Today is the first time I saw my Dad after his operation. The wonders of technology, that it allows me to see him from all these miles away. He looks well, in fact not much different than before the news. I am surprised and grateful that my imagination was wrong. He is keen to show me his scars. I inwardly grimace as I look at them, not wanting him to read the dread on my face. He calls the scars his roadmap, as they run down his chest, across his belly and under his arm. Tracks. I see that he is healing well. He proudly shows me he can now move his arm above his head and tells me he is walking 1 mile everyday. Although, today he admits is a bad day because he’s run out of painkillers and hasn’t been for his walk. There are a few moments when breathlessness and grimaces interrrupt the conversation. Otherwise, he tells me he is doing well and the nurse has told him she is her best patient because of his positive attitude and how he is recovering. As he says this, he shows me he is having his first glass of wine since the operation. Inside I simultaneously rejoice and chastise him but decide to say nothing. There is a moment where he acknowledges the odds he was given and the opportunity the operation has given him. There is a brief pause when the gravity of that sinks into both of us. He quickly moves on to tell me about his upcoming plans and we talk about my visit in the fall.
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Helen Kennett-BaconOriginally from South Yorkshire in England, I've lived with my husband Neil in Kitsilano, Vancouver for 10 years. We are fur-parents to our French bulldog Dave, I am a Registered Psychiatric Nurse specialising in ADHD. Archives
August 2016
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