Darth Vader

 

 

 

 

 

Saturday, Oct. 24, 2009

 

Two days ago, doctors lowered the oxygen machine to 4 breaths for every 20. He was breathing 98% on his own. Yesterday, the oxygen would only flow if needed. Today, the machine is totally off. An oxygen mask caps his nose and mouth but he breathes 100% on his own. If all goes well, the mask comes off tomorrow. With the machine out, the fat tube into his throat is gone too. That tube kept him from speaking, made him cough horribly, and was why nurses woke him every few minutes to suction clean his mouth and throat.

At 8.05 am today, Papa beckons me with his eyebrows. I see his lips move. I put an ear close to his mouth. With a voice hardly audible, he says: “Ccchaaake off. Ccchgh off.” With his left arm – the one that he could hardly lift before – he tries to remove the mask and succeeds. Nurse Miggy jumps to his side; he’s not allowed to removed it yet. But we give him a minute and Papa lifts his face up to the ceiling, closes his eyes and savours the brief moment of sweet freedom.

He beckons me again. “Ccchwhaaant cchhhho eaat.” “You want to eat?” I ask. He nods. Him noticing his hunger and communicating it means he’s normalizing. Miggy puts a tray of medicine by his side and starts pouring them into the tube that goes in Papa’s nose. Papa says: “Cccghwat chs he ccchooing?” “What’s he doing?” I repeat and Papa confirms by lifting his eyebrows. When Miggy’s explanation satisfies him, Papa asks: “Ccchat eat?” “Its the same milky stuff, Papa, I’m sorry, you’ll have lechon de leche again.” (=Roasted pig in milk form, a joke a nurse once made) “Ccchwen cccchgh eeat?” he says. “When will you eat?” I say, and look at the nurse. “I was just preparing it for him,” responds Miggy and smiles at Papa.

At 9.30 am, the senior doctor Dr. Ramos and entourage comes in, checks him and says: “You are very lucky, Mr. Felix, you don’t seem to be done here on earth. You still have things to do. Heaven barred its gates for you. Saint Peter did not let you in!” I see Papa’s grin through the plastic mask. The Dr. asks: “Do you recognize her?” He points to me. Papa nods. “Whats her name?” Though only I stood close enough to hear, Papa says: “Ccchghssaaane. Sssaane. Myccch daute…chSsaaane…”