![]() (Joel Rodriguez)Īs my dad's health deteriorated, he was eventually placed on an extracorporeal life support machine for 56 days and each hospital visit became increasingly more difficult. He still needs the assistance of oxygen tubes to breathe. Rodriguez’s father’s neck bears the scars from the medical tubes that provided his body with oxygen during his hospitalization. I wanted to be an anchor for my family in this moment of distress and I tried my best to prevent my emotions from interfering with the role I had to play. I found myself wanting to embody the stoicism that I had seen my father carry his whole life. I was the one who called the ambulance, and from that point on, I became the main point of contact between the hospital staff and my family. A week later, he couldn't breathe, was admitted to Etobicoke General Hospital and diagnosed with double pneumonia from COVID-19. Instead, I gravitated toward my mother when I needed to vent my frustrations or share my anxieties.Īll of that flipped dramatically two years ago when my dad fell ill with what we initially thought was a bad seasonal cold. As I grew older, I took my cue from him and became reluctant to express my emotions with him. As a child, I would tell my father I loved him and he would always respond in the same manner: "Don't tell me you love me, show me" - a phrase that has been representative of our relationship. To some degree, he fits the Latino father archetype of a stoic figure who is reserved with his words and withholds sharing his feelings. My father seldomly vocalizes his emotions, and the older I get, the more I realize that his reluctance to speak on such topics stems from a cultural perception of mental health. I'm curious whether he will be receptive or even willing to discuss such topics. "Has your physical condition been a cause of anxiety?" "Have you ever experienced guilt for your hospitalization?" As I read and translate the survey into Spanish for him, I feel like we're venturing into unchartered territory. Every couple of months, the hospital sends my father a survey about his long COVID recovery. The reading is good news, and serves as a reminder of how much my father has recovered because he no longer requires oxygen assistance when resting.īut those readings are just one aspect of his well-being. My dad watches the machine with anticipation as it beeps and punches out a reading of 97. My father measures his oxygen saturation as we both sit at the kitchen table with the afternoon sunlight flooding the room. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ. This First Person article is the experience of Joel Rodriguez, who lives in Toronto.
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