Monday 21 May 2012

The Happening

The frailty of the human body was once again laid bare to me this week, as was the immense power of the human spirit.

On Tuesday, my maternal grandfather - known to me as "Pa", and to Bean as "Pa Ping" - suffered a major stroke. His recovery thus far has been little short of miraculous. While on holiday in Johannesburg with my folks, he went to lie down and three hours later when someone went to check on him, they discovered he was lying rather awkwardly and immediately rushed him to hospital. I got the call from my mom on Tuesday afternoon.

On Wednesday, after much prodding for information from my side, she told me he would be paralysed on his left side for good. I took the news, swallowed it, and moved right along.

On Thursday, about 20 minutes before I was scheduled to go on air, I got a BBM message from her saying "Please call me, boy". Naturally, I felt the sickening rise of bile to my throat, the giddying light-headedness, and the ghastly anticipation that this would be that call. Thankfully, it was not.

But it was bad news.

Mom: Pa's not going to recover
Me: OK
Mom: His organs are failing
Me: OK
Mom: His pacemaker's keeping him alive
Me: OK
Mom: OK
*hangs up*

I cried.

After the show, my brother (I call him Bruce) called.

Bruce: When are we going?
Me: I'm on my way home now
Bruce: What time are we flying
Me: I don't know
Bruce: We have to get there
Me: I know
Bruce: So are you going to buy tickets? I don't have money.
Me: We'll get there

We flew out on Thursday night, drove through to Pretoria and arrived there at around 02h30. We spent three visiting sessions with Pa on Friday.

Session 1 - ICU
It's 11h00 and Pa is lying on his back, hooked up to machines that monitor blood pressure, heart rate, other vitals, but most importantly, cranial activity. The pacemaker inserted as a result of his heart attack not too long ago is keeping him alive. The pulse is so strong, I can see it in his neck. His eyes open. The makings of a smile accompany the firm, vice-like grip from his weathered right hand completely enveloping mine. He moves his eyes towards me as I tell him Bean wanted me to pull his nose for her (He makes a sound that sounds a bit like "ping" when she does, hence the name she's given him). He's weak and in ICU, but his grip remains as strong as the hands that toiled all those years in the garden, and held me aloft at birth. The nurse remarks that his progress has been incredible. "We thought we'd lose him overnight".

Session 2 - General Ward
It's 14h15 and Pa has been moved out of ICU. He's not out of danger, but I take this as a good sign. He's vocalising grunts and moans, and begins rhythmically beating against his bed. I'm convinced he's trying to communicate via morse code, but I don't recognise the rhythm. I curse quietly at myself for not remembering what I had learnt in Cub Scouts. He's so strong he nearly topples the drip that's connected to his right arm after yanking on the tube. He's frustrated and angry. Bruce breaks down in my arms. I comfort him with my arms, his heavy sobs into my chest punctuated by me telling him how proud we should be of Pa for fighting like this. He's so much stronger than we give him credit for. For Bruce, the pain is seeing Pa helpless. For me, it's a sign Pa hasn't given up. Granny affirms our belief that she can cure anything. "Just let them release you to me, Jack. I will fix you."

Session 3 - General Ward
It's 19h15 and the whole family is there. Me, Bruce, Dadonator, Mom, Brian (mom's brother), Robyn (mom's sister), Ollie (Robyn's hubby), Cherné (Robyn's daughter) and Ryan (Robyn's son). Pa has become immensely frustrated. I have a feeling he doesn't want us seeing him like this. He's pointing, murmuring, but we don't know whether or not he'll ever speak again. The only time he's calm is when we pray, which we've been doing all day. Cherné remains silent, tears rolling down her perfect cheeks. Ryan awkwardly shifts on his feet, Ollie rescues him by taking him to the hospital kiosk at the entrance. Robyn's in tears, my mom is broken, Brian remains stoic, Dadonator keeps saying things that don't quite fit, Bruce is in between sobs, and I'm against the wall, on the outside while remaining indoors, looking into a situation I am inextricable connected to, but removing myself from emotionally. I've had my cry. That's not what Pa needs now. What Pa needs isn't tears. What Pa needs is something to fight for. Looking at the love in this family, he has.

I was satisfied that I had said my goodbyes were he to take a turn for the worse, but mostly I was hugely encouraged by his progress. Myself, Dadonator and Bruce drove back to Cape Town on Saturday.

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