Thursday, April 4, 2013

The Day I Prayed For 'Someone' dear to die...



 “Dad!! Pleeeease dad, help me to help you...the tube is not going in...PLEASE!!!” I cried so much while holding on to the feeding tube. After six failed attempts, dad was crying too. “Oh God...I don’t want to do this...I cannot do this...please take this task away from me!!!” As I steeled myself to attempt for the last time, I could not stop my hands from shaking. I felt like my heart had been shattered into little pieces. Anyone who has ever thought that it is easy to be a doctor in the family has definitely not gone through our pain of feeling like a failure when    trying to treat our own family members.

Three weeks ago, dad had another stroke. It was his 9th stroke. My family put everything on hold to attend to him. We were so close to losing him. At one point, all of his children decided to let him go – we would have allowed our Lord Jesus to take him home because we just could not bear to see him suffer anymore. We thought that it was a selfless act. We believed it was the right thing to do. We said our goodbyes and we thanked him for being such a great dad to all of us. We thanked him for his sacrifices and love. Mom said goodbye to her dearest husband too.

But dad was a fighter. He fought on. On Christmas Day we brought him into the living room to see the Christmas tree. We sang songs and all the children called him. Although he was drowsy, we could see that the reason he fought on was to be with his family. With prayers and lots of love, my dad continued to fight on. Day by day, we could see changes that showed us that he was improving. At the end of nine days, he was stable enough that we all decided we could go back to resume our work and lives.


Many people might think that our story stops here with a happy ending. It was not so – nothing could be further than that. As we were all trying to catch up with our lives in Kuala Lumpur, mom and my maid were struggling at home. We received phone calls that informed us that dad was becoming more and more confused and disorientated. He needed to be restrained during his dialysis (dad’s kidneys had failed and he needs dialysis three times a week) because of his restlessness.

     
My family again made another trip home to see what we could do. As medical doctors, we decided to give dad some sedation but mom said no...she rather deal with the behavior change than to sedate him. So, as children, we listened. But after a month of waking everyone up every night, disturbing the neighbours, and making everyone’s life miserable, mom called for help again. This time we proceeded to give some medication to calm dad down and to help him to sleep. By now, we realised the painful truth that the stroke had destroyed his short-term memory, and he would not be able to remember anything he did. Only then did mom agree for us to give him some sedation.

Later on, a brain scan showed us just how bad his stroke had been. It had destroyed almost a quarter of his brain. What was more disturbing was that he could not retain short term memories because the part of his brain that controlled memory had been damaged by the stroke. Dad could recall past memories but was unable to retain any new things. So he could remember our names, but he would forget that he had just eaten.

Our friends kept calling to check on us. “How are you?”; “Pease take care.”; “We love you.”; “Let us know if you need anything!” These words of comfort helped carry me through this difficult time. Although we were all extremely tired physically and emotionally, we were also quite calm, or so I thought. I could clearly remember the previous time when dad had almost died, and how chaotic it all was. Everyone was just so restless and I could not remember feeling any peace.

Reflectively, I wondered what had changed. What was the difference between now and then that made such a great impact on how we reacted? Looking back, I realised that most of us trusted in the Lord and His Purposes completely. Although doubt still crept in sometimes, we surrendered to His will. And so we found His peace in those chaotic moments. We understood that dad was beyond what we could do as medical doctors or children. So we just allowed whatever would happen to happen, and we accepted it gracefully.

However, dad’s condition worsened. Finally, it came to a point where he was so confused, and in such suffering that I prayed that God would take him home to heaven soon. I could not bear to hear him scream or to see how he lost his dignity as a man when those symptoms struck. It grieved my heart to see him as someone who had almost lost his mind. So day and night I prayed, “Lord, take him home. He is suffering. Take him home!!!!” My heart was bleeding. Each time I uttered those terrible words, I broke down and cried. How could I say that??? How could I even dare to think of letting my own dad die??? How could I be so ungrateful??? But that was how I felt when I looked into his eyes. His pain was my pain and I just wanted to end it.

I cried unto the Lord, “Forgive me, Father, for being such a terrible person; for making such a terrible request.” What kind of animal was I to want my own father dead? Have you ever had such heartache that it felt like you had been stabbed in your chest? I felt like I was being stabbed again and again and again. The shame, anger, disappointment and a whole load of twisted emotions flooded into my mind. No wonder I could not sleep. It was so hard to pray. How could I pray when I did not have words anymore? Sometimes my prayers did not make any sense. Oftentimes, my prayers just tailed off and then I forgot what I was praying about. There were times when I started, but then never wanted to finish the prayer. Most times I just cried.


After exhausting all my words and tears, all I could do was wait. I was waiting for a miracle even though I did not know what miracle I was looking for – a miracle for dad? Or for me? The healing started when I was quiet; slowly, but yet I knew it was happening. I felt that I did not have to explain to God why I felt that miserable. He already knew! He always had. Once in a while, I sensed some hope. Once in a while I sensed His peace. Here and there I began to find some joy. Eventually all I wanted to do was to sing Him songs – songs of thanksgiving and praise. Did any Bible verses pop up? No. Did any miraculous sign happen? No. Then, why the transformation? The transformation happened when I understood my identity in God’s eyes. No matter how stupid, wicked and shameful that I saw myself, God sees me differently.


When I uttered those terrible words, God looked into my heart and saw that those words came from deep pain. When I asked Him to end my dad’s life, He saw that it was because I loved dad so much that it was too unbearable for me to witness his suffering. God did not judge me. He allowed me to cry my heart out and tell Him about my own suffering. In doing so, He allowed me to trust Him more deeply, and He embraced me with His ever-loving kindness. This experience has left me totally exhausted. It was a journey of faith – my parents’ faith, my siblings’ faith, and my own faith. We were all brought closer together by this catastrophe. Each of us experienced the pain differently. At the same time, we learned about God separately. In our suffering, we shared special moments together. We cried as a family and grieved as a family. When dad improved, we celebrated as a family. These events not only brought us closer as siblings, but also closer to God.



Do I wish that God could have chosen something milder to bring our family closer? Of course. I really would not want to go through those painful days again. But who am I to say? God’s ways are bigger than my ways, His thoughts are greater than my thoughts. I believe there is a season for everything. Perhaps this is a season of faith and trust and of allowing God to work His purposes. Thank you, Oh dear Lord, for Your grace and mercy towards my family.