I Will Not Get Tired of Taking Care of You, Papa

 It was nine years ago when I realized that I would need to take care of you, Papa. 

You are a doctor at the prime of your career, while I was just starting my training. I wanted to learn everything I need to learn because I was preparing myself for a future that I know would come.

And that future became our present in just a snap - I am now a nephrologist and you are my patient on hemodialysis. 

You are the best and worst patient a doctor could ask for. 

You are headstrong and stubborn, like most doctors who become a patient. 

You are still smarter than everyone but you also easily believe Dr. Google or Pharmacist Facebook. 

You kept on practicing your craft because you wanted everyone to know that you can still do anything even if you are a dialysis patient. 

As a proud father, you want to be as healthy as you can be because your nephrologist daughter is looking after you. 

You are brave, withstanding every dialysis session for a future you are looking forward to - a future where we can travel again, where you can eat everything you want again, enjoy drinking water again and live life to the fullest without needlesticks and pain. 

But that future you envisioned was gone in an instant - we are in the hospital again because your heart is failing.  

Your kidneys have failed;  your heart is failing, but your will to live hasn’t faded a bit.  You do not want to die.

That is why there was fear and sadness in both our eyes when I heard from you what any daughter would not want to hear from their father - “I will do everything in my power to come back, but if my heart stops and it wouldn’t beat again, you have to let me go.”

We fought so hard for your life, Papa. 

You fought harder and I am very proud of you. 

But your failing heart failed. Your heart stopped beating. 

As a doctor, I know that this day would come. But as your daughter, seeing the lines on the monitor, my world turned into a blur. I had no answer for our family asking “why?” I couldn’t let the medical team stop the resuscitation even though the doctor in me knew that it was the most logical thing to do. 

I am not ready to not take care of your Papa. 

I wanted to fight for you for as long as I could, for Mama, Babam and the future you wanted so badly.

But in a blink of an eye, you were gone. 

We are not ready for this, but I know, you said, we have to let you go.

I trained for 10 years to take care of you, Papa. And I wasn’t even given the chance to take care of you for even a fraction of that time. 

I am not tired of taking care of you, Papa. 

I am not tired of bringing you to your doctors even if you wouldn’t believe them, of watching you while you are on dialysis listening to your favorite radio program or Spotify playlist or binge watching your current Netflix obsession. 

I am not tired of arguing with you for the tests that you need, of holding your hand for every difficult blood extraction or IV insertion, of feeding you when you cannot use both of your hands during your hospital admissions. 

But you are probably tired of coming in and out of the hospital for always a different set of problems, of procedures where you sit or lie uncomfortably for hours, of being painfully poked everywhere, of waking up every day to be told that you need dialysis to survive, of being told what you can and cannot do. 

I am not tired of being your doctor, but I understand if you are tired of being a patient, Papa. 

I understand. I dont like it but I am letting you go.

I will continue to make you proud, Papa. 

For every patient I get who thinks he can take care of himself; who is stubborn like you but who believes in me like you did; who argues with me about what to believe in the internet; who wouldn’t let sickness be in their way of life; who lives their lives for others; who has hopes for a future; who gets scared to die; who fights for their life like you did; and who is brave enough to admit when he’s tired. 

I will see you in them. 

And I will not get tired of taking care of you, Papa.