That day, I refused to play with Kwesi and Afi. I did not want my friends reminding me of how cool my father was. I did not want them teasing me if they found out that he lay in a cold room with a big noisy machine at Maitama Hospital. 

After my lessons, I trekked along Tema Motorway, keeping to the sidewalks until I saw the tall building that was Maitama. The hospital gate swung open right in time for me to walk in. An ambulance was parked at the entrance to the lobby, its siren blaring and its spinning lights flashing on and off. I felt my pulse quicken. I moved closer to the ambulance and watched two uniformed men jump in before it pulled away. Inside the hospital, a lady with a tight face was seated at the front desk while other people wearing name tags walked around the open pavilion. I was too afraid to approach her for directions. I recalled the ward and room number from all the times we’d visited and decided to climb the flight of stairs until I reached the oncology ward.

The hallways were quiet. I knocked several times at door number 12 but there was no response. I clenched my fist and closed my eyes fearing the worst. After taking one deep breath I pushed on the knob and peered in through the crack. Inside, the air was cool and the curtains around the bed were drawn, allowing only light from a small side lamp. I shifted my gaze to the bed, spotting my father. He lay, unmoving. I walked to his side and stared at his face. A much thicker line of tubes had been inserted into his chest and ran through his arms until it connected to the big machine that made uncomfortable noises. I turned my focus back to my father, placing my tiny hand on his arm and leaned in.

“D-Dad?”

I hoped for a response, but all I heard was the machine going off and on.

“Dad, I could be a hero,” I said.

His eyes stayed closed.  

I whispered louder, “Dad, I could be your superhero.” 

Nothing.

My father’s unshaven face was pale. Even in his sleep he looked tired. I wanted to touch it, but I could only stare. What kind of pain did he feel? Where did his body hurt? Could he hear me? I wondered. Shortly after, a nurse walked in and introduced herself but I was unable to look away from my dad.

“Who brought you here,” the nurse asked. “Does your mother know you’re here?”

I nodded without looking at her.

“Well, your father will be asleep for a very long time,” she said. 

I asked if he could hear me. 

She smiled. “He is in a deep, deep sleep. It’s called sedation.”

“When will he wake up? And when is he coming home?””

The nurse pulled a chair closer to his bed and suggested I sit with him. She left the room as I took a seat.