My Papa

Reflective Essay by Liam Shortall Visiting popping It was March 2011, and my Dad and I had just been to pick up my brand new trombone from the Rath mill in Huddersfield and were heading towards Liverpool Heart and Chest Hospital to visit my grandfather. He had just had been through quadruple bypass heart surgery at the cranky age of 79. My grandfather, or Papa, had been suffering from acute pain in the heart, and severe exhaustion the daily stroll to the shop had now become an impossible task. afterward being examined by his local GP on a regular basis for a few months, he was admitted to Liverpool for this major operation.My grandfather was immensely discreet and at one point almost refused treatment. One week into his stay, my Dad went with my Uncle Richard to visit him. He was extremely humbled he didnt know his location and how want he had been there. My Nana had kept my Dad and Uncle informed in regard to his condition but in visiting him they soon suck upd that she had n ot revealed the full finish of his ill health. After this particular visit my Dad didnt really seem himself, he seemed anxious and constantly on edge, a complete opposite to his common joking self. My papa must have been in a dreadful state.Previous to my visit to Liverpool Heart and Chest Hospital (LHCH) we had been to pick up my new trombone, I was ecstatic. Finally I was getting the instrument that I had being dreaming of for, what felt like forever. And after so many sleepless nights too, the day was in the long manoeuvre here But my happiness was short-lived, I wasnt to know of the severity of Papas condition and my heart soon sank when we entered the infirmary. As soon as I walked though the hospital doors, I seemed to feel even colder than I did outside on this winter day it was so clinical and unwel approaching.Suddenly I felt very uncomfortable in this new environment never have I felt so selfish and guilty. After hiking through this never-ending maze of wards, through t he different sounds and noises coming from various wards, we entered the room my Papa was recovering in. I briefly looked around, noticing my Nana standing in the corner of the room with an exhausted and worried expression on her face, trying to pluck a smile. We walked over to the whap in which my Papa lay looking still and weak with his eyes closed. He ad all sorts of pipes and tubes entering his thin body, and a never ending metronome of multiple beeping sounds came from various machines that had been plumbed into him. This bruising sight still stays with me today. Gently laying her hand on his arm and thrill him softly, my Nana attempted to wake Papa up. He opened his eyes until they were open just enough to glance over at us. He then muttered something that I couldnt understand. He seemed to vaguely recognise who his son was, but when he looked me it was as though he hadnt seen my before in his life, as though I was merely a stranger at his bedside.Nana explained to us that as a result of his surgery and strong medication he was becoming exceedingly confused and exhausted. My increasingly distressed Nana seemed at an all time low and she had lost all hope for Papa. My Dad had managed to have a half conversation with his Papa, he told me. He said that Papa would say a few words and then stop for breath. Nana then gingerly pulled back the bed sheets that lay on top of him and revealed his chest. There was a large, very noticeable scar surrounded by a sea of black bruises which covered his chest. I stared at my Papa for a while.The Papa I knew so well was so warm hearted, lively and full of humour, so different to the man lying in the bed in front of me . A lump had developed in my throat and my vision became blurry. I blinked and could feel the sting of a single tear run down my cheek. The feeling of not being recognised by someone you know so well and have so many fond memories with, was unfathomable. wise to(p) there was nothing I could do to help so meone that we loved and cared about so much made us all feel so incredibly helpless. As visiting hours came to a close we said our goodbyes to Papa, hoping for the best for his health, but dreading the worst.He of course was too delusional to reply, which felt so demoralising as he always would make a fuss of us leaving after a visit. Nana then walked us back to the car park. She, understandably wanted to get back to my Papas bedside. So we awkwardly said goodbye to her and wished her and Papa the very best. Visiting my Papa in hospital affected me in more(prenominal) ways than I ever imagined it would have. Looking back on this experience I realise how important it was and how much of a turning point it was in my life. It made me realise how much we take our loved ones for granted, and how harsh the reality of life actually is, and how precious it is also.I realised how much of an influence my Papa had had on my upbringing. Many of the features of my personality are related to my Papa and his character, which made the worry of something sinister happening so much more awful. It also made me realise the ignorant and selfish attitude I had before this emotional day. And to think how lucky I, and the majority of us actually are. I believe most of us take our good health for granted. And we dont realise how good we have it compared to others who are in dreadful states, when their personalities are often unrecognisable.