I was deeply asleep when our phone rang..."Come over here, quick!.."...still dizzy from the hangover of the previous night's drinking spree and with body aching from an intense badminton game, I blurrily asked..."Why...?"...It was 6:30 a.m., Sunday, July 24, 2005.
"Its Father...."
I sprang out of bed, went to the toilet to wash my face and brush my teeth, changed my clothes, then drove off to my parent's house. I knew what my brother meant instantly...
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My father was a healthy man, well, at least 6 years ago. He used to play college basketball for UE way back in the 50's, and was part of the very first RP Team which competed in the very first ever Jones Cup in Taipei. Upon graduating from college, he landed a job in MERALCO. Being a true athlete that he was, he spearheaded the formation of the MERALCO Cycling Club, becoming its president for several years, and was part of the organizing committee of the Tour of Luzon Cycling tournament in the late 70's. I can still remember the long line of racer bikes parked in front of our house whenever his group would stop by to have coffee and merienda after an early morning cycling practice.
In 1978, he left the Philippines for greener pastures in Saudi Arabia. He worked there for 14 years, finally retiring in the latter part of 1990. He was always fond of drinking, San Miguel Pale Pilsen being his favorite. I remember going with my Mother to the airport whenever he was going home for a 30-day vacation, we would always bring a case of beer...which would then be half finished when we reached home. He'd then take a short nap ( about an hour or two ) upon reaching home, then wake up to finish the remaining half case of beer.
It seemed his retirement in 1990 was too early for him. Feeling worthless due to being jobless, and his savings getting depleted already, he became depressed...and put more of his time to drinking. We witnessed how his attitude changed, from being reasonable to being ill-tempered, from being understanding to irrational.
When I got married in 1994, my wife and I decided to stay in our house, as there was a vacant room there and we very much wanted to save for our own house. A year later, we left to rent an apartment, due to a gun-toting incident between me and my Father. My wife panicked, fearing for the safety of our 1 year old daughter and the two of us.
In 1998, my Father decided to form an electrical contracting company and it went well during the first few months of its operations. They were able to secure contracts from big companies and it appeared like the firm was going to hit it big.
In early 1999, while on a project in Laguna, my Father decided to climb a boom truck to fix some wirings in a transformer installation they were just about to finish. Mother nature played a sick joke on him. While 20 meters up along the power lines, a gush of wind caused a branch of a big tree to break off from its trunk, falling exactly where the switch of the power line was. All the 34,000 volts of eletricity passed thru my Father's body, entering in his thumb, and exiting from his left foot. I can still remember the holes left by that electric current.
My Father was able to withstand the shock, but his clothes got burned up, leaving him with 3rd degree burns on 60% of his body. He was rushed to the hospital where he stayed for more than a month. That was when his liver was found to be greenish.
The doctors advised him to stop drinking, and to avoid fatty foods. They said it was cirrhosis of the liver in its early stage. They also said that it was still in its very early stage that refraining from taking alcohol will result to its non-deterioration to cancer. My Father obliged to what the doctor advised...and stopped drinking.
He was sober for the next 2 years after that. In his check up, the doctor gave him an "all clear" finding. My father was so happy as he could go back to eating his favorite foods...and drinking.
He was back to his old vices again, getting drunk almost every night. He was ill-tempered again due to the effects of alcohol. He became an alcoholic in denial.
In early 2003, he felt a sharp pain in his back, and my Mother told him to see his doctor. He obliged. He was CT-scanned...and a 9 centimeter malignant tumor was found attached to his liver. He had cancer....
We were told by the doctor that no amount of chemotherapy or any other alternate medication can cure my father. It was beyond the capacity of medical practice. My Father was bound to die. The doctor didn't give us a timeline, he just said it depended on my Father's reaction to the cancer cells.
For more than 2 years, my Father didn't know of his condition, and didn't even feel that he had cancer. Then last May, he started coughing.
He took several kinds of cough syrups but nothing worked. He was given anti-biotics and antihistamines, to no effect. Losing weight and having difficulty in breathing, we rushed him off to the hospital.
His CT scan showed that the cancer cells had scattered to his lungs, and was the main reason for his cough. The doctor told us then, that it might be the start of the deterioration of his health...he was right.
