John Updike dies at the age of 76.
While I certainly am not a huge fan of Updike's work, it certainly comes as a shock that he is gone, as death always seems a shock. Still, Updike was prolific in his work, and that must be appreciated to some degree.
In happier news (I do not mean to dwell on death, O Reader!), I had an interview yesterday with a temp agency and I pretty much nailed it. I did feel awkward, however, that I have a graduate degree and I was applying to become a legal secretary (and a temporary one at that, too!). But being temporary is fine as of now, because I'm banking on (and banking during these times is troublesome) the fact that I will get into at least one of the Ph.D. programs to which I have applied.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Please Leave The Light On...
My grandfather passed away on Monday, and we buried him yesterday. He was 88 years old. Rather than reiterate something I've already typed this morning, I shall post an e-mail to a friend that has most of the facts down.
I'm sorry that I haven't responded for so long, but I have a good reason. My paternal grandfather passed away on Monday, and I spent all day Sunday and early Monday in the hospital. Sunday morning he refused to get out of bed, and so my father had to get the paramedics to help him down the stairs. We took him to urgent care at the clinic he usually goes to for check-ups (my grandfather doesn't have insurance, and, at the time, we didn't think he had something that could not be cured, so we avoided going to the hospital), and the doctor there said he needed to go to the hospital. He was not breathing properly, and was not getting enough oxygen in his system. They put him on oxygen, and he seemed to be improving, so my father and I thought that we could arrange to have oxygen tanks delivered to the house and we could watch him ourselves. The doctor at the clinic understood our situation and arranged everything. But when we tried to get my grandpa in the car, we realized he was much worse than we had anticipated; so we drove him to the hospital ourselves.
It took a while to get a room (apparently if you don't have an ambulance deliver you to a hospital, then there are all kinds of delays), but we got one. The doctors were either unsure of what was wrong with him, or they did not tell us: they said that he had congestive heart failure, but they did not give a reason for his heart giving out. It could have been the lungs, or it could have been something else. They ran all kinds of x-rays and tests, but to no avail. They sedated him and kept him on oxygen. His blood pressure was normal (which was weird, because my grandfather had a history of high blood pressure), so still we thought that he could make it out of it. He had to be taken to the Critical Care Unit where he kind of woke up, but he did not respond to questions. He had just been talking that morning, but since the visit to urgent care, he stopped speaking. Later on, it appeared that he was stable, so we went home (by then my mother and my sister had come to the hospital). At 10:00 pm Sunday night, the hospital called us and said he was doing worse. My and father and I went over and stayed until 3:00 am Monday morning, when it looked like he would improve. We got some sleep, but at 7:00 am the hospital called again--this time the doctor he normally sees was there--and said he was doing much, much worse. He was on morphine and everything, and he could not breath by himself at all. My father and I went again, and soon after my younger sister and mother came, and they took him off the oxygen. He died within an hour and a half.
Since then, there has been a flurry of activity. My younger brother and older sister have come home. We had to make funeral arrangments. I waited with the dead body at the hospital until the mortuary came and picked him up. There have been so many telephone calls and friends coming to visit. We buried him yesterday, and I spent yesterday preparing and attending the funeral. I had to say a few words about my grandfather, who I've only really known for four years (about the time he came to live with us from Pakistan). Of course, there were fond memories of when I was a child and visiting him in Pakistan and he coming to visit us in California, and I tried to convey that, but the eulogy was awkward and broken. I spent the past four days in a weird state, trying to maintain focus and consciousness, exhausted. I will never forget watching him die and the way he looked after he had passed.
For a year and a half before I attended Rutgers, I used to walk with my grandfather in the mornings before I went to work because he had fallen down because of a drop in blood pressure and, while scared of that happening again, he needed exercise. He had always been fairly healthy for someone his age. He had a pace-maker and had suffered two heart attacks in the 1980s, but the only medication he was on was blood pressure medication. About this time last week he was only complaining about feeling tired and weak, and Thursday and Friday he had temporary moments of confusion (he thought Thursday was Friday). He told me that it was nothing serious. But on Saturday it was worse, although he could still get up and walk downstairs. Sunday he just refused, and Monday he was dead. That fast.
