Disclaimer- I own NOTHING!
Summary- Riza's father is sick, this is her perspective on the time between the start of his illness to the end.
My father has been very ill lately. At first it started as a slight back ache. I thought it was just sore from him sitting in his study all day long, but then it got worse. It was almost to the point where he couldn't move before he had me call the town doctor. The doctor came and gave him some medication and left, saying that he would return in a week to check on him again.
It was my job to make sure my father took his medicine because he would forget. So everyday I would make him breakfast and take it to his study, giving him the first dose as well. By midday time he was complaining about the pain again, so I would take him another does with his lunch, and then again at supper. That was the routine we got in for the week.
While I wasn't taking care of father I was cleaning and doing laundry, the things I'd been responsible for ever since my mother died. When Mr. Mustang was here he would occasionally help me, but he went off to join the military and I was alone again. I wasn't really angry with him, I knew he would leave, but I couldn't stop myself from wishing he was here to help me take care of father.
When the week was over the doctor returned; he took my father's weight and measurements and gave him some more medicine, this time a little stronger. So we stayed in the routine set for us the week before, only now the medicine didn't seem to be helping at all. My father was in constant pain, it took everything I had to stop him from overdosing on his pain medication. The doctor wasn't scheduled to return for a month this time so I had to keep my father as comfortable as possible until then.
About a week after the doctor visited the second time my father all but stopped eating, and whatever he did eat came back up in a matter of minutes. I was beginning to really worry by then. I watched as my father got thinner and his skin got paler. I couldn't leave him though or he would get into his medicine.
During that month I got a letter from Mr. Mustang saying that he would visit when he graduated from the military academy, which was still six months away. I wanted to write back and tell him to come right away, but I didn't. Mr. Mustang left for a reason, and calling him back would only hurt his goals, I couldn't do that to him. Also it wasn't his responsibility; it was not his father that was sick. I had to stay because that was my duty as my father's only child; Mr. Mustang had no such obligation.
The month seemed to go by very slowly, and it was beginning to get cold out. I began to worry that it would snow, thus delaying the doctor's visit. As luck would have it, it did begin to snow, five days before the doctor was supposed to return. It was not too heavy, but it was bad enough that it made travel difficult. Fortunately the snow melted just enough that the doctor was able to visit. Again he took my father's weight and measurements, but this time he was very concerned. My father, while never overly heavy was always at least a healthy weight, but in the month's time my father had lost close to 80 lbs. The doctor wanted to do some tests, so he insisted my father go with him to the clinic. My father did not want to go, he put up a struggle, but eventually we convinced him to go.
At the clinic the doctor took some blood samples, along with a few other things to run his tests. My father had to stay in the clinic until the results came back. There was no hospital in or near the town we lived in, the closest one was in East City, and that was a two day trip by train. It took a week for the results of the blood work to come back; I had stayed with my father almost the whole time. I only returned home once to get fresh clothes for myself and for my father for when he was released.
The day the doctor got the results he called me into the office first. He told me it was late stage lung cancer. There was no cure and it was terminal. He told me that, with treatment, my father had maybe another 6 months to live, without treatment he could die any time in the next month. He wanted me to convince my father to go to the hospital in East City; he said that was where he had the best chances of getting any better. I agreed to try and we went in to tell me father.
He did not take the news well, and it got even worse when the doctor suggested going to East City. He did not want to go, and there was nothing I could do or say to change his mind. I eventually left the room, tired of my father's stubborn attitude. I was apprehensive about going to East City too, but if that was the only way he could possibly get any better, then I felt he should give it a try. He just didn't want to leave his research behind, but didn't trust anyone enough to taker it with him.
My big worry about going to East City is that was where Mr. Mustang was, and I hadn't yet told him about father's illness, and knowing him if he found out he would charge in and try to take care of everything. I knew that East City was a large place, but I was still nervous about the possibility of his seeing me. I just did not want to burden him with my troubles.
When I walked back into my father's room he was no longer yelling at the doctor. He looked at me and told me to go home and pack our bags because we were going to the hospital. I don't know what the doctor said to him, but part of me was relived. The clinic was an hour walk from where my father and I lived; the doctor didn't want me walking back in the dark so he had his wife drive me home.
I quickly got our things and checked to see if we had any perishable food, we didn't then went back to the clinic. The doctor told me that he didn't know how long my father would be in the hospital, so I decided that I would stay there for a month and if it looked like my father was going to stay longer than I would come home for a while then go back.
We had to wait two days until then next train came through to take us, and then doctor's assistant accompanied us, just incase there was an emergency. Father was put in a special car for sick passengers, while I had to ride separately. The ride was peaceful, except for the men who kept trying to get me to sleep with them. I either ignored them or turned them down politely. There was one who would not leave me alone until a huge, giant of a man told him to leave me alone. The giant man was kind, though talkative. He kept going on about his family and how everything from his mustache to his alchemy was passed down the family line through generations. I pretended to listen, but only caught a bit of it.
