Today is the first day of normalcy after 3 days of the sniffles. Was traipsing about the house in socks and long-sleeves like it was somewhere cold like Australia. However that didn't stop me from going out when I needed to, where it was OK to go without a mask, in my condition.
And that was to the hospital to visit my biras, hubby's brother-in-law, who had fallen in the bathroom. The doctor's notes said "alleged" fall as if there was something sinister about it. Off course doctors are trained to write their notes like that. In Hollywood dramas, they say "sustained" a fall. But whatever.
My biras had suffered bleeding from the nose and ears but was alert and could move his limbs, according to the notes. He had been fasting and had vomitting episodes prior to the fall. He was a diabetic and had been for 17 years. Even had an ulcer on his big toe which seemed to have healed.
Saw his sugar readings. They had put him on insulin administered through a sliding-scale syringe. It was 4.6 upon admittance but had increased erratically 6+, 9+, 8+ even though on a fasting diet on doctor's orders. I thought that was strange because the readings were quite high. You'd have low sugar when on a fast, but what do I know. Hubby reckoned his body was in catabolism - using up muscle tissue to derive energy. Hmmm possible.
The notes said "alert" but I did not think he was when we were there. He was breathing hard. His eyes were glazed. He looked but did not see, I thought.
Why I'm writing this is because my biras passed away at 10 o'clock that night. We were there at visiting hours from 12 - 2pm. It's just that he was dying and I couldn't read the signs, in fact I did not know the signs. I thought he was going to pull through, Insha Allah. That was what I said to my sister-in-law and the two children who were there. They had tears in their eyes, they probably knew better than me.
But then he was not in the ICU and there were no labels that meant "No Resuscitation to be administered". This was something I learnt from a houseman in KK. They have such tags for terminal elderly patients.
My biras was 72. About the average life-span for Malaysian men. He was a very nice gentleman Abang Mahmood. He was never not smiling except on that hospital bed. But his time had come and it was through that fall. How I wished I had done more, like reciting Fatihas and zikrs for Abang Mahmood instead of poring over the medical notes, like I could make sense of them.
On the way home, Hubby had pondered about possible scenarios for bad endings and good endings to our lives. For Abang Mahmood, to me it was nothing but good. May his soul be amongst the Righteous.
Hubby and son went to the funeral the next morning 3rd September 2009, whilst I stayed home sniffling but was almost caught unkempt by an unexpected visitor, which........ is another story for another time.