So there's shock and sorrow and fear. I would have written to you sooner, but I just couldn't relive the events and maintain enough focus. I couldn't really talk to some of my closest friends on Monday and Tuesday. Plus, I needed to write this down first before speaking. I need to go over it, edit it, and just let the words travel from the innermost recesses of my mind to the tips of my fingers, purifying themselves along the way, saying only the choicest words for the occasion. While I do have a journal, I was still too close to the events to make the entries coherent, and, sadly, I ran out of pages in my journal by Sunday night. I have not had time to buy a new journal, so I've been scrawling the entries on the inside back cover. I'm going today to get a new journal, somehow fitting because a new chapter has started today in more ways than one for me.
(Edited for content and minor errors.)
Muhammad Shahid Ali Kazmi
1920-2009
I'll give anything to bring you back to say good-bye.
I'm sorry that I haven't responded for so long, but I have a good reason. My paternal grandfather passed away on Monday, and I spent all day Sunday and early Monday in the hospital. Sunday morning he refused to get out of bed, and so my father had to get the paramedics to help him down the stairs. We took him to urgent care at the clinic he usually goes to for check-ups (my grandfather doesn't have insurance, and, at the time, we didn't think he had something that could not be cured, so we avoided going to the hospital), and the doctor there said he needed to go to the hospital. He was not breathing properly, and was not getting enough oxygen in his system. They put him on oxygen, and he seemed to be improving, so my father and I thought that we could arrange to have oxygen tanks delivered to the house and we could watch him ourselves. The doctor at the clinic understood our situation and arranged everything. But when we tried to get my grandpa in the car, we realized he was much worse than we had anticipated; so we drove him to the hospital ourselves.
It took a while to get a room (apparently if you don't have an ambulance deliver you to a hospital, then there are all kinds of delays), but we got one. The doctors were either unsure of what was wrong with him, or they did not tell us: they said that he had congestive heart failure, but they did not give a reason for his heart giving out. It could have been the lungs, or it could have been something else. They ran all kinds of x-rays and tests, but to no avail. They sedated him and kept him on oxygen. His blood pressure was normal (which was weird, because my grandfather had a history of high blood pressure), so still we thought that he could make it out of it. He had to be taken to the Critical Care Unit where he kind of woke up, but he did not respond to questions. He had just been talking that morning, but since the visit to urgent care, he stopped speaking. Later on, it appeared that he was stable, so we went home (by then my mother and my sister had come to the hospital). At 10:00 pm Sunday night, the hospital called us and said he was doing worse. My and father and I went over and stayed until 3:00 am Monday morning, when it looked like he would improve. We got some sleep, but at 7:00 am the hospital called again--this time the doctor he normally sees was there--and said he was doing much, much worse. He was on morphine and everything, and he could not breath by himself at all. My father and I went again, and soon after my younger sister and mother came, and they took him off the oxygen. He died within an hour and a half.
Since then, there has been a flurry of activity. My younger brother and older sister have come home. We had to make funeral arrangments. I waited with the dead body at the hospital until the mortuary came and picked him up. There have been so many telephone calls and friends coming to visit. We buried him yesterday, and I spent yesterday preparing and attending the funeral. I had to say a few words about my grandfather, who I've only really known for four years (about the time he came to live with us from Pakistan). Of course, there were fond memories of when I was a child and visiting him in Pakistan and he coming to visit us in California, and I tried to convey that, but the eulogy was awkward and broken. I spent the past four days in a weird state, trying to maintain focus and consciousness, exhausted. I will never forget watching him die and the way he looked after he had passed.
