Khun Fad Go To Paradise

We took my sick friend to the hospital on Tuesday, and it was the beginning of the end for her.  Khun Fad, "fad," sounds more like "faed" with an almost silent "d," means "twin."  She was twins at birth, the only one that survived.  Boy, the old days were murder, eh?  At the hospital she was in and out of consciousness, usually "non responsive," no pupilary response and no reflexes.  She lasted till Thursday evening and then crossed the river.  So it's a funeral weekend.  We were at the hospital until an hour before she died.  The numbers on the monitor had started to go crazy, heartbeat went from a steady 99 up to 150 with higher spikes;  respiration sometimes showed "zero" even though she was obviously gasping.  Her monitor was flashing a red light and beeping, but her file was marked "end of life care," which is Thai for just make her comfortable.  Later, at a restaurant, the call came in.  Her sister took the call and said to me, "Khun Fad go to paradise." 

There's nothing like a funeral parlor here, the family has to do everything.  Get a bunch of documents from the hospital and get them to the appropriate government offices; buy a coffin and pick the body up from the hospital; get it to a temple for a quick service; the next day is a cremation.

This picture of Fad is from about fifteen months ago.  She was starting to get a little weak, and she wanted to make one more trip to the Crocodile Farm to see the monkeys.  (You read that right; the farm has about a million crocodiles and also a big monkey zoo.)  We had a ball, and I graciously picked up the (very affordable) tab.  She really treasured this picture with the baby chimp.  (You could also get a picture up close and personal with a huge tiger, but we all passed on that one.)  She got all dolled up for the picture, she wore her best wig (chemo, you know).

Goodbye, Khun Fad.  We'll miss you.