Dad.

He's really sick, but it's fine now. Last I heard about him through a mobile phonecall was:

"Tonight's dinner is cancelled. Daddy needs an operation, three arteries are blocked and he's either going for a bypass or a ballooning op. I'll tell you when he's confirmed the hospital he's going to get admitted to. Tell Sis about it, my handphone is low on battery. Bye."

That's Mom. She's so strong, I must say. No crying at all, at least not in front of me.

Well of course I was shocked outta my wits. Here I was, on the bus to school so I can get my notes, wearing reasonably formal in prep for a dinner at Moonfish, my heart rather light in expectation of some shopping with Pree and a great dinner. That sudden call made me really wonder: what if Dad dies.

But hell, he ain't gonna do that. He's old, yes, sick, yes, dying, no. I'm pretty sure about that. A woman's sixth sense. Oh yes, yes, I'm not a woman.

But damn, I was shaken, I must say. But like how I always function, gimme an hour and I'll be okay. Then there I was, tired as I might be, going to Kino, arguing with Pree about how to pronounce "compilation", getting really good books, then to Far East, when I called my sis about the directions to get to NUH, where my daddy was admitted. It's the same hospital my gramms went into for an op to take out something cancerous.

When I finally made my long way there, I went into dad's ward, it's kinda like an enclosure of sorts, a cubicle, but much bigger. Plastic see-through slide doors and a half-drawn curtain, and right in the centre of the room was me pops, lying straight, sleeping calmly. First I thought: was he on medication? Then, I wondered. He hasn't gone for an operation, so why is he in the ward already? Mom and Sis weren't there, apparently they were having their dinner.

Then when I was about to go look for them, they walked up the hallway, with Sis reasonably calm-looking but rather worn out, and Mom. Tall, wearing a really nice dark-blue coat with a light blue shirt inside, and a matching dark-blue long skirt, black stockings, and black heels. With my favourite curly hair. She reminds me of a power-woman, a business lady. 'Cept for her visibly tired face, she looks like she was keeping something in, yet, I couldn't really feel how sad she was, she's really good at feigning, and well, I guess the news weren't that good to begin with, she must have felt some sadness, some worry, some tiredness, considering it's Dad we're talking about here, as much as she resents him for things he does, she loves him, like a wife, a companion. She troubles me, I don't know what to say to anyone, even when I was waiting at the Day Room for my uncle and auntie to come out of the 2-visitors-at-a-time-only ward so I could see Dad, and when my sis came and told me Dad's awoken and I can see him, I really didn't want to, not knowing what to say to me pops when I really see him, I guess that's me, it was the same with Ahgong, with my gramms, with pops. I just don't know what to say. I thought about Mom in the same situation, I felt I'd just cry.

I just walked over there, and went into Dad's ward. Only a few moments ago did Mom and Sis tell me that Dad has already gone for a ballooning operation, that's he's fine already and was sleeping from the long, tiring op. When I entered, he was relating the operation process to his brother and sister-in-law, and I stood there, hearing it all, feeling at times a pain which I can describe as the sensation you feel when you see someone being sliced on the arm on TV or film. That sympathetic reaction. Damn, there's something holding the vein open in his arteries, so more blood could go through, and something attached to his heart, put all the way through to his thigh, for some unknown-to-me reason. There was only local anaesthetic, so if there wasn't that much piercing operating light and not a film covering his view, me pops would have seen everything. URGH. And:

"The doctor was pumping, 16, 18, 20, then I told him my chest was aching, and he dropped it to 18... he put the ring inside... made of fibreglass or something. He said it might break! So I'll have to sleep straight."

Gosh. I felt like running 4.8km and swimming right there and then to burn the fats. Poor pops! Having to go through all this. And, he was only told all this after a LONG LONG wait (since Jan/Feb) for a detailed heart checkup for the chestpains he was experiencing when he walked the three-bus-stops distance every morning, which he did with reasonable ease in the recent past, before the chestpains came. Then again, as inefficient as this aspect of healthcare might be, I must say my dad's operation was as efficient as it could get. I must say this. It's all planned. Like, God's plan.

First. It's Dad's birthday. Hence the moonfish dinner.
Second. Dad didn't eat since the night before he found out, from 12mn onwards.
Third. The surgeon had an appointment and so had to do the operation immediately.

Hence, the operation was done within a one-hour lapse, and within three hours my dad was out and resting for recovery. Amazing ain't it. Maybe this wouldn't really show how it might be God's plan, but the whole incident make me feel God's presence. Somehow.

Well, something which happened really touched me.

"Sorry, you can't have a nice dinner tonight."

Shit. Thinking back now, tears still rush to my eyes.

(to my uncle) "Yea, today is my birthday. Thought of having a nice dinner with all of them."

Only now did I realise, how much of a family man my Dad was, how eating together, or at least spending some family time with the whole family -- not just Mom and me, but also Sis -- meant so damn much to him. My resolution of having dinner with the two of them till I have to go to the army has become even stronger, and now I guess the onus falls on me to pull Sis along, so that before anything awry happens yet again, we won't have to regret not spending time together. I guess the next awry thing to happen will be my conscription, and well, I hope there can be a true blue family meal together soon enough.

Happy Birthday Daddy.

Haven't even said that to him. How to, when it ain't all too happy. Guess my dad has regrets as much as I have.

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