Life

16 1/2 hours

Posted by beingKirei on
on the hospital bed with my bff after her brain tumor operation

She’s a real trooper. She forced herself into a smile when I leaned forward to greet her. It was a little past midnight. “Sorry, it took me this long,” I whispered. I wanted to hug her frail body, but I was afraid I might hurt her.

* * *

Upo ka dito, she said, tapping the space beside her.

You need anything?

Wala. Kwentuhan mo lang ako.

horsing around with her son, Kai

It must have felt like eternity for her. I’ve never been operated on before, so I can only imagine what the entire ordeal must have taken from her. Time, precious time, that she could have spent having good conversations…laughter…playtime…stimulating book…soft music…entertaining movie…favorite TV show…delicious meal…heck, even a productive client presentation.

Kwentuhan mo lang ako…on normal days, this request may be considered empty. But in this particular instance, it cried painful longing. You can’t say no to something like that. Not under the circumstances.

* * *

we’re the best of friends, especially during hard times

I ran my steel comb through her hair, strands made brittle by dried blood from the operation. She would flinch whenever it gets painful, so I decided to put leave-on conditioner to make her hair more manageable. Thick strands fell off here and there. Flakes of dried blood covered her shoulders and the top of the hospital bed. I couldn’t stand it, but she always loved to keep her hair beautiful. I don’t know how long it took me to tie her hair into a side pony, but when I finally did, I saw her break into a satisfied smile. It was all worth it. I made her feel good again.

 * * *

She took a healthy bite off the raisin bread that Max brought her. I knew then she would do just fine. God has been good. As always. A gentle kiss, a faint goodbye, and a glance that meant, “I’ll see you soon.” It was 4:30 in the afternoon.

Published by beingKirei

I started this digital journal initially for self-expression -- because this is what I do. I write for my profession and for my passion. Then it dawned on me that what I was doing was selfish. I found new inspiration in Proverbs 31:8: Speak for those who cannot speak; seek justice for all those on the verge of destruction. Through the years, I have met people from various walks of life with stories that deserve to be told. Unfortunately, not all of them have the gift of gab. So I presented myself to them, giving them the voice that they need to share their stories. Stories that inspire, cry out, reach out, provide unspoken truth.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Grace says:
    July 30, 2007 at 1:16 am

    Thanks for this Carms. I was getting ready to write. Its just that i broke off writing about the pre-op in my journal and couldn’t re-live the experience. It wasnt so much my personal pain, but being put in a ward for two days prior left me with the pain of the families I left there. I couldnt concentrate on my own pain. I couldn’t concentrate on getting optimistic. So I felt and dreaded my execution. Until when everything is over, I couldn’t stand it being with them — had to get my own room for my own sanity. There’s a catch in my throat reading through your story. Thank you, thank you so much for everything. I will be grateful to you for all eternity.

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