Dear Diary,
Today feels just like yesterday, the day before, and the day before. The ache I experience right in the middle of my torso seems to always be there, telling me I'm too tired to make it through the day. I feel heaviness and I feel alone.
My Dad had his stroke when I was 14 years old, I'm now 28 years old. For most of my conscious life, I've never known him anything other than unwell. He's been in and out of hospital numerous times, and for some reason I fell into a false sense of security that it would always be okay and that he'd get the antibiotics or the oxygen or the operation he needed, and he'd be home soon and right as rain!
This time my world fell apart. He was airlifted to hospital and we were told that between the covid-19, pneumonia and failure of his kidneys that he might just die. We were told that he was so very sleepy but that we could hold his hand and talk to him. They would try all they could, but we just needed to see how he'd respond to the treatments.
Four weeks on and he's still here - thank you universe. But after beating the aforesaid health problems, he was faced with another called autoimmune haemolytic annemia which basically means his body has, as a response to covid, created antibodies which are attacking his own red blood cells. There is hope that they will find the right treatment for him, and at the minute there is a balance of blood transfusions and chemotherapy.
Would it stop there for him? Oh, no. He might just be struggling with vascular dementia as well. He is 67 years old and this life does not belong to him. He is a good man, with a strong heart, and did all the right things for his health. It just isn't fair.
When I cried after finding out that he might die, and when I cried at home in my bed, it wasn't for me or my grief. It was for him and the pain he has experienced time and time again. He does not deserve this suffering and my heart breaks for him, over and over again.