Hold my hand? (Part 1)

On his way home one night, my dad came across a rather argumentative drunken man which resulted in drunk man being arrested and my dad sustaining a blow to the left side of his face and a deep bleed, just missing his eye. The police informed me know of the incident and explained that I would have to collect my father as they needed to car for analysis (?) and his injuries meant that his visibility would be compromised for driving. Eek! That scared the hell out of me, what do they mean compromised visibility? I reassured mum that I would let her know what was going on and set off for the hospital in my car.

During my drive, I thought about the moments where I’ve had to be the grown up for my parents. When dad was stranded in Pakistan due to some political BS, when the doctor’s confirmed that something wasn’t right with Aisha, when my grandparents passed away, when my mum’s was pregnant with Billy – I stepped up each time as a sense of duty crept over me. But at the same time it gave me an insight into my parent’s lives – how scary must it be to be the one in charge, the one that everyone looks to for guidance. I’m not saying I did everything but those in those few moments in my life, I had to be the grown up, the strong one for my mum and dad. I had to take charge of my immediate family and look after Aisha and Bilal, who looked to me for guidance and protection and explain what was going on with mum and dad. It’s a scary feeling that’s for sure!

I arrived at the hospital and found my dad amongst the others that were injured and looked a bit bewildered and shocked. A number of emotions hit me. Sadden that someone had attacked him, anger at the person who did it and irked by the long waiting times which was further exacerbated by exam time at uni. Stress! As I approached dad, I saw a sense of relief wash over his face - probably because he had found someone he recognised. My dad is not a big fan of hospitals as he’s always associated them with bad news (Aisha and my grandparents are enough past experience to convince him of that) and he’s definitely not a good patient. I remember that he wasn’t exactly over the moon when I chose a profession in which being exposed to people suffering on a daily basis is something that will soon become a normal thing for me. Don’t get me wrong, he thinks medical professionals are great… as long as he and his family don’t have to have to encounter them and I guess I understand where he is coming from. I think as a father, he always tried to protect me and my siblings from things like that and then I go and do the exact opposite.

I’ve seen worse people brought in during my hospital placements, but looking at my dad’s injuries was scary for me. Everything changes when it’s someone you know, especially if it’s someone close. I saw the beginnings of a black eye and maybe even a fat lip – it was like he had been in pub brawl. The cut made by his glasses, was pretty deep and wouldn’t stop bleeding - so much so that his shirt was fairly soaked. Dad has a bit of a nervous disposition when it comes to hospitals. That coupled with the blood in his eye, blurring his vision made him more panicky and with no glasses and significant pain – well needless to say he was getting restless. So I sat and talked to him. He started cracking jokes and with the blood still steadily flowing down his face and wincing from the pain, he re-enacted the um... “fight”. You have no idea how much that calmed me. Not the fact he was injured but the fact that he was back to his normal self – it sort of signalled to me that as dad was being dad, I could continue being me – as in not in charge of the family. But not just yet....