After Fatie left, Anna stood there motionless. She though her father had to be under the influence of drugs, for he could not stay awake. She had to allow him to sleep. She walked to the window and looked down to the street, the city lights, and the stars above. They were the the same as she remembered them when she was only a child, a teenager. She recalled the days she was fighting with her father for going to America. She wished she had never done that; nonetheless things, her relationship with her father could not have been the same if she had not gone to America, if she had not shown him her courage, if she had not been a shoulder for him to lean on at the time of Aria's death. She thought that she earned that equality from a man like her father by everything she had done. If not, she would still be an ordinary woman like her mother, married to a rich man, holding tea parties, and wearing expensive jewelry and clothes. At this point, looking at her father, the way he was now, she was not sure which one of the choices were better. What if she had never left? But then again, if her leaving had not happened, she never had this kind of closeness with her father. But did it matter now? She did not know the extent of her father's heart damage; and until the next morning, when she would see Dr. Hamid, she could not know. Nevertheless, by observing him, his breathing, and the machines that were connected to him, suddenly her nursing expertise came to surface, and she knew the signs were not good but they were not that bad either.
Standing by the window, she wondered if she had returned for doubting her life, her parents' lives, her dead brother's short life, doubting the change of her nationality, doubting all the big things, yet little things, important things, yet silly things. She knew that in the history of her country, every time a revolution happened, the people went after wealthy and well offs. That was frightening her even more than her father's heart. Now it seemed to her that everything in her life was like an accident. By doubting and waiting more, she had come across other things accidentally and learned about them. But now she did not know anything more about all the big things she had wanted than the beginning of the time when she had begun wanting them. There were all like a closed chain, when all the links looked the same and no one ever knew where the first link was or where she had started with the chain.
She had yearned to look into her father's eyes for the longest time, since the last they visited her. Now his closed eyes somehow reflected from their boundlessness a glare that she could find neither a meaning nor a reason for it. All these years had come and gone. The sky above was what she and her father held in common. But as she looked into the dark of sky above, she realized that there was nothing in this world that anyone could hold in common. She was an individual, separate from her father; nonetheless, by any law, the law of blood, common interest, relation, or past experience, she adored this man, she thought, even more than her dead brother or husband, for this man being so different from her, was just like her. Now she understood what "you're me" that he had said at the beginning of her visit, meant. His blood ran ran inside her veins, as hers ran through his. He was, she thought, all she had left.
A nurse came to check on her father. Then her mother returned to bring her some food and changing clothes if she wished to take a bath in her father's room. The driver had stayed downstairs. She profusely apologized to her mother for her rude behavior earlier that night. Fatie said she understood. The food stayed untouched. The bag of clothing stayed untouched.
She listened to the night sounds. Nothing was finishing, nothing was beginning. She suddenly feared, a fear like an icy viscous hole in all the depletion, where at one point her self-assurance had existed strongly to the point that had occasionally made her sick of having too much self confident.
Finally the morning came. She had watched her father all night, his breathing, moving, and sighing. Now he was awake in an ill- tempered manner. She sat on the corner of his bed holding his hand. "Aren't you glad to see me, dad?"
He felt bewildered and absently said: "When did you come?"
"Last night, don't you remember?"
He thought for a moment. "Oh, yes! I thought I was dreaming."
The nurse came and asked Anna to leave the room so she would do her daily routine of changing the sheets and giving Shahzdeh a wet bath. Anna walked outside. In the corridor, she walked up and down. She still did not know how serious her father's heart attack was. To her, it could not be that serious. She finally decided to sit on a chair behind his room. As tired as she was, she did not want to leave there until seeing Dr. Hamid. She wished some one would bring her a cup of coffee, American coffee; but she knew the best thing she could get was a glass of tea in her parents' home. The last time she remembered sleeping was back in Dallas. Fatigue was taking its toll on her.
When Dr. Hamid showed up, first Anna did not recognized him. His hair was all white and he looked much thinner. When he got closer, she suddenly identified him. She got up from her chair and ran towards him.
"Is that you, Anna?" He said.
She smiled. "Have I changed a lot?"
"Oh, my God, yes, but for better. You look grown up now. I remember you as a little girl."
"How is my father? When can he go home?'
"Hopefully in a few days. He had myocardial infarction. First we did an angiology to find the problem; and then we closed the artery by an angioplasty."
"Do you think it may happen again?"
"It's hard to say. But considering his age, and all the anxieties he has gone through, there is a possibility. How long will you stay Anna?'
"My original plan was two weeks; but now, I am not sure. I'll stay until father gets better."
"Good, having a nurse at home helps."
Anna smiled and they both walked to Shahzdeh's room.
Three nights had only passed from Anna being in Tehran; yet she had felt something of herself behind in that hospital room. It was not any possession that she had left behind; but it was something indescribable, some moments of her life, her feelings, her talking with the doctors, the nurses, the echo of their voices, her voice.
Needless to say that she was very happy that finally she could walk at home, she could hold her fighter's hand, and she could be a help to her mother. The plan of hiring a nurse for her father was refused by her, and Dr. Hamid agreed with her, since she was a nurse practitioner. Since her arrival, she had gone to home from hospital only once to shower and change clothes. Her mother told her that her taking care of her father was in a an obsessive way. She thought that her mother was envious; but she never told her mother what she thought.
Dr. Hamid came for house visit every other day and stayed after his routine examination for dinner. He very much liked Anna and wanted to talk to her. Her solitary life and her dedication to her father fascinated him, and the fact that she was a nurse practitioner in America opened doors for the two cousins to talk about their professions and the difference and similarities of medical treatment in the two countries. For one thing, There was no concept of nurse practitioner in Iran, and Anna explained that to her cousin. When Anna told him that in America they would have treated her father the same way he had done, he seemed very happy to hear that. Shahzdeh mostly participated in their conversation; nonetheless, since he would get tired and excited specially when they talked about politics and revolution, much quicker than his old self, Dr. Hamid would ask him to go to bed and rest.
To Be Continued
No comments:
Post a Comment