In The Name Of My Father Chapter:2
John’s Health Challenge and his Reluctant Hospital Admission:
Chapter Two:
John hated hospitals with a passion. Fortunately he had managed to avoid them until now. It was not the buildings themselves that he disliked. Mostly utilitarian in their design, they met a need. He had no real issue there.
Yet he had issues.
The incessant busyness, the constant clanging and clattering, doors opening and closing, the loud, raucous conversations, the laughing, the crying, babies yelling, feet stomping, moaning and groaning…and on occasions, the hush…how he hated that hush, the messages it conveyed, the cries of despair, the aloneness, the suspension that hovers before action takes place.
But it was the basic lack of discretion that nobody else seemed to notice…except for him.
That bothered him most.
The lack of privacy stuck in his craw, as did the well-honed arrogance of some doctors and their blatant assumption of stupidity in their patients. Where on earth did they learn that hubris? What right did they have to feel that they were intellectually superior to their charges?
Oh they’d deny it!
When challenged!
But it was THERE!
He had always found it intolerable, one of the many reasons for avoiding seeking help in the first place.
But more importantly, he had absolutely no faith in modern medicine.
It’s why he had put things off.
Until he no longer could!
The reality was that he had realized for longer than he cared to admit, that something was seriously wrong. Never one to suffer headaches, these ones had hit him with a ferocity that stung.
Pain is a call to action.
He understood that.
It’s a warning that something might be wrong, and to his credit, he HAD eventually taken note, but not until the worry set in.
As a great believer in self-healing, he was determined to take personal responsibility for working towards personal healing. Having read widely on many aspects of modern medicine, at the end of it all, had decided it had no place in his life, ‘as good as tits on a bull,’ he’d once declared.
One of his favorite quotes was that of Aldous Huxley, the somewhat pessimistic satirist and philosopher, who was once quoted as having said that…’medical science had made such amazing progress, that there was hardly a healthy human left in the modern world!’
It was a sentiment John supported. So many friends and acquaintances he knew whose lives had reached the point where they ingested more pills than food, and he wondered why they had not faced the reality of all that was happening to them. He suspected that fear was at the root of their inability to be frank with themselves.
Consequently he had read widely about alternative treatments, about using real food as medicine, about the amazing benefits of autophagy, regular fasting to heal and reset the body, and the power of positive thinking.
He’d begun as well, to carve out an intensive, exercise strategy, something he was aware he’d neglected over the years.
Determined not to have to seek help from his children, he’d taken matters entirely into his own hands, turned his eating regime around, and exercised both mind and body in an effort to restore wellness.
Succumbing to humble, however sincere offerings of help, would never have been in his plan, and so it was very much up to him to regain his health.
But now, despite all his efforts, reality was that he WAS in hospital and that the very order and routine that he had so despised, grated on his nerves, now more than ever. What he feared most was that his life might have reached a stage where he would be at the mercy of the medical fraternity, and that he’d be coerced into acquiescing in their decision-making.
THAT he would never agree to.
To his credit the hospital doctor was incredibly supportive of John and his ideas, and listened to all he had to say. Still, he was steadfast in his determination to keep him in hospital until he felt confident that going home was even a possibility.
John, on the other hand, was equally determined to get out.
To date, there was nothing definitive about his diagnosis, but questions remained as to why he’d had the accident in the first place. “Did you just trip over something, or did you black out?” Dr. Stafford asked.
“Sorry! How in heaven’s name would I know? I just can’t say.”
“We’re particularly concerned about your balance John. A few tests which we will do over the next few days, just to eliminate things, will ascertain if you are improving, and that you are fit to go home. Some appropriate medication will help. You have someone to care for you, don’t you?”
“I live alone,” he replied tersely.
“But you have family…one daughter at least. Don’t you? I spoke to her this morning. Ailsa…that’s her name, isn’t it? Such a pretty name…she’s concerned about having your apartment tidied up before you get home.”
“Tidied up? What does that mean exactly? My apartment is absolutely fine.”
“Well, she tells me that you’re something of a collector, and that you more than likely tripped over the boxes.” He stopped, hiding a hint of a smile. “What she actually said was that you probably tripped over the boxes that are holding up your walls.”
“Oh she did, did she? That sounds like my Ailsa! Let’s get this straight doctor! It’s my home, my boxes, my collection, and I’m not answerable to anyone, not even Ailsa, though she’d like to think I was.”
Dr. Stafford had seen and heard it all before. One minute you’re bouncing children on your lap, you’re madly in love, and you, the parent, are king of the proverbial castle. It seems you can do nothing wrong. There is no better feeling in the world than being a doting parent. None at all!
But it’s short-lived.
The next minute, or so it seems, those same children are sure you know nothing about life, zilch, nada, diddly-squat. You have absolutely no idea about what is important in looking after yourself, no idea about fashion, or hair styles, and as such you are a total embarrassment, and so they deem that you need to be in care, because there’s not a spare, credible thought coursing through your brain.
He’d witnessed it with more families than he cared to think about, all manner of people, from the highly-educated to the ordinary working man. And though he was not quite at that stage with his children, there were impending signs personally for him, right out there on the horizon, from his very own offspring, the same ones who had once worshiped him, so he hastened to soften the blow.
This was the side of medicine that challenged him more than anything else, but one he nonetheless excelled in. It was a side of his work life that had also taught him to tread with caution. People needed to be treated with respect and dignity. At this stage in their lives it was important that they believe so much more in themselves.
“See that’s what happens, John,” he responded softly, sitting casually on the side of John’s bed. “We have these kids, gorgeous little replicas of ourselves, and for a few years everything is beautiful. They sit on our laps, they trust us implicitly, and we, the doting parents, bend to their every whim. Life, it would seem, could never be improved on.
