In my dad's heart, my life has always been more precious than his own. Even when he was sick and struggling with his own issues, refusing treatment, he wavered the moment my safety was at stake. That trick definitely worked, and deep down, I was truly touched.
"But I don't want to go..." I kept pushing his buttons, aiming to make him more anxious.
"You have to go! I've already had someone pack your things; we're leaving soon." Dad's tone was adamant, brooking no argument.
I slumped on the couch, feigning reluctance to budge. It wasn't until our housekeeper had packed a few clothes and some essentials for me that Dad came over, grabbed my arm, and said, "Let's go, to the hospital."
I reluctantly followed him out the door and into the car, leaving Serena and Brandon at home – the hospital was no place for them. Mom decided to accompany us today. Sitting in the backseat with me, while Dad took the passenger seat, she asked, "What made you change your mind all of a sudden? Don’t want to leave me a widow, huh?"
"The thought crossed my mind. You’ve got a long life ahead, darling. Can’t bear the thought of you playing the lonely widow for years," Dad replied, his words a typical blunt-man remark, even bringing up the widow term.
Mom's expression darkened, on the verge of scolding him, but she held back, mindful of the driver's presence and her own image. But Dad agreeing to get treated was a win, so the small irritations were brushed aside. After all, he was the patient.
Upon reaching the hospital, Dad and I were about to proceed with the admission formalities when the doctor I had previously consulted came in handy. In front of Dad, she suggested another hospital known for its superior breast cancer treatment, promising the best outcomes.
Dad immediately said, "Then I’ll go there with my daughter!"
"Hold on, our hospital's biggest strength is in lung cancer treatment, with specialized research facilities in partnership…" the doctor began, following my instructions to keep the conversation flowing.
"Wait, aren’t you a breast cancer specialist? How come you're so informed about lung cancer?" Dad interrupted.
"I may not know everything, but I'm well-versed in our hospital’s capabilities," the doctor replied calmly.
So, Mom decided that Dad and I should get treated separately, which left Dad a bit confused. He had wanted to stay by my side, to not let me feel scared. But upon arriving at the hospital, we had to go our separate ways. Something felt right, yet somehow off.
At this point, Dad couldn't back out. He was admitted to the hospital, while I went to another, not to be admitted but to send Dad a video to keep his mind at ease. After sorting things with Dad, I went back home, while Mom, worried about Dad, stayed with him at the hospital.
Just as I got home, my phone started ringing loudly, flashing "Russel" on the screen. I hesitated before answering. It seemed like I was surrounded by sickness: Faith with depression, Dad with early-stage lung cancer, Hiram with leukemia, Mitch with a broken leg, and Russel, who was shot. And I was connected to each of them.
"Have you not been for a check-up recently?" Russel's stern, almost accusatory voice came through as soon as I answered.
Russel’s tone changed instantly, "When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?"
It was a family matter, telling anyone wouldn’t change the situation. I hadn’t even told Stella and the others until they heard about my supposed breast cancer and called me, prompting me to explain the situation.
"Early stage is manageable. He was scared at first, unwilling to get treated. But he’s admitted to the hospital now, so it should be fine. Don’t worry," I reassured Russel.
Our families had been close once, especially during our time in Eldoria. My parents nearly treated him like a son-in-law. But now, with Dad sick and no one informing him, it was clear we were distancing ourselves from Russel. This distancing was inevitable, and I hoped he would understand.
"So, you pretended to be sick to get him to agree to treatment?" Russel pieced it together.
"Exactly. It was the only way he’d agree to be admitted," I admitted, feeling helpless. I wouldn't have put Dad through such worry otherwise, especially not when he was already ill.
Russel and I talked a bit more about Dad's condition, and to my surprise, he knew quite a bit about lung cancer. Time flew, and before I knew it, half an hour had passed. Serena had started crying, and I was about to end the call when Russel's voice, soft and gentle, cut through the silence. "Have they started crawling yet? Can they sit up on their own?"
His voice carried the same warmth and tenderness as when he used to hold Serena and Brandon, a familiar comfort in his tone.
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