MICHAEL WEST

Mr. Donald looked tired, more tired than the last time Michael saw him. His breathing was laboured but when he turned and saw me, he smiled.

‘How are you dad?’

Michael calls him dad now. Mr. Donald turned from his position and faced Michael, then answered.

‘I feel okay but the doctors say I have to be tied to these things for the time being.’

He loved the man now more than before, more because of his fortitude in bearing the pain of the chemotherapy drugs. The doctors decided to start the treatment immediately, saying it might give him a better fighting chance. The old man hasn’t told me his diagnosis yet. When Michael asked him why he wasn’t going home soon, he called it a small complication.

‘How are you my boy?’ he asked. Wrinkles etched on every corner of his face. I don’t know if it is because of the pain from the medication or old age.

‘I am a good papa. I have good news.’

‘Really? Tell me about it.’

‘I am getting married next Saturday.’

‘Well, that is great news. Who is the lu
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