3 am calls
by 伊凌 yi ling
Last night I was woken up to 2 calls that my father’s been vomiting up coffee ground like substance non stop. It’s been 4 days since we sat together and he was mumbling about bicycles and cursing out mom’s mom “that old woman person”.
What is that feeling of navigating his dying in a home that barely cares for his body? Slowly the nurses move, unswerved from slow meanderings down hotel like hallways. Telling me they don’t understand him well because he’s not a native English speaker. No, what is clear about his unclarity is his dementia, his blood being coughed up. The lack of doctors, trained medical professionals who can observe his chart and his symptoms…and they’re trying to put this on his English? It’s an overwhelming feeling that still in the end, they pin incoherence on his accent over his actual illness and their lack of comprehension.
Or when sending him to the hospital at 3am, musing out loud he should go to hospice. The strong adherence to protocol and personal opinions…
When did care and attention to a person’s dignity get so expensive?