A trip to the hospital (My Dad's Story) *special diary entry*

Surgery: the treatment of injuries or disorders of the body by incision or manipulation, especially with instruments such as Scalpels Scissors, Saws. Grasping or holding instruments.

Surgery: my dad's case...

We are blessed to have people who commit their lives to saving ours...

Thursday

Dear Diary, I think someone’s having surgery…

I was looming over a man lying on a hospital bed. The man looked weak and insignificant compared to the room we and a dozen more people were in. I could hear a faint purring noise sending sound waves across the room, when I realised it was sounded like snoring. The man was asleep!

“Ready when you are,” a dark-skinned guy whose face was covered in glass that looked suspiciously like a welder’s helmet and was surrounded with scalpels, scissors and saws ect. also making him resemble a questionable amount like a butcher. As if I knew what that meant, I reached out for a knife without hesitance- which was odd since I have a phobia for sharp objects. Even though I didn’t know what I was doing and where I was, I picked up the knife with confidence and got ready to impale my knife through the man’s abdomen…

I woke up in a cold sweat. I was shaking all over, sweat prickling down my forehead. What a peculiar and petrifying nightmare. Was someone undergoing surgery? I hoped it had nothing to do with my mum or dad. I love my parents: they know when I’m feeling upset and always know how to cheer me up; they can endure my annoying factors and focus on my positive sides (which, trust me, no one else would be able to do) and they feed me- something that can get anyone on my good side- for obvious reason.

After a moment of thought, I decided to go and check on them but not wanting to wake them up, had to proceed with enormous caution. It was still dark outside, meaning I had to carefully manoeuvre around my clutter and rubbish that I was too lazy to throw away. I reach my door (with much toil and struggle), stretched my hand out towards the handle and nearly fainted when a deafening creaking sound erupted from it. I held my breath. Crossing every part of my body that my parents were still asleep… silence. I heard no sign of human activity. My shoulders relaxed as I descended out into the hallway and made a mental note to tell my parents to replace my door hinges.

I stepped into my parents’ room. My dad was hogging the duvet while my mum had to cuddle herself for warmth. I sighed. Typical.

I was about to leave when: “Divine, what are you doing up so late?” asked a sleepy voice, “you’re supposed to be in bed.”

I froze: “Oh, nothing mum,” I explained. “just coming to check on you and dad. I’ll be on my way then.”

“You better be, tomorrow we’re going to your optician to renew your eyeglass medicine.” she reminded me.

“Okay.” I said while running back to the safety of my room. As soon as my head touched the pillow, I forgot all about my nightmare and dozed off.

Friday

Dear Diary, my dad has appendix…

Friday went by in a blur, a scary one at that. I woke up totally oblivious to the events that were about to take place. Somehow, I had forgotten about the terrifying concept of my dream. However, when I peeked in my parents’ room and saw an empty space where my dad was supposed to be, it all came flooding back to me and something connected in my brain. Despite my unproven hunch I still asked, “Mum, where’s dad?” She didn’t answer.

I asked again,” Mum, where is dad?” Still no answer.

I was in a panicked state now and screamed, “MUM, WHERE IS DA-”

“Stop shouting, will you?” she shot back, “he’s in the hospital if you must know.”

My heart sank. I was correct, my unproven hunch was correct. I was kind of hoping I was wrong albeit, I knew if he did have what I thought he did, it would be better to get it treated sooner rather later.

“It’s nothing serious.” she said noticing my expression, “you know the belly ache he was having yesterday? He's decided to go to the hospital to tell them about it. Anyway, we need to get dressed so we can go to your optician and my GP and then go to see your dad.”

I felt even worse now, nevertheless, I brushed my teeth, took a shower and put on some clothes so, I was nice and clean.

After we came back from my optician and my mum’s GP (I’ll spare you the details), we went to L&D Hospital. The hospital appeared the lesser of two evils for me (the dentists being the vilest), though one with a tendency to give you hope while also turning your nightmares into a reality. I spotted him in the waiting room, looking weak and insignificant… just like in my dream! We waited with him for what seemed like years (I guess that’s the whole purpose of a waiting room), until a nurse said there was an unoccupied bed in the hospital ward. We all went there, where my dad rested before they came again and told him he had to have surgery tomorrow because of his appendix…

Saturday

Dear Diary, I’m scared…

They told us a bunch of other things too, but I wasn’t listening, much less cared. My dad’s having surgery? I kept saying in my head up until we- me and my mum- got home. It was pitch black outside and I was very tired because even though leaving time was 8:00pm we had insisted we stay a little longer. I was about to go to bed when my mum pulled me back.

