Read the first two parts in this series here:
Man proposes, God disposes (Part 1)
Man proposes, God disposes (Part 2)
At about 7:30 in the evening, I called the number given to me by the attending doctor. My dad was on the fifth floor (for patients with orthopedic emergencies) in St. Vicentius Hospital in Karsruhe. I talked to the attending person and asked him about my dad. He said that he was doing well. I asked him two or three times about how the operation went, but he just said he was doing OK. In spite of speaking German so well, I sometimes feel helpless when I talk to people here. How could I explain to him our concern for my father and the fact that he is alone in the hospital on the second day of his visit to Germany? I tried to be calm and cut the call. I prayed to my deity and asked the deity to give him and us all the strength we need to sail through this emotional and physical turmoil. I trusted the doctors and the medical science in Germany, and I was sure that my father was in good hands and that the operation must have gone well.
At about 8 a.m. the next day, I received a call from the hospital. It seems that my dad wanted to speak to me. His voice was parched, and he was clearly in pain. He told me that he has not been operated upon and that he hasn't eaten anything since the dinner that we had at home on Sunday night. Not even a drop of water was given to him the whole day yesterday. I asked the attending nurse there, and she told me that, due to an emergency, the operation couldn't be performed yesterday and that it would definitely be performed today at about 11 a.m. I translated everything that the nurse told me and assured my dad that we would come to see him in the evening between 3 and 6 p.m. He just said OK, and I cut the call. I felt so bad and helpless in his situation. He had no company, no food, no water, and no news about when he would be operated, and he was just lying on the hospital bed waiting for something to happen. He was in the hospital for nearly 24 hours, waiting to be operated on.
I called again at 2 p.m., and by that time, the operation was done, and he was brought back to his room on the 5th floor. My mom and I went to the hospital, bringing him some clothes and other stuff that he might need. We had to do the Corona test every single time we would visit the hospital. Once we saw my father in the hospital post-op, we were relieved. He looked pale and tired, but he was now free of constant lingering pain, thanks to the operation. There was only a small cut on his thigh, and there was no large cut or wound as we had expected. There was no plaster on his leg or foot, and the leg seemed almost normal after the operation. He told us that he saw everything in the operation theater and that the doctors were talking to him and telling him constantly about the next steps in the surgery.
For the next 12 days, every evening, it became a ritual for me and my mother to visit him in the hospital after changing two trams. I had my driving licence by then, but no car to drive my mother to the hospital. But it was also a nice time that we both spent with each other talking our hearts out without our husbands. My mom is a very strong lady, but she was clearly impacted by this incident and suddenly she seemed very old, weak and vulnerable to me. We are always used to see our parents strong for us, for the outside world. But this is when the enormity of the situation struck me and I realised that my parents are getting old.
To be continued...
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