Beyond Hope

09/09/25

Although I do not share the same beliefs that most people have, when it comes to medical doctors and their decisions on when to give up, it affects me all the same to watch someone else going through it.

I remember the first time they told me my father was going to pass and I rushed over back in March. He was broken by the failed surgery and the questionable ethics of the surgical team, terrified by the growing tumours, but physically not that unwell. When I saw him, his body was still more functional than mine, and I was telling him I'd gladly swap with him: he is of the organic and free-range generation, that is my biggest envy.

About a week in, his surgical wounds became infected, the doctors started to tell us to prepare for his passing (that's strike #2). Suddenly I found myself standing in a whirlpool of emotions, of the doctors', the family and the friends'. There were days all I was doing was grounding the emotions to stop them from turning into a symphony. From what I could sense, his physical body is strong and very far from terminating, so I just kept on working. By the time I left, he was back to his stubborn self, refusing my treatments and recommendations, happily recovering and I could not foresee anything that could threaten his life.

Fast-forward to late August, he surprised me one day by asking me to help his stomach and weight loss. I did and he said he was better the next day. A week later, I thought about asking how his wife has been doing, she said they just got to the hospital and the doctors have told her to prepare for his passing (strike #3). She knew I was in recovery from the trip and decided not to notify me. There was a lot to catch up on, and I could not believe it was the same body I worked on just two months ago: it is now too congested to even host his consciousness. This time, I do not have a strong body to tell me it's going to work, but I could check against his consciousness to know that it is not his time. The work just keeps going.

Last week, he showed some symptoms (that I would not detail here because it's too triggering), the doctors said he has about 24 hours to go. At this stage, I really just want to send every one of these doctors a tshirt saying 'NO, IT'S NOT HIS TIME!'.

So he is in a coma ever since, and I have been working on him everyday to rebuild his body. It starts to feel like I am one of these mad scientists who builds a time machine to get back to their loved ones. I know I'll have a lot of time to grief after the fact, but never before.