The Hands of My Father

My Dad turned 65 last September. He has retired from work long ago. He is always home, except on days when he has to visit the farm. He grows mangoes and bananas. He gambles whenever he can, drinks with his highschool friends and neighbors, watches TV all day, or does nothing at all.

Truth be told, he had all the vices a man could have. He started drinking and smoking when he was 13. If he didn’t get terribly sick 4 years ago, he wouldn’t give up the cigarettes. He gave up liquor for a few months, but went back to drinking when he got totally well.

This is his right hand:

It looks like a rootcrop. Or the root of an aging tree. Or the hand of a witch.

The joints are bulging. Gout. Uric deposits that hardened like stone.

There came a time when he couldn’t walk anymore as his knees were inhabited with gout...several gouts. The only solution was surgery, in order to remove the uric deposits.

His left hand was also operated at the same time, check the scars. This is better looking compared with his right hand.

Unfortunately, it seemed like alcohol was flowing in my dad’s body instead of blood. The anesthesia never took effect on him. He was injected 3 times, walang epek talaga. In order for him to walk again, he agreed to have an open surgery. As may be culled from the stories of my Mom, my Dad was really screaming in pain all throughout the operation! Kawawa.

I pity my Dad whenever I see his hands. Ang pangit kasi talaga. The hand made him look sickly, when in fact he is still strong as a cow. I had been urging him to have those gouts removed, but I am always silenced with his argument: surgery without anesthesia is very painful, I will not do it all over again.

Fine. There is no way for me to convince him regarding surgery. Instead, I urged him to have a healthy diet, to avoid foods that are high in uric acid. This is where we actually debate. However, since I don’t live with my parents anymore, I cannot totally monitor his food intake. It is then also a useless fight with him. Sigh.

On my next Davao trip, I’ll take photos of his knees and feet. Then you will perfectly understand me why I had been makulit with surgery and his diet.

Question now is, will I be like my Dad in the future, studded with unsightly gouts?

Afraid. Very much.