It's A Roller Coaster

Jeff here.

It's been kind of scary these past few days. This has been a roller coaster ride for me and my family, as my father's condition has worsened.

On Friday, the day I arrived, the doctor of internal medicine on the floor motioned me and my mother outside. He said that he didn't have much time left, maybe 3 months. Because of the poor condition of his liver, his kidneys were being impacted. The level of ammonia in his blood is rising and as a result, he's tired and seems sleepy.

The doctor asked if there was anywhere he wanted to go. We told them Shanghai, but we all knew that it wouldn't be possible in his condition. There wasn't anywhere in Taiwan that he wanted to go to, that's for sure.

After speaking to the doctor, I went back into the room and my dad asked me if it was bad news. I tried not to lie. I told him, "No, but you have to really fight hard now."

He looked at me long and hard with these eyes that said, I'm tired. I don't have any more fight left.

At this point, the tears started welling up in my eyes. I hugged my dad. He started crying too, saying, "Wei shen-me Liu jia nan-de you zhege ming?"

Roughly translated, "Why do the men of the Liu family have such fates?"

He was referring to his younger brother who passed away from a preventable illness in his late teens/early twenties and his older brother who passed away from liver cancer about five years ago.

On Monday, the doctors told my aunts that my dad had a day or two left. He would be sleeping more and more, they said. I knew that he didn't have 3 months, but we all couldn't believe that it would be so fast.

That night, I asked my dad about the songs the Communists sang when they marched into Shanghai. He once told me that as a little boy, he remembered all these people singing these simple tunes, filling the streets with song. He couldn't remember, but he looked at me and said, "Zhen-me jian dan de ge."

My aunts were too young to remember. But our attention quickly turned to the television as we looked for some variety shows so that he could sing along to. His eyes were fixed on the screen as a performer sang an old song in Chinese. My aunts were singing along too.

Then out of nowhere, my mom started laughing. She said, "Wow, do that again! Only me and (the caregiver) saw you. Let everyone see."

We all looked at my dad and were like, "What? Show us."

After a few seconds, he smiled and wiggled his shoulders as if he were dancing. We all had a good laugh.

On Tuesday morning, I went to go pick up my girlfriend from the airport. My dad kept asking to see if she was coming. I was kind of surprised that he asked that, but realized that it was probably his way of saying, "Hurry up and get married."

When we got to the hospital, the doctors had given him an oxygen mask because his blood-oxygen level had been dropping, but it didn't elevate it enough. They gave him another one capable of more pressure.

Seeing him breathing in the mask reminded me of watching my grandmother in her final days with lung cancer. My dad is uncomfortable from all the heavy laxatives, the diaper rash, the oxygen mask, the feeding tube, and not being able to eat or drink like a normal person. Seeing him go through this day and night has been truly, truly heartbreaking for all of us.

On the other hand, when we ask him if he's feeling pain anywhere, he says no. He always seems to be listening, he always wakes up when the cute nurses arrive (really!) and he manages to crack a joke every once in a while. Moments like these, like my sister mentioned, have been precious.

All we're hoping for now is that he not suffer anymore than he already has. Please wish this to be true as well.