July 23, 10:00 p.m. I peeked thru the door of my parent's room after a game of badminton. I noticed that my Father's breathing was shallow, as if not reaching his stomach. I got worried. I told my brother that it was the first time I saw him breath like that, and he too got worried.
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When I reached my parent's house, everyone was already awake. With the gloom in their eyes, I knew what was happening.
I sat beside my father's bed and asked him how he was. He just looked at me and shook his head..."Haa, haa, haa, haa, haa..." he was struggling to breath...I told him I love him very much, and that he should ask God to help him thru his ordeal...he just nodded.
I went outside the room to check on my Mother. She was just at the kitchen talking to my brothers. When she saw me, she couldn't help but cry...I cried too...
I told her it was going to be okay. We knew it was coming. And for the last two years, my Father was just on borrowed time.
3:00 p.m. that day, our doctor friend dropped by to check on my Father, he took his pulse and checked on his lungs. After a few more routine checks, he gathered us in the kitchen. " Your father is having a very difficult time at the moment. Only his chest muscles are helping him to breath. In a few hours his chest muscles will stiffen due to cramps, as these are not designed for breathing. His oxygen level in the body is also now very low. You will notice the darkness of his fingernails, that's a sign of poor oxygen flow..."
My Mother was too exhausted to even speak, and couldn't bear to hear the words the doc was saying. "Doc, do what needs to be done..."
The doctor then turned to us. "As it is right now, your father is going thru his last breaths. It is very painful for him...."
"What can we do? " I asked.
"We can give him Dopamine to strengthen his heart a bit, then slowly overdose him with morphine. That way, he will pass away peacefully, painlessly.."
"That's euthanasia." I said
"Yes, and that's the only way he will pass away without you seeing him this way. As a doctor, it is very unethical for me to suggest it, but, if you want a way to ease his pain, that's the only thing I can think of.."
My brothers, sister and I talked about it. No one amongst us wanted euthanasia, we won't be able to bear the guilt.
"Doc, let's give him Dopamine, then let's decide later on what to do next.." my brother said.
It was a last ditch effort to prolong Father's life.
9:00 p.m.: Father's breathing became more relaxed, his chest was not expanding anymore, only his stomach was pumping. My brother checked his diaper to see if he needed to be cleaned. " Bro, I'll change Father's diaper, he "pooped"...."
I went out of the room and saw my elder brother smoking outside. "What do you think?" he asked.
"I don't think Father will last the night." I replied.
"Yeah, I think so too. Let's talk to Doc, tell him to administer the morphine.."
"Okay..."
The doc's house was just a few steps from my parent's house, unfortunately, he wasn't there when we tried to talk to him. On our way back, we heard cries just before we reached the house.
"Father's gone..." my sister said.
I ran inside the room and saw my Father, mouth open, lying very still.
"I love you Father...." was all I could say.
It was two months ago but I can vividly recall the events leading to my Father's death. His death was the first time I lost someone who was so dear to me. Ours was not a very rosy father and son relationship, but in all our ways, we were similar to each other. I was the one who took over his role when he went to work in the middle east, and felt really bad when he poked his gun at me. I guess that incident stuck in him all the time he was alive, as he never ever touched his gun again after that.
I still cry at times I remember him. He was always the life of the party, cracking jokes with a comedian's timing and delivery. He was so full of life even during his last few weeks, and he is now missed in all the family's functions.
I told myself before that I will not be like my Father. I will not leave my family just to work abroad as I don't want my kids to not know me pretty well to love me. I told myself I will not be a drunkard and ill-tempered. I said a lot of things to myself which totally picture my Father negatively...
Looking back, it was not him who changed...it was us.
My Father worked in the middle east just to provide a better life for us, to get us through college and live a life that he wasn't able to live when he was young. When he left us, we were always clinging to him for games, fun and protection...when he retired, we hardly spoke to him and hardly showed our love for him...
When he retired and started drinking, we despised him and walked away from him, instead of talking to him and making him feel appreciated. We always avoided him whenever we were in his house, and would always check on his drinking.
But its too late to let him know that now...
I love you Father and I'm sorry for all my shortcomings as your son...
May you rest in peace...