He kept me company until we reached East City station and I had to go meet the doctors from the hospital. It didn't take me long to find them and take them to the sick car. They insisted on putting father on a stretcher, though he insisted he could walk, and took him to the ambulance waiting for us. It took about five minutes to get to the hospital, all the while I was looking out the window, trying to get a good look at the city I was going to be in for the next month. I thought I might have seen Mr. Mustang walking with another man with black hair, but I couldn't be sure.
When we got to the hospital they already had a room for my father set up, along with a guest bed for me, since I didn't have anywhere else to stay. It was a private room, which was good because my father did not like dealing with many other people. There was a small window not far from my father's bed that looked out to the city. We were three floors up, just high enough to get a decent view.
Once my father got settled in the doctors and nurses seemed to swarm for a bit. They took all sorts of measurements and fluids for testing. It took about an hour and a half before they finished and we could get some rest. They confirmed the original doctor's diagnosis and set my father up with an IV and gave him some pain medication then left us alone.
The month passed by and my father only got slightly better. I rarely left the hospital and the nurses were king enough to loan me books to read. I would occasionally walk around the block surrounding the hospital, but never any further. Some times I would look outside the window and see Mr. Mustang walking on the sidewalk, always with the dark haired man I saw him with the first day we came to East City. I never got the nerve to call him or even write to him, so he still didn't know we were there.
I went home for a few weeks as we planned, but mostly to get things ready for his eventual return. I cleaned and set it up so some groceries would be delivered on the day we were expected back. The doctor's said that there wasn't much else they could do for my father, so they decided to keep him for another month and then he would go home, where I would care for him until his time was over. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of being the only one to care for him, but I did like the idea of going home, so I went along with it.
I went back to East City just a week before my father was to return home. The doctors made sure I knew how much medicine to give him and how much. They gave me lots of papers full of details on how to take care of him the best I could. They also made sure to send all the medicine he would need so I wasn't in danger of running out. After they made sure everything was in order, I made arrangements for the bill to be paid and we went home.
When we got home it was almost as if we had never left. My father went straight for his study and I went to the kitchen to prepare his supper. Money was tight now with the hospital bill so I had to get a job in town, but other than that things went back to the old routine. I would wake up, fix him breakfast and get him his medication, and then I would do some housework. At noon I would make him lunch and make sure he was comfortable then I would go to work until supper time. When I got home I would make his supper and give him some more medication. After supper I would clean up after him and finish whatever housework I could before going to bed and starting all over again the nest day.
The weeks turned into months and before I knew it, it was late spring and my father was only getting worse, by May he was bedridden. It was almost time for Mr. Mustang's visit. He wrote several times during those few months and I would always send a polite reply, never mentioning my father's illness. Thinking back it might have been cruel, but I did not see it that way then. I think he was suspicious, he kept asking how everything was, but I never told him the whole truth.
On the day Mr. Mustang came, I couldn't be there to greet him because I had to work. I had fully intended to be there and to warn him about my father's condition. I had not intended for him to see my father like that with no preparation. And I certainly did not intent to let him be there when my father died. But I was too late. Mr. Mustang arrived sooner than I expected and they kept me late a t work. I arrived home just in time to hear Mr. Mustang shouting for help. I rushed to my father's room just in time to see my father die in his apprentice's arms.
What happened after that was a blur. I know I ran out of the room and called the doctor, but once he showed up Mr. Mustang took everything over. I did not mean for him to, he just did, just like I knew he would. I'm a little ashamed to say that I let him. He made all the arraignments, called the coroner about releasing the body for the funeral, the paid for the funeral, everything. And I just stood back and watched him as he did all of it.
It was then that I realized that I needed Mr. Mustang. I could not have done any of that on my own, I needed the help. I realized that I could have had help sooner if only I had not been too stubborn to ask. The night before the funeral I cried for the first time since my father was diagnosed, and Mr. Mustang held me as I did. He did not say a word; he just held me and rubbed my back gently. Comforting me in a way I hadn't been in a long time.
A/N: This is dedicated to my father, who one year ago today was diagnosed with lung cancer. He died four months ago on July 7th. I miss him terribly, but this is very much like what I experienced while my father was sick, only I had a few other people around to help take care of him. I know I probably got a few things wrong and it's a little boring, but that's just how it seems to have worked out. I hated the ending though. Anyway, reviews would be lovely, also I'm closing the poll for my series and should have the next few updates for that shortly. Thank you for indulging me in my little grief-fest, then next few things should not be nearly so depressing. Let me know if there is anything I need to work on. Until next time, later.