REGRETS

It is almost night when I wake up to the voices of the doctors in my father's room. I am still swaddled in his arms, and he is still closing his eyes to the pain while the doctors are readying the meds. I strive as much as possible to slip out of his grip without alarming him, but I fail eventually. He peels his weak eyes, and I clench his hand as he tries to catch a hold of me.


Leaving him must have impacted him so much and with a dreadful feeling of fear. I blame myself. I hate myself for what I did. I feel so awful about it that I can't help but accept the blame for all that is happening. I haven't stopped mulling over how different things would be right now if only I didn't do what I did, and neither have I ceased reprimanding myself for all that is ensuing.

Choices, they say, have consequences, and I am having a bittersweet sense of what precisely that means. How I wish I could get a chance to change a thing, but woe unto me, this is irreversible. I will have to nurse these wounds I myself inflicted on myself and try to learn that running away from anything isn't ever a solution, and I am learning that the hard way.

The doctors finish their work, and I watch as my father opens his mouth to speak, but he is too vulnerable for that, too weak for anything, actually. His mouth hangs agape as his eyes shut slowly. He hugs my hand tight as he drowns in the world of sleep, somehow, subconsciously, the pain fading away a little. The world has no suffering at all. In a way, I am glad that he is not feeling the pain, but I just can't accept that he is in this situation. It is a pain that is ripping me apart, weakening me up to the bones.


"He will be asleep for a few minutes due to the medications. He will be awake in about forty-five minutes," Doctor Lemuel explains.

I nod my head, tucking my father under the covers and pulling myself from bed. "Okay. Thank you, doctor," I retort.


"It seems like your presence is doing him a lot of good, Miss Riccaford," Doctor Lemuel says again.

"What do you mean, doctor?" I implore.

"He was so distressed of late. He hasn't spoken a word for one week, and based on his reactions right now, I can say that you will be a good therapy for his recovery," Lemuel explains.

Someone tells me that I am not to blame for all this. Am I such a terrible daughter? "Thanks, doc. I will be by his side all the time," I guiltily retort, feeling like the worst daughter in the world.

My father concealed his ailment from me to avoid stressing me out. I don't consent to his decision, but the portrayal of the great love he has for me in this act goes beyond words. He could have sent me a message when he fell sick. He knew I would come running back to him, but he didn't. My actions almost drove him into a state of depression. He was back here suffering and worried about me, but I was out there having the time of my life. How ironical! How cliche! How stupid of me to not have cared to even call him for all those times or even listen to the people he used to reach out to me. I never thought these words would ever come out of my mouth, but if only I knew... If only I just knew…

"That will be of great help to his mental health. Just remember to not tire him up. He needs rest as much as he can get."

"Copy that, doc. How is your consultation about the transplant coming along? Have you decided yet?" I ask.

I know it is too soon to ask, but my urge to see my father well again is just so strong. I can't help the anticipation of what a great family we will be when all this is over. I am itching for this nightmare to end soon.

"With the sudden change of your arrival, which seems to be a remedy to his depression, I would suggest that we keep him under observation for one day to see how he is responding, and then we will decide after. For now, just do as you promised and take note of every single thing. His moods, his reactions, anything, and let me know. I will be in the room." Dr. Lemuel explains.

I nod my head. "Alright, doc, and once again, thank you so much for taking care of my father."

"You don't need to thank me, miss. I am just doing my job. I will do everything I can to make sure your father gets well soon," he asks me with a small smile that I appreciate. I need all the rays I can get in this dark tunnel, honestly.

"Thanks anyways. By the way, my father wants to talk to me about something serious when he wakes up. Is that healthy for him?" I query.

"If it will not stress him out, yes. If it will, then I would suggest you avoid it at all costs. We can't afford to make even a slight mistake. It will have a very terrible impact on him," he warns, and a cold chill runs down my spine.

I thought as much, but I know my father. I can't avoid the issue because he will sense it. And knowing him, I don't even know how long I can avoid the topic. But I will have to try. "Alright, doc. I get it."

"Okay. I will just be in the room. If you need to step out, maybe to freshen up or anything, just call me so that I can keep watch on your father."

"Okay," I say with an appreciative slight grin.