You know the feeling of admiration you get when you witness a baby walking for the first time, well I felt that when my dad began walking again. Now, before any of you do jump to conclusions, its not some sort of miracle story (but then again, I guess if we take the optimistic stance, I guess you could argue, that every good thing is a miracle). Let me not begin the process of waffling, that I do seem to find myself in the process of quite recently .. Back to the topic of my dad walking again, he wasn't in a wheelchair and he wasn't born with any such problems, he was just diagnosed as having severe sciatica.
For those of you who are not aware of what this is, sciatica is a nerve problem that causes pain all over the body, affecting the back, hip, lower back and legs. My dad is quite well known in the local doctors surgery, as he often goes to complain about the lack of effectiveness of his current medication in addition to his ongoing health problems. Now as a result of this, I have gathered that the doctors in the surgery often disregard his feedback as not to be taken seriously. My dad had explained to them the pain and suffering he was enduring, however the doctor that saw my dad, reassured him that he would get better if he just carried on taking his painkillers. Now here is what pissed my dad off, and I mean, really pissed him off .. he came to them to explain that he had been taking the painkillers and that they were of no help. Did the doctor listen? NO.
After a week of constantly being in bed, and not being able to move and doing the most basic of things, there came a night when my dad emphasised that he needed help and help ASAP. Hot water bottles, various gel rubs and massages were not of any value in eradicating this illness. In my eyes he was literally going mad, crying out in pain .. and even though I didn't experience my dad's suffering, I ached in pain too .. to see my dad like that. I eventually called the ambulance, and they arrived, after doing numerous checks and undertaking the usual procedures .. blood sugar levels, pulse rate and blood pressure (the rest I can't remember right now) .. he was boarded onto the ambulance van. I decided to go with him, as part of daughter duties and translation purposes - my dad understands the basics of the English language, but communicates verbally in broken English.
Fast forward - in the hospital - it takes them two hours to put my dad on a hospital bed - my dad is going insane - shouting loudly - I'm sweating - I wore so many layers based on my fear of the cold .. and then regretted it, but torn between chasing the hospital doctors around the hospital and offering my dad endless cups of water .. I simply didn't have the time to take off my coat. Hot, annoyed at the NHS, afraid for my dad's well being, I just wanted to find a miraculous cure. However, it seemed like my dad was thinking up his own. He told me to tell the doctors he wanted a dose of morphine, so I chased this woman around, and she gave in, bringing in a liquid dose for my dad. My dad was told to give it about half an hour or so .. but my dad became even angrier and angrier. It was crazy, he started kicking the chairs in the hospital room. Eventually, he was given yet another dose of morphine, but still no joy. We left the hospital and went home in a cab.
Fast forward a month now, my dad has been literally bed bound for a good month. Myself and my younger siblings, and how can I forget my mum, literally made the transition from a family member to a carer in a short amount of time. It hit my mum the hardest I would say, with the constant hassle from maintaining the household chores and just generally keeping on top of things, and then waking up suddenly in the middle of the night, because she hears my dad scream out in agony.I must say, its been a hectic time for us, I can only begin to imagine what my dad went through.
Anyway,there came a day .. again my dad could not bear the pain any longer, so once again, I called the ambulance. Let me cut to the chase .. this doctor came to examine my dad, and then got a paper cup and started dropping all my dad's tablet into it and then offering it to my dad. Without even trying to fabricate his suspicion about the doctor's intentions, he remarked 'why you making a cocktail out of my tablets, when I told you they don't work?'. To which the doctor responded, by reassuring my dad that he had his best interests at heart, and that he was simply increasing the dosage of my dad's already prescribed tablets for better pain relief. The doctor then gave my dad a massage and injected some sort of pain relief into him. After much tears, sweat and pain, my dad and myself got ready to leave the hospital, and was told by the doctor that he had gone and prayed for my dad and for his situation to get better. That really meant a lot to me and even more to my dad. It was nice to know that there were medical professionals in the world, who genuinely cared about their patients.
When my dad came home, he was bed-bound again, completely shut out from the outside world, and also for the longevity of a period that was abnormal to him. He started to become quite withdrawn and depressed, and I'd be lying if I was to say this didn't rub off on me, the slightest bit.
