Ya-seen for him.", and yes, I made sure of that. Everyone was reading Ya-seen when Abah was on his last breath.
My father was sure he would be in the ER only till Thursday afternoon. When my mom told him she has already taken an emergency leave from work for Thursday, he said,
"Don't waste money. I'm fine. Just come and pick me up after work."
Even he was sure he'd be home.
My mother relies on God for everything. She raised me with a strong mentality that no matter what happens, believe in Him. He knows best. Always go back to Him. We have to work hard and do our best. But we must also Redha if in the end, things doesn't go our way. That's what Islam teaches us. People would call it 'Silver Lining'.
Thanks to her way of raising me, by the second night my dad was in the hospital, I have already accepted that he will leave us. Though this stand didn't stop me from going into depression even more ( I've been depressed for a couple of years ) after he died, but it did help me to not completely lose my mind.
My mother is in her Iddah, due to my father's passing. So, I had to do everything. And everything I did, reminded me that Abah died. Mama had her moments of sadness too. We are saddened in our own way.
I tried to keep myself busy. I had to. Because otherwise, I break down.
I broke down while I was driving alone,
I broke down during showers,
I broke down in the middle of the registration office when I had to register for his death certificate,
I broke down when I was at the embassy to settle documents,
I broke down when I heard a lyric that has "baba" because that's what he used to call me,
I broke down when I see his name on my speed dial because now I have no father to call every few days to tell or complain about stuff to him,
I broke down when I heard a girl call her father "Abah" at a shop because my Abah is gone,
I broke down on Fridays because he used to call me every Friday to make sure I drive home safely so that he can finally see me,
I broke down because I didn't hug him long enough the last time I was with him before he went into coma,
I broke down when I went to the grave to tell my dad I bought a new car and that he would've loved it,
I broke down in the middle of the office because I remembered him,
I broke down every single time I read the Ya-seen for him, even till today...
Since he is a Bangladeshi, he flies to there on and off, up to a month or more at a time. When he passed, it felt like he just went to Bangladesh and that he would be back.
But, he's still not back.
We all dreamt of him after he passed. Safran, mainly had few dreams. He dreamt my father was waving at him in his Ihram, the night before he passed. He doesn't understand why Abah doesn't come home anymore, why is Abah still in the soil, why does Abah take medicine and yet still not cured.
Today, I can finally write this. I've been wanting to write this. Not sure why.
Maybe to share that it's not easy to heal.
Maybe to share that life is this way. I'm not sure.
I tried writing a few months back, but I kept crying while writing.
Today, I still cry. But, it's time to write.
I hope everyone who goes through this or any other tough times, have the utmost strength.
I hope everyone are blessed with and grateful for a strong support system.
I hope the support system will symphatize if not emphatize, for their friends or family, going through tough times.
I hope everyone is well.
Edit as of March 10th 2019 at 10pm,
Something just came to my mind as I re-read what I wrote.
I feel like I need to say this.
My dad died in the most beautiful way.
Being surrounded by his family reading Syahadah and Ya-seen,
smooth funeral without any obstacles (in Islam, the faster you bury, the better),
he suffered, in coma, only 4 days in the hospital, but you know what, it's been years since I saw him slept peacefully due to his sleep apnea.
He also smiled. Literally. He was smiling all throughout the process until we buried him.
Silver lining wise, he died without troubling anyone and in our religion, that means a good thing. We didn't have to worry about taking leaves from work or any other matter that could come in hand. Allah planned it in such a way, that he celebrated Safran's birthday for the last time, he doesn't owe anyone anything and he had all of us by his side.
When the time comes, the time comes. Redha doesn't mean you can't be sad. Redha means you accept that it's God's plan, He knows best and you've done your best.
And, it's okay to cry. That doesn't make you weak.