Heartbreaks (Literally)
My dad had a heart attack last week.
It all happened on Tuesday afternoon. It was fifteen minutes before I was meant to leave for school. My mom texted me to come upstairs because my dad wasn't feeling good. He'd just returned from the bank, sweating excessively, with a mild chest pain he described as a "stuck burp." But my dad never complains about his health, so it was strange. There was definitely something wrong.
When I took his blood pressure, there was something more than wrong. 208/72. That's, like, higher than high. It's over the goddamn roof. So I called the healthline, and I told them my dad's symptoms; mild chest pain, fatigue, heavy sweating. Symptoms of the flu, my mom had thought. But no, when I told the nurse my dad's blood pressure, she told me to immediately call an ambulance, that we couldn't risk waiting any longer, especially since it'd been going on since 2:30 in the afternoon. For the record, it was around 4:30 pm by then.
The 911 receptionist stayed on the line as she sent an ambulance our way. My dad started packing up his own things, claiming that he was feeling fine to do so, but we yelled at him to sit down. It didn't even take a whole ten minutes until the ambulance arrived, and my dad finally agreed to stay calm and sit while the paramedics did their thing.
One cardiogram later, and my dad was declared going through a severe heart attack.
Mom panicked, and then she jumped in the ambulance with them. I followed by car, and I never thought I could cry this much. I'd never felt this much pain, and fuck, I wasn't even the one having a heart attack. But it felt like my entire chest was constricted. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. And yet, not once did I think my dad was going to die. There was always this feeling inside of me telling me that I wasn't about to lose my best friend.
And I didn't. I got to the hospital, and cried more. I repeatedly told my mom that I was too young to lose my dad (24 years old). Then he came out of his angioplasty, and the nurse told us how well it went, and I cried even more. Then the doctor came and told us how well it went, and once again, I cried more. Everyone was telling us how well his angioplasty had gone, and everyone was just confirming that I wouldn't lose my best friend that night. Yeah, 40% of his heart was dead. And yeah, if we'd waited just a little bit longer, we would have lost him. But he was there, alive, and breathing.
One artery had been 95% blocked, and another one, 80%. Those were unblocked with stents. Another tiny artery had been 85% blocked, and they managed to get it down to 30%. Harmless, they promised.
But seeing my dad in a hospital bed, so helpless, plugs everywhere... Oh yeah, I cried again.
My dad is invincible. Not just because he's my best friend and he means the world to me, but because 68 years old, he's one of the most active men I've ever met. He plays hockey once a week, golf three times a week, and he runs around all day to visit his clients and friends, or simply to run errands. Everyone loves him, and he would do anything for the people he loves. He's so annoying sometimes, and I always tell him to go hang himself in the shed, but I wouldn't have him any other way. He's my dad, my role model, my best friend. And the thought of losing him just makes me cry (again!) so much.
But today, my dad is well. He makes jokes and I've already told him, like, ten times to go hang himself in the shed. He's a little bit more tired than usual, but I'd rather have him tired than not there at all.
Papa, je t'aime.
The 911 receptionist stayed on the line as she sent an ambulance our way. My dad started packing up his own things, claiming that he was feeling fine to do so, but we yelled at him to sit down. It didn't even take a whole ten minutes until the ambulance arrived, and my dad finally agreed to stay calm and sit while the paramedics did their thing.
One cardiogram later, and my dad was declared going through a severe heart attack.
Mom panicked, and then she jumped in the ambulance with them. I followed by car, and I never thought I could cry this much. I'd never felt this much pain, and fuck, I wasn't even the one having a heart attack. But it felt like my entire chest was constricted. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. And yet, not once did I think my dad was going to die. There was always this feeling inside of me telling me that I wasn't about to lose my best friend.
And I didn't. I got to the hospital, and cried more. I repeatedly told my mom that I was too young to lose my dad (24 years old). Then he came out of his angioplasty, and the nurse told us how well it went, and I cried even more. Then the doctor came and told us how well it went, and once again, I cried more. Everyone was telling us how well his angioplasty had gone, and everyone was just confirming that I wouldn't lose my best friend that night. Yeah, 40% of his heart was dead. And yeah, if we'd waited just a little bit longer, we would have lost him. But he was there, alive, and breathing.
One artery had been 95% blocked, and another one, 80%. Those were unblocked with stents. Another tiny artery had been 85% blocked, and they managed to get it down to 30%. Harmless, they promised.
But seeing my dad in a hospital bed, so helpless, plugs everywhere... Oh yeah, I cried again.
My dad is invincible. Not just because he's my best friend and he means the world to me, but because 68 years old, he's one of the most active men I've ever met. He plays hockey once a week, golf three times a week, and he runs around all day to visit his clients and friends, or simply to run errands. