My father fell ill and got hospitalized in November. He returned home the other day, but since then, he has been bedridden and becoming less and less responsive. Sometimes I even wonder if he can recognize me. Our doctor told us on the day of discharge he would not be as healthy as before. But my mother and I couldn't give up hope for his recovery.
On 20 December, he became ill again. He survived. But our visiting nurse hinted that he would not last long. This time my mother and I decided that we would not ask for active treatments anymore. We believed it would be a torture for him to be forced to stay alive.
It was frightening to imagine that somebody else would make a decision on my life while I was not even aware of that.
That was the toughest decision I'd ever made in my life.
