“It’s been 3 months and 3 days since my father passed away and I’m not ok”
It is 11:42 am and I’m sitting here at a local coffee shop surrounded by chatter, jazz music and the occasional sound of the espresso machine. It is a dark and gloomy day with rainy clouds covering the blue skies matching my current emotional state. In front of me is my dermatology book reminding me that I should be studying but my mind can’t seem to focus. It feels like my eyelids are being pulled down by gravity. I am tired even though I had a good night sleep after taking my sleep medication. The more I think about studying, the larger grows this uneasy feeling in my chest. The restlessness becomes overbearing. I move my hands in circular motion with the attempt to shake off this tingling sensation. Left to right. And right to left. However, the restlessness persists. I need to do something. At this point sitting still feels like torture and so, I close my book, put down my pen, take out my laptop and start writing:
This morning, I had one of those days again where I simply couldn’t wake up. The alarm on my iPhone started ringing at 5:30am but the temptation of hitting the snooze button simply won. My mind felt disconnected from the rest of my body. Just moving one arm felt like an enormous weight that I just couldn’t seem to lift. So, I convinced myself “it’s ok to sleep some more. Missing the 8am dermatology case study seminar won’t be such a big deal, right?” And so 5:30am becomes 7:00am. 7:00am turns to 8:30am. And missing one seminar turns to missing another day of classes. “I’m not prepared anyway for rounds and the topics we were supposed to discuss today. It’s ok!”.
Or this is what I’m trying to convince myself.
Because things are not ok. It’s May 23, 2019 and it’s been 3 months and 3 days since my father passed way. Even writing it down feels surreal. There are days it doesn’t feel like he is gone. Even right now, it feels like I am telling somebody else’s story. But the reality is that it is mine and so no, things are not ok. I had never felt this lost in my life.
My father’s death was very unexpected. Just the night before, I was talking to him on the phone asking him if we could talk the next day because I was tired from a long day of dermatology lectures and family medicine classes. He sounded like his usually self making jokes and asking me how my studies are going. Looking back, I’m trying to find any signs in our conversation that could have indicated that he wasn’t feel well. But no, I said my “I love you, dad” and hung up. Never would I have thought that this was the last conversation I would have with my dad.
I had just gotten home from class when my grandmother received a phone call. I still have that clear picture in my head of my grandma sitting at the kitchen table with her phone in one hand and the other hand resting on her thigh; shaking.
“What’s wrong, grandma?” I asked her with urgency in my voice.
She turned her head to look at me and it’s then that I knew that something wasn’t right. And the rest now seems like a blur. I remember her saying that it’s my mom on the phone.
“Papa stopped breathing! The paramedics are there and they are now trying to reanimate him!”
The next memory I have is of me crying hysterically on the floor. After some time, I remember pulling myself together, standing up and hugging my grandma. By then, she had stopped talking to my mom over the phone and there we were in the kitchen holding on to each other. Neither of us was crying at this point in the story. The initial shock lied deep but we had hope. The paramedics will help him, right? I am a fourth year medical student and I thought of all the people on the cardiology ward who survived after a heart attack. He will make it! I truly believed it.
We moved to the living room where I put down the phone in front of us patiently waiting for my mom to call as back. Time was passing. Minutes felt like hours. I took it as a good sign.
In my head, I played out this scenario of my dad on my parents’ bed room floor surrounded by paramedics who had managed to restart his heart. The defibrillator showed that his sinus rhythm was back. And now they were preparing him for transport to the hospital. Yes, this is why it was taking my mom so long to call us back.
As I kept replaying this scenario, the phone finally rang after 45min. I picked it up nervously but with optimism. At first, there was silence on the other end but finally my mom said the words that I had never thought I would hear any time soon. Three simple words that I wasn’t prepared to hear.
“Papa is dead.”
It’s been 3 months and 3 days since my father passed away and I’m not ok.
The Mindful Medical Student 