Gosh, I feel like I've already written a book, but my dad started to adopt the belief that he would get better and humbled himself with the knowledge that some people unfortunately may not ever walk again (even though he himself thought that). He has gone through a lot these past few months and I am delighted to say my dad .. can walk again. Praise be to Allah.
For those of you who are not aware of what this is, sciatica is a nerve problem that causes pain all over the body, affecting the back, hip, lower back and legs. My dad is quite well known in the local doctors surgery, as he often goes to complain about the lack of effectiveness of his current medication in addition to his ongoing health problems. Now as a result of this, I have gathered that the doctors in the surgery often disregard his feedback as not to be taken seriously. My dad had explained to them the pain and suffering he was enduring, however the doctor that saw my dad, reassured him that he would get better if he just carried on taking his painkillers. Now here is what pissed my dad off, and I mean, really pissed him off .. he came to them to explain that he had been taking the painkillers and that they were of no help. Did the doctor listen? NO.
After a week of constantly being in bed, and not being able to move and doing the most basic of things, there came a night when my dad emphasised that he needed help and help ASAP. Hot water bottles, various gel rubs and massages were not of any value in eradicating this illness. In my eyes he was literally going mad, crying out in pain .. and even though I didn't experience my dad's suffering, I ached in pain too .. to see my dad like that. I eventually called the ambulance, and they arrived, after doing numerous checks and undertaking the usual procedures .. blood sugar levels, pulse rate and blood pressure (the rest I can't remember right now) .. he was boarded onto the ambulance van. I decided to go with him, as part of daughter duties and translation purposes - my dad understands the basics of the English language, but communicates verbally in broken English.
Fast forward - in the hospital - it takes them two hours to put my dad on a hospital bed - my dad is going insane - shouting loudly - I'm sweating - I wore so many layers based on my fear of the cold .. and then regretted it, but torn between chasing the hospital doctors around the hospital and offering my dad endless cups of water .. I simply didn't have the time to take off my coat. Hot, annoyed at the NHS, afraid for my dad's well being, I just wanted to find a miraculous cure. However, it seemed like my dad was thinking up his own. He told me to tell the doctors he wanted a dose of morphine, so I chased this woman around, and she gave in, bringing in a liquid dose for my dad. My dad was told to give it about half an hour or so .. but my dad became even angrier and angrier. It was crazy, he started kicking the chairs in the hospital room. Eventually, he was given yet another dose of morphine, but still no joy. We left the hospital and went home in a cab.
Fast forward a month now, my dad has been literally bed bound for a good month. Myself and my younger siblings, and how can I forget my mum, literally made the transition from a family member to a carer in a short amount of time. It hit my mum the hardest I would say, with the constant hassle from maintaining the household chores and just generally keeping on top of things, and then waking up suddenly in the middle of the night, because she hears my dad scream out in agony.I must say, its been a hectic time for us, I can only begin to imagine what my dad went through.
Anyway,there came a day .. again my dad could not bear the pain any longer, so once again, I called the ambulance. Let me cut to the chase .. this doctor came to examine my dad, and then got a paper cup and started dropping all my dad's tablet into it and then offering it to my dad. Without even trying to fabricate his suspicion about the doctor's intentions, he remarked 'why you making a cocktail out of my tablets, when I told you they don't work?'. To which the doctor responded, by reassuring my dad that he had his best interests at heart, and that he was simply increasing the dosage of my dad's already prescribed tablets for better pain relief. The doctor then gave my dad a massage and injected some sort of pain relief into him. After much tears, sweat and pain, my dad and myself got ready to leave the hospital, and was told by the doctor that he had gone and prayed for my dad and for his situation to get better. That really meant a lot to me and even more to my dad. It was nice to know that there were medical professionals in the world, who genuinely cared about their patients.
When my dad came home, he was bed-bound again, completely shut out from the outside world, and also for the longevity of a period that was abnormal to him. He started to become quite withdrawn and depressed, and I'd be lying if I was to say this didn't rub off on me, the slightest bit.
Gosh, I feel like I've already written a book, but my dad started to adopt the belief that he would get better and humbled himself with the knowledge that some people unfortunately may not ever walk again (even though he himself thought that). He has gone through a lot these past few months and I am delighted to say my dad .. can walk again. Praise be to Allah.