“Divine,” she whispered, “I know it must be tough knowing that your dad is going to surgery, but I just want you to know that if there’s ever anything you need, you can come to me. I can read one of your books to you or we could even play a video game on your PlayStation controller thingy.”

I cringed at the thought. My mother: the lady who still uses land phones, playing Fortnite? Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

We were marching into the hospital at roughly 6:00am (visiting times were from 2:00pm – 8:00pm but we arrived early anyway). As we arrived at my dad’s dorm, a doctor was telling him BREAKING NEWS.

“This is your family I presume?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, my daughter and my wife.” my dad explained.

“Well, we’d like you to know that we won’t be able to do the surgery today.” he announced.

“Why?!” my mum cried, “why can’t he have the surgery today?!”

“Well, he has high blood pressure, 204/140 (my mum gasped), which doesn’t mix well with anaesthesia, so, we cannot continue with the surgery until we lower it. Otherwise it could lead to possible death.”

As I said, Breaking News!

Sunday

Dear Diary, Everything’s Ok?...

We came early the next morning. The doctors had worked their magic (given him medicine) and his blood pressure had dropped to 140/94. We were all apprehensive till they came and said they were ready to take him. I could feel my heart beating within my rib cage. I was scared, in fact I was petrified, but I kept my head and followed him (my dad) all the way to the theatre.

I learned something on that day: doctors lie. The surgeon told my mum it would take roughly 1-2 hours and then my dad would come back out safe and sound. Well, let me tell you something, it took 5 whole hours. 5 HOURS! I almost thought they had sent him home already, without us. Finally, after hours of finger-nail biting and hand-squeezing, we got a call.

Whoa Whoa Whoa Whoa Whoa. Call us? We expected them to bring him to us. My mum answered the hospital line:

“Hello… Yes, I am the wife of Kingsley Ibeji… oh no... ok… ok… where?... ok… how is he?... yes, but... ok... I'm sure we can manage... ok...thank you... bye." there was a droning sound, indicating that the call had cut.

"How is he?”: one of the nurses asked

“I don’t know, they didn’t tell me,” my mum replied, “but I think they said he’s in an intensive unit.”

She paused “Where is the intensive unit by the way?”

“Oh,” the nurse said, obviously surprised, “just go down the hall on the left, up to the 6th floor, straight and then take two turns to the right, up again, take a turn east, then go down a hallway and you’ll find a door that leads to it.”

“Okay.” my mum nodded, but I could see from the look on her face that she didn’t understand a single thing that was coming out of that lady’s mouth. So, as we searched for the intensive unit, we were completely oblivious on where to look. Some people check the signs and figure out where they’re going; others (my mum and I) just go with it totally blind to our destination ahead.

When we finally found my dad (correction: when his carer found us), he was so weak and tired I almost sobbed. He didn’t even realise we were there. The man caring for him told us that he would be OK and that he was just trying to recover since, they had torn open his belly after the three holes didn’t work. Thus, me and my mum went home not knowing whether to be hopeful or apprehensive.

Monday

Dear Diary, there is hope after all…

Once we reached there, it turned out mum did not have time for Fortnite playing (phew) because she was too busy taking care of dad. According to my dad, one of the surgeons looked suspiciously like a butcher, just like in my dream! Figures.

Finally, he was sent back to the ward and was announced to be discharged the next day.

Tuesday

Dear Diary, my dad’s back…

We didn’t go to visit him but when he said that he was ready to be discharged we swiftly went to pick him up. I was so excited, the second I saw him I nearly suffocated him in a hug. My mum literally had to scrape me off him, and I only stopped questioning him when he said he had a headache.

Present Day

Dear Diary, everything’s back to normal, kind of…

Now my dad is at home and he is healthy and happy… except for the fact that he’s not really listening to anything the doctor said, and we cater to him every few hours. What can I do? He’s a dad, you just can’t keep him away from his business. Seriously, I’ve tried…