For a year and a half before I attended Rutgers, I used to walk with my grandfather in the mornings before I went to work because he had fallen down because of a drop in blood pressure and, while scared of that happening again, he needed exercise. He had always been fairly healthy for someone his age. He had a pace-maker and had suffered two heart attacks in the 1980s, but the only medication he was on was blood pressure medication. About this time last week he was only complaining about feeling tired and weak, and Thursday and Friday he had temporary moments of confusion (he thought Thursday was Friday). He told me that it was nothing serious. But on Saturday it was worse, although he could still get up and walk downstairs. Sunday he just refused, and Monday he was dead. That fast.
So there's shock and sorrow and fear. I would have written to you sooner, but I just couldn't relive the events and maintain enough focus. I couldn't really talk to some of my closest friends on Monday and Tuesday. Plus, I needed to write this down first before speaking. I need to go over it, edit it, and just let the words travel from the innermost recesses of my mind to the tips of my fingers, purifying themselves along the way, saying only the choicest words for the occasion. While I do have a journal, I was still too close to the events to make the entries coherent, and, sadly, I ran out of pages in my journal by Sunday night. I have not had time to buy a new journal, so I've been scrawling the entries on the inside back cover. I'm going today to get a new journal, somehow fitting because a new chapter has started today in more ways than one for me.
(Edited for content and minor errors.)
Muhammad Shahid Ali Kazmi
1920-2009
I'll give anything to bring you back to say good-bye.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Overwhelmed, Unemployed...
I'll probably be posting on this again since I have so much time to kill. I doubt anyone will find this small patch of internet--an infinitesimal spot in an infinite expanse--interesting, but for my own sanity I will post current goings-on and such and pretend there is an audience that cares.
First things first (and exciting news, that first of first things), is I have jury duty. In the past, jury duty was a dread, a bane, an evil which I would do anything to avoid. In fact, I have been summoned for jury duty three times in my short life, and I never once set foot in a courthouse in response. I always sent an excuse. They were always valid (the first time I was summoned to the San Diego courthouse, but I was attending the University of California, Irvine; the second and third times my job would not pay for me to attend jury duty), and I was always relieved that I was never questioned or coerced to attend. Now, I plan to not only respond to the summons, but I hope I get on a jury, just so I can earn some money and do something. Such terrible, terrible times we are in when one looks forward to his "civic duty."
In other news, I thought I was done applying to Ph.D. programs (I just finished the Virginia Tech application last week), but it turns out I will apply to two more schools: Pennsylvania State University and the University of Washington in Seattle. On top of that, I will probably apply to Virginia Tech again for their MFA program (it sounds like a good deal), and I need to finish UCI's law school application too.
That, so far, is all I would like to post for now, O Reader. Unless I get a job or I fall into an even deeper malaise, be sure to check back often for more updates. (I pray they will be more interesting than this one.)
First things first (and exciting news, that first of first things), is I have jury duty. In the past, jury duty was a dread, a bane, an evil which I would do anything to avoid. In fact, I have been summoned for jury duty three times in my short life, and I never once set foot in a courthouse in response. I always sent an excuse. They were always valid (the first time I was summoned to the San Diego courthouse, but I was attending the University of California, Irvine; the second and third times my job would not pay for me to attend jury duty), and I was always relieved that I was never questioned or coerced to attend. Now, I plan to not only respond to the summons, but I hope I get on a jury, just so I can earn some money and do something. Such terrible, terrible times we are in when one looks forward to his "civic duty."
In other news, I thought I was done applying to Ph.D. programs (I just finished the Virginia Tech application last week), but it turns out I will apply to two more schools: Pennsylvania State University and the University of Washington in Seattle. On top of that, I will probably apply to Virginia Tech again for their MFA program (it sounds like a good deal), and I need to finish UCI's law school application too.
That, so far, is all I would like to post for now, O Reader. Unless I get a job or I fall into an even deeper malaise, be sure to check back often for more updates. (I pray they will be more interesting than this one.)
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