I’ve been away from blogging for a little while, but I have a pretty good reason.
My dad was in town.
So, for the last couple of weeks, life revolved around shuttling him around, making sure he was comfortable, keeping track of his medication, making sure he was having he was checking his daily vital signs, and, of course, making sure he got to eat all the food he had been missing.
It was busy. It was tiring. And it was time well spent.
Although Dad is still fairly mobile, we decided a wheelchair would be the better option while we were out. It meant he wouldn’t tire as quickly, and I didn’t have to worry about him overdoing it.
And yes, that was my cardio for the last two weeks.
Thankfully, Singapore is wonderfully wheelchair-friendly. Getting him on trains and buses was surprisingly easy, and when we — mostly I — got a little tired, there was always the convenience of a Grab ride.
But the outings were only part of it.
There was also the quieter side of caring for someone. Making sure he took his medication on time. Checking his vitals every day. Keeping an eye on how he was feeling. And sleeping a little more lightly than usual because there was always that tiny voice in the back of my head wondering if I would need to wake up in the middle of the night because something was wrong.
Nothing was.
Thankfully.
But I think that’s one of the things you don’t really appreciate about caregiving until you’re in it. Even when everything is going well, you’re always watching. Always thinking a few steps ahead. Always making sure.
And it made me think about the people who do this every day — family members, professional caregivers, nurses, doctors, and all the healthcare workers who look after people when they’re at their most vulnerable.
Two weeks gave me a tiny glimpse into what that responsibility feels like.
It also gave me a much greater appreciation for the people who carry it every single day.
Of course, we weren’t going to let all that responsible adulting get in the way of enjoying ourselves.
Dad may have been on a restricted diet, but we still made sure he got to partake in some of the goodies Singapore had to offer.
There was Hokkien mee, fishball soup (his favourite), carrot cake (the black one — and definitely not to be confused with the cream cheese kind), curry puff (which he still remembers as epok epok), chicken rice and his new-found favourite, fried fish soup.
We even popped into McDonald’s for breakfast after a morning stroll.
And to make sure we could somehow “neutralise” all that, I’d prepare a salad whenever we decided to eat in. I stocked up on greens and fruit, made sure there was plenty of water, and even whipped up some homemade vinaigrette.
Kiwi fruit was a particular favourite.
I think I may actually have lost some weight despite all the eating, thanks to all that pushing.
So I’m not complaining.
A workout while keeping Papa fed, entertained and reasonably healthy? I’ll take it.
The best part of his visit, though, was that it happened to coincide with my birthday.
It was a quiet celebration, but honestly, his presence was all the gift I needed.
And, of course, there was cake.
Now that Dad is back in Manila with his trusty wheelchair, I’m slowly getting back into my usual routine — my daily solo morning walks, catching up on some unfinished art pieces, and, apparently, blogging again.
I’m tired.
But it’s the good kind of tired.
The kind that comes from having spent two weeks looking after someone you love.
And for that, I’m grateful.
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