FICTION: DEAR FATHER: A Sequel
Now people preferred the comforts of their houses.
The quietness became eerier as he stepped into the compound. There was not a single soul outside. The only sound he could hear was the rhythmic thump and vibration of walls which he knew was coming from his next door neighbor’s sound system. He also knew the furniture, China and tumblers in his apartment would also be vibrating and dancing to the tune of the music. He had complained to his neighbor on more than one occasion about the loud music and on each occasion he would apologize and agree to keep it low. Which he would actually do for the next couple of days, and then it goes back to being loud again. Today, however, he was not in the mood to complain. All he wanted was to get home, take a shower, eat a nice meal and sleep. And most importantly see his wife and kids whom he hadn’t seen nor heard from since he left for work on Sunday evening. He worked out of town and only came home on weekends and since there were no phones back then, communication was difficult.
'His family'! Suddenly it hit him like a wave and jerked him back to reality; it was like he had momentarily forgotten. How has my wife been holding up? My baby girl, I wonder how she is. My boy….….The thought of his son caused his heart to skip several beats. He was almost at his door. The apprehension he felt doubled; he hoped for the best but prepared for the worst. He noticed there was no light in the house. Well maybe they had gone to bed. He knocked once, twice then the third time, no response. But she doesn’t sleep so deep, maybe she’s very tired. He got out his key and opened the door while holding his bagged, he flipped the light switch on. He heaved a deep sigh, shook his head; his fear had been confirmed. There was no one in the house and from the way the living room was scattered, it was obvious his wife and kids had left the house in a haste. She was a neatness freak, for the house to be this way, it must be an emergency. He wasn’t to surprised, he had only hoped things would be different this time.
He didn’t bother to go into the room, he simply dropped the bag he carried over one shoulder on a seat in the living room, turned out the light, locked the door and went out. He had an idea where they could have gone, but he needed confirmation. So he went to his next door neighbor and knocked the door, hoping his knock would be heard over the loud music. Luckily he door was answered at second knock.
“Good evening”. He greeted with a smile he managed to conjure up. His neighbor, a young man in his late twenties or early thirties, looked somewhat confused, he didn’t know what to expect. Could he have come to complain again?
“Please which clinic did my wife take my son to”? The question came as a surprise, at least it answered his own question, and it wasn’t about his loud music.
“She said they’re going to St. Patricks”. He responded.
He thanked him and walked away. His neighbor just stared at him and shook his head as he walked out of the gate. On a normal day a man is supposed to ask where his wife went to and why his door is locked. But there is nothing normal or usual about this man’s family or their situation. Hospital has become their second home....No, scratch that, hospital has become their new home. They only visited home once in a while.
Theirs had been a very lovely family, a family anybody could dream of; with his wife and adorable little daughter. They were always happy and cheerful, things got better when a second child came along. He could remember the man smiling from ear to ear the day his wife was delivered of the baby.
But then suddenly things took a different turn when at just 3 moths of age the baby boy took ill. And since then it has been from one clinic to the other. Sometimes they spent as much as two weeks in the clinic and when they eventually come home, it is just for a few days before the boy suffers another relapse, and it’s back to square one again. The neighbor felt so bad for the man. Poor guy didnt even get the chance to sit down and drink a glass of water.
St. Patrick wasn’t too far. He could make it on foot in no time. That meant he wouldn’t have to waste time waiting for get a cab at that time of the night. He broke into a jog as soon he hit the street as questions after questions chased themselves about in his mind. “How long had they been there”? “What was the boy’s condition at the moment”? “What about his wife, how has she been able to shoulder the problems all alone in his absence”? And his daughter; how were all these affecting her?
Before long he was at the clinic’s reception speaking the nurse on duty at the time. She was still going through the records when he lifted his eyes and saw a gurney being rolled out down the hall. Well it’s a clinic, such sight is normal. But he noticed that the gurney was almost empty except for a tiny bundle wrapped in theatre robes, as it drew closer he saw that the little bundle was actually a human; a child precisely.
His heart began to beat faster. His knees buckled and his feet almost gave way beneath him when he saw a haggard looking woman walk into view just behind one of the nurses pushing the gurney; his wife. For a moment he felt he was going to faint but he managed to stay on his feet. The next moment he was running towards the gurney. The nurses had to stop as he grabbed the edge of the stretcher, suddenly he paused, not knowing what to expect next.
Slowly he reached for his son, stroked his face, praying silently that it wasn’t what he feared. As if on cue, the baby slightly opened his eyes and let out an almost-inaudible whimper. His eyes went wild as a throng of emotions chased themselves around in his mind; he was happy for the fact that at least there was still life in him, at the same time he was shocked, and then sad at the sight of his boy who only months ago was perfectly healthy and plump but now could be easily mistaken for a little kitten wrapped in clothes. He lifted up his eyes and met his wife’s gaze, who was smiling affectionately, though weakly, at him; a smile that had never failed to captivate him each time for the past 5 years, even in her condition. He couldn’t help but smile back as he let go of the stretcher and moved over to where she stood and threw his hands around her and gave her a long, loving hug.
Later in a private ward that had been vacated for them, his wife told him tales of her ordeal; how she had rushed him to the clinic in the dead of the night the previous day and was berated by the nurses who knew nothing of what she was going through. How the doctor had tactically refused to commence treatment because he feared the child wouldn’t last the night and she had to beg and beg before he finally decided to do something and start treatment in the operating theatre because there was no vacant ward to admit them. It was theatre the theatre they were coming out from when he met them.
They had just been discharged from the state university teaching hospital barely a week ago but he had suffered a relapse suddenly and had to be rushed to St. Patrick’s which happened to be the closest at the time. The daughter was dropped off at his younger sister’s place with the maid from where she attended school.
The boy went on to recover from that stint of sickness. Although he had other relapses along the line until he was about 3 and half years. But eventually he got better and grew up to be healthy.
The father no longer had to rush back home every weekend with apprehension neither did he have to budget a third of his meager salary each month for drugs. When other men went home to visit their families, they went with gifts and provisions but all he thought about buying on his way home was drugs for his sick son; he was almost like a walking pharmacy shop. But that was all over now. His family went back to being the happy little family they had always been.
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