by Hayley Chute

The tone in his voice was unfamiliar. So much anger he kept hidden away was unleashed through questions I had planned to ask. He held so much rage inside but talked to me so calmly. I’ve always been curious as to what was wrong with my father. So many questions I carried since his illness began, and they were just beginning to be answered in one short interview.

 

My dad has not been one to express his emotions very often. He doesn’t do it well, so I figured this task would be a difficult one. However, when I asked him, “Tell me what you think I should know about your situation,” he asked me what I meant. I had to dig deep and find what was hidden and not discussed very often. Paying no attention to the rusty fan blowing dust into the air of the bedroom, I began to have a real conversation with him, allowing absolutely no other distractions to step in between my father and I–except for our cat sprawled in the window sill, absorbing the sun’s rays in the middle of a March afternoon.

 

“So what is it exactly that you have? Like what is your diagnosis?” I asked.

 

“Well, I have Sciatica. It’s a pinched nerve due to a spinal problem. In my case, I ruptured a disc in my back working for that truck company when you were younger.”

 

“And so how does this affect you? What do you have problems doing now beside having a hard time walking from point A to point B?”

 

He paused for a few seconds. Coming into this interview I was expecting to drill him with questions one right after another. Instead, he told me his story himself. No further questions asked on my part. He guided our conversation and took control, discussing what he needed to say.

 

He said, “This not only affects my walking, but my breathing. It delays my reaction time, so thank god it’s my left leg it traveled to instead of my right. I feel dehumanized, like something was taken away from me. But I hold my head high and go on with life. It sucks, but I keep pushing. No matter how many surgeries I have, I’ll always be in pain. It’s just something I have to live with and make the best out of.”

 

What really struck me was when my dad told me that he will always be in pain, regardless of how many more surgeries he may undergo. I was so confused, and quite honestly, really mad at him. I didn’t understand why he felt that way. But when I continued to listen to his story I figured it out. He reacted the way he did because this illness affected his entire lifestyle. He spoke with such passion it came across as anger. He blamed himself instead of putting all the guilt on someone else like most would do in his type of situation. I sensed regret flooding into the room immediately when he spoke.

 

I asked him, “ If you could do it over again, what would you change?”

 

“To be honest, I was always in pain. I knew there was something wrong with me but I never took it serious. So to answer your question, I wish I went to the doctor earlier. I mean, there’s always a chance that I could had avoided this. But I ignored what my body was telling me and look where it got me.”

 

My father holds back his emotions. Every single situation that arises in our household never gets to him because he maneuvers his way around it. Just like a speed bump in the road. My dad is aware it’s there, but drives past it. He handles minor arguments as if they never started to avoid conflict. For example, whenever my mother starts an argument he stays persistent on not losing his temper. My father takes pride within himself for constantly remaining calm and not letting the small things in life get to him. This is exactly why my dad acted the way he did. Asking questions about his illness is intruding in a way. Although he was willing to discuss his journey, it highlighted what he should have done instead of what he did do. My father ignores confrontation just like he passes those speed bumps. Knowing he’s not a man that is open with his feelings, I assumed this conversation would be a hard one.

 

I did not expect for my father to be so open with his emotions and share his journey with Sciatica. The way he expressed himself through his answers by fidgeting and offering simple answers gave me an explanation behind his built up anger he has kept hidden all these years since realizing something was wrong. However, his whole attitude changed throughout our discussion regarding his illness. I noticed a man take his guard down and tell his story to his youngest daughter. His princess he kept all his secrets hidden from and locked away. To have someone listen and be engaged was rewarding for him and myself.

 

The whole idea behind this interview was intended for understanding my father’s illness. I had no idea why he was in so much pain. Reminiscing about my past, my relationship with my father and I has always been good. When I was younger, my dad used to be in charge of the youth football for my town. Every Sunday, we would wake up at five in the morning and head over to the field where the teams played. My earliest memory of my father struggling with his illness was when I watched him walk around the entire vicinity, checking on each team and making sure everyone was prepared for the games. Limping began and worsened each time I watched him every weekend. Although I was young, his illness affected me. I knew something was wrong but who am I to approach him about his setbacks? I blame myself for not saying anything sooner but I know I shouldn’t. My father was in pain long before I knew what was going on. Like he said, “I ignored what my body was telling me and look where it got me.” It gave him strength to keep pushing through life’s drawbacks. To not let something so huge change who he is and how he acts around his family is courageous. My dad remains calm and considerate of others despite what he is going through. He is in pain and has regrets, but his mind is not set on criticizing them.

 

In our conversation, my father told me he was guilty of not seeking help sooner. I believe this goes back to confrontation. His anger he kept hidden about his illness engulfed the discussion. A man that is so reserved expressed how he really felt to his little girl. He needed someone to talk about himself to because it was clear no one understood how he really felt. No one does know how much he is really suffering. Patience is among one of many best qualities he holds that supports his journey through his forever fragile state.