“It’s a precious time when our children are everything to us, and so much more than we could ever have hoped for, more beautiful than we might ever have imagined, intelligent, lovable, and to a large extent, they guide our happiness.
“Anyone who has not been privy to the joys of parenthood, in my opinion, has never lived. Being a parent is a blessing bestowed on us just at the right time, when we could be otherwise selfish, but somehow we trade so much, our freedom, and our sleep, time to have fun, to travel, and be with our friends, just to be the best parent we can be.
“Parenthood, as I see it, is our magnum opus. If our children turn out well, it’s because we have helped them reach for the sun. We’ve shared large amounts of time together, we’ve laughed, we’ve cried, we’ve explored with them and opened their eyes to the magic of living and experiencing. We’ve taught them so much about life, and hopefully pulled back on too many monetary indulgences.
“One of the things that dawned on me when my wife and I made our decision to go our separate ways was that we hadn’t done enough of the things that seal our relationship with our children.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“Well, for instance, saying no when we might have said yes. I mean what’s so wrong with grated chocolate and cream cheese sandwiches for dinner once in a while, or camping under the stars in the back yard, even if it’s bloody freezing? Why can’t we say yes to the occasional eating with our fingers?
“See the thing is this John. I think that it’s giving in to the little things when appropriate, that allows children to understand that ‘no’ on bigger issues, means just that!
“Every day spent with kids is a learning experience…for all parties, if only we had a GPS to do it well, and if only we could realize exactly where we are going at the time.
“But hey,” he continued as a lump surprisingly formed in his throat, and a tear threatened to escape from his eye, “then they grow up…right in front of our bloody eyes and instantly they are not nearly so reliant on us. Suddenly, and with no by-your-leave from us, they can think for themselves, and they do! They know it all…every damned issue, they determine, they’re an authority on.
“And that’s when their ideas collide with ours. In the blink of an eye, the whole equation changes, and from their perspective, we oldies know bugger all about life. We’re basket cases and if we extrapolate further, as in your case, they let you know that you know nothing about keeping apartments the way THEY think they should be kept. Don’t mind how they kept their bedrooms for all those teen years!
“So don’t worry,” he said, rubbing his hand reassuringly on John’s shoulder,” we are all in this together. My turn is undoubtedly coming, and I can tell you right now, I am ill-prepared.”
John smiled wryly. These were the very thoughts he’d held for a considerable time. He had no doubt that his children loved him, in their own way. But he had strong suspicions that these days, they thought of him as being on the brink of senility. That very thought had him struggling to banish the tear that struggled to escape from his eye too.
“So what about your children?” John asked gruffly. “They’d be much younger than mine of course.”
“They are, and sadly they don’t live close by. Their mother and I parted too many years ago. To be honest we were young and far from worldly when we first got together. And fortunately we never got to the stage of hating each other. I’m really thankful for that. We just grew apart for all manner of reasons, and for a while, though we didn’t realize it at the time, the children became the casualties in our drifting. You tend not to be conscious of that being the case, or maybe it’s just pretense, but the children however hard we tried to protect them, were the ones who suffered, and eventually the alarm bells rang. We had some tough decisions to make.
“Neither of us wanted them to be hurt, and it was when we recognized the resistance between us, that struggle that puts the children on edge, we sat down and had a heart-to-heart talk.
“Eventually, thank goodness, we both reached the conclusion that we had to put our children’s needs ahead of our own, so now, though I wish it otherwise, they are with their mother permanently, and I get to spoil them as often as I like. She is pretty fair about that, and we remain today, very good friends.”
“In some ways you are very lucky. I haven’t witnessed too many amicable splits. You’ve clearly got the magic formula.”
“I don’t know about that,” he laughed. “I miss my kids every day, but I keep myself super-busy and that helps. And we touch base regularly, but I have also revised my parenting regime when we’re together. Being too strict doesn’t work, and well, we don’t even have to consider what being too lax can do. I’m into a bit of spoiling though. To me, indulging my children means giving them my undivided attention when we’re together, chocolate sandwiches and all, though these days they’re old enough to appreciate that a good meal satisfies them longer. What I do resist is showering them with material things.”
“Never easy, is it! Mine are grown up and live away, and I can honestly say I miss them every day. I do indulge Ailsa more than I should, but she’s the light of my life, bolder than a lightning strike, but softer than a sleepy dawn when you scratch beneath the surface. I consider myself the luckiest man alive, in so many ways. She’s always there for me too, and that’s comforting.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a metaphor for perfection…sounds like you and she have struck the right balance. Now John, about these headaches…how severe on a one-to-ten scale would they be?”
“It’s hard to say. Sometimes just a dull ache, but then I’ve had a few that blind me with their severity, so that would be an eight…maybe a nine. But I can cope with them. It’s the lack of rest that really gets to me. I would so love to put my head on the pillow and enjoy one night of being out for the count. Ailsa’s mum, my ex-wife, used to wonder how I could say goodnight, and ten seconds later, I’d be quietly snoring…oh to reclaim those days!”
“Well, in hospital there’s no excuse for not sleeping…except for when those damned breakfast ladies bound over the horizon! Gosh they make a helluva racket don’t they!”
“You can say that again!”
“Gosh they make a helluva….! Sorry John. I’m a literal, or so I’m led to believe. Sometimes I just can’t help living up to my reputation. Now, I’ll prescribe you something nice and strong. The nurses will take care of things. You won’t even hear those breakfast ladies…see you in the morning,” and he rubbed John’s shoulder gently as he left.
Something nice and strong…to sleep and then to dream…to fight his demons and win…the thought comforted him as he closed his eyes.
