A Sneak Smoke
For the past four months, I have been visiting Uncle Seng. He has been undergoing treatment for lung cancer, and his condition has steadily deteriorated.
Last Friday, he was admitted to hospital. He’s being fed antibiotics and is on an oxygen line. The slightest exertion exhausts him, and he’s not allowed to move around on his own. He has always been independent, and I felt a little tinge of sadness seeing him so handicapped.
When me and Frey visited him last Sunday, he was really happy to see us. During our visits, we’d try to figure out things to do that would please him, even if for a little while. Of course, not much of our proffered help was of any good. This time, Uncle Seng was eager to have us take him for a walk around the hospital grounds.
We had to negotiate with the nurse (because Uncle Seng was on the oxygen line), and she agreed to let him out for a short while. So we helped him into the wheelchair and pushed him outside.
Once outside the building, he pulled out a cigarette stick and lit it. He drew a long breath and smiled. It was a little smile, but for a short while I felt that I had helped make his life a little move livable.
When we returned, the nurse asked if he had been smoking. She could smell it when she helped him into his bed. We smiled sheepishly, and she said no more.