Dad layed on the table, his chest rising and falling, falling and rising. Not like he usually breathes. No one breathes like that.
“Dad,” I said, quietly. The nurses told me that he could hear me. I didn’t understand that, though.
I think I’d be in more pain sedated and unable to respond. But it wasn’t me, and Dad would’ve had a panic attack with a tube down his throat.
There have been so many sugeries in the past nine years.
I hope he’ll be strong enough to pull out of this one. I hope he’ll be able to breathe soon.