Final Moments

On December 23, 2008, Dalal was completely exhausted and powerless. She did not want to move or talk at all even when my mother tried to communicate with her. She was told that my father, who immediately took the first flight to Philadelphia after the recent development, was on his way to be by her side. Then, the nephrologist (kidney doctor) came in and shocked my mother when he informed her that he needed to perform a urinary catheterization because both of Dalal's kidneys had stopped functioning. When she asked what caused the kidney failure, he told her it was probably the anti-inflammatory drugs and if not, then most definitely the cancer. Not too long after, my father arrived and immediately kissed and hugged her as he stood by her side during the operation where she was screaming and yelling,

"It hurts! It hurts!"

After the operation was over, she calmed down. My father was gently speaking to her, telling her he was by her side and asked her to indicate that she was aware of his presence as she couldn't move or speak. That's when she gave him a beautiful smile he will never forget. Before his flight to the United States, my father knew at that point that all hope in Dalal's cure was lost; it was a matter of weeks or days before the painful separation. He wanted to at least have her in her homeland surrounded by her close relatives. He told her that he was immediately going to bring her back home to Saudi Arabia and that he'd already made preparations for an air ambulance to transport her and have her transplant surgery done there. A simple nod indicated that she was pleased with the idea of going back. My father headed to the ICU doctors to tell them that he wanted Dalal transported via an air ambulance that was departing in a few hours from Saudi Arabia. They said that she had to wait until tomorrow because she could not be transported until her condition became more stable. At 8:00pm that night, the oncologists came in to discuss the results of blood tests that were performed on Dalal a few hours ago.

Unfortunately, the tumor spread throughout her entire body during the past few hours, even reaching her CSF and bloodstream. For almost three years, the tumor was located in one place and did not spread anywhere else, but in the span of only one or two days, it had spread to every part of her body. They explained that she would not survive more than two weeks. Meanwhile, I was in the hospital unaware of those shocking revelations. At 9:00pm, my grandparents and I were about to leave the hospital. I couldn't even speak to Dalal as she was unable to move or enunciate any words. I couldn't kiss her goodbye on her head and hands like I usually did. I had absolutely no idea that this would be the the last time I ever saw her alive, otherwise I would have never agreed to leave her.

My parents could not help but painfully cry in deep sorrow. However, things were still not at their worst. Around 10:00pm, Dalal's blood sugar level was critically low (26mg/dL). She was in a coma as a result when it was thought that she was asleep due to Morphine. The normal blood sugar level should be around 70-100mg/dL. She was given a concentrated sweet drink that raised it to 400mg/dL, but the doctor explained that it would gradually decrease during her sleep. Half an hour later (10:30pm), the new blood test results were even worse than the ones that preceded. My parents were utterly shocked when they were told that Dalal now only had at most two hours left to live. Her eyes no longer responded to light and she could not even nod her head like she did just a few hours ago. My parents were then given the hardest choice of their life; they could either have the doctors perform an endotracheal intubation (inserting a tube in the respiratory airway) when her breathing stops to shortly extend her life or let her rest in peace. It was not an easy decision to make; multiple consultations were made with doctors in Saudi Arabia whom my father trusted. In the end, my parents decided that Dalal had suffered enough and death was her only way out of this torturous agony. Her organs stopped functioning and the disease was all over her body, why would they let her suffer any longer?

Dalal took her final breath at 12:15am on Wednesday December 24, 2008. As her precious soul was leaving, she cracked one last beautiful smile that had my parents believe she was still alive. She also shed one last tear only from her right eye that remained on her cheek much longer than any normal tear. My parents were right by her side, kissing her pure body and bidding her farewell as she ascended to the one and merciful Allah. Despite the sores in her mouth and burn marks in her back, her scent was that of a newborn baby. They stayed with their beloved one and only daughter for six hours before her pure body was wrapped in white sheets about to be taken to the morgue. My father was making arrangements for our immediate return with her to Saudi Arabia. It was Christmas break and there were difficulties preparing her body for transportation, but my father ignored the hospital's advice to wait a few more days. With the help of his highness Prince Sultan Bin Salman, it only took 24 hours before all of us were on the Saudi Airlines airplane.

Around the time of her death, I was sitting alone in the living room watching TV. I can't forget the bizarre sensation I felt right around midnight. I felt something weird in me and my thoughts began to deviate. For the first time in my life, I arbitrarily told myself:

"Imagine if Dalal suddenly dies."

"..."

"Nah, that can't happen."

Little did I know that around those exact moments, my only sister had passed away. I went to sleep that night and when I woke up around 8:00am, I opened the door to leave my room. Looking to my left, I was surprised to see my mother in the kitchen. I became ecstatic because I assumed that my mother being in the apartment also meant Dalal was there. I walked to my mother with a smile on my face and asked her,

"Mama, where is Dalal? I want to see her."

She did not reply.

"Mama, where is Dalal?"

Still SIlent.

"Mama, where. Is. Dalal?"

She put the dishes down, crouched and looked at me saying:

"Dalal passed away."

Everything fell apart when I heard those words. Nothing mattered to me anymore. Life felt so bitter and worthless. Those three words were too much for a nine year old to comprehend. I did not know how to react. Next thing I knew, I was aboard the second flight that I will never forget. That flight was the most heartbreaking and painful one I have ever been in. I could not stop thinking about Dalal and still could not comprehend that she was no longer with us. On top of that, flying for over 12 hours on an airplane where my sister was lying under me in a coffin tore my heart. I told my father that I had to see her again no matter what. I told him that I wanted to be there during her burial. It had only been 24 hours since I last saw her alive; I still did not experience the true bitterness of losing her. My emotions went numb on the airplane to the point that when I landed and saw my relatives at the airport, I smiled and waved saying "We're Back!"

It wasn't until several weeks and months after the tragedy that I truly realised the pain of losing a beloved one. I made sure that I saw her one last time in the morgue (in Saudi Arabia) to kiss her goodbye. As I was standing outside the door to the room where her body was, I saw some of my relatives standing outside, too shocked and terrified to go inside. My father guided me in and took me to where she was lying, and there she was. She wore an Abaya (black garment worn by Muslim women) and only her face was showing. I will never forget her face that day; she was smiling, her eyebrows and eyelashes were frozen, and her face was brighter than I had ever seen it in my entire life. I kissed her forehead, whispered to her, and stepped back; that was my last time seeing my one and only sister.