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- viewtopic.php?f=18&t=298033&p=3535150&h ... a#p3535150When I walked into the Intensive Care Unit of the Royal London Hospital to see my father, I feared I might have come too late. He
was sprawled across the hospital bed, his mouth eerily agape, and the machines that were attached to him were many and menacing. They beeped and ticked, and the lines that rapidly rose and fell on their monitors all seemed to be indicating a rapid countdown to his death.
“Abeh,” I yelled at the top of my voice. “Abeh, it’s me, Ayaan.”