DAY 5 - HEALTHY

Dad would be very happy today. Uhmmm, no. Dad would be very RELIEVED today.  Because after putting it off for 3 months, I finally took the time to have the medical check-up that I should have had last January.

I only have one kidney.  In 2010, it was imperative that I have my left one removed.  Dad felt a bizarre mixture of pride and guilt for passing on his recessive renal genes to me ("You get that from me, hija").  For the past 7 years, I have been on strict doctor's orders to do quarterly (and later on bi-annual) ultrasound and blood work.  Using the metaphor of a vehicle, I need regular tune-ups as I no longer have the luxury of a spare tire, and there is simply no room for me to mess up the one I have left.

TBH (o di ba, I'm so cool), I was really nervous about this morning.  Not only had I delayed it, I also subjected my body and mind to so much stress in between check-ups.

As soon as the laboratory's laser printer churned out my results, I read them right there and then (medyo mainit pa nga ang paper).  Woohoo, flying colors!  I walked to my urologist's clinic with a spring in my step, like a smart grade schooler turning in a test paper, knowing that I nailed it!

Healthy.  I need to do this because life is too fragile. I need to do this because I know how it is to watch a loved one suffer.  I need to do this because I do have Dad's recessive renal genes and remembering Dad's last days would be like looking into my future.  I need to do this because my well-being impacts so many lives, and it would be selfish to think otherwise.

Dad hated going to the doctor, so he didn't.  By the time he did, so many things were already irreversible.  And part of me blames his stubbornness for depriving me of a few more years with him.  For leaving me with unpleasant memories of him lying helpless in the ICU, unable to move because of the pain in his arms and legs, unable to breathe because of the pneumonia, unable to speak because of the mechanical ventilator.  And this vision of you is what grips my heart each time. It's what brings me to hysterical sobs because restoring you back to health is the one thing, THE ONE THING, that I couldn't do for you.  That I, your hatchet man, let you down.  And this, this is the crux of my grief.

Healthy, this is how I need to remember you, Dad.  That you are now in the pink of it.  And that when you pleaded with us to bring your home, this is what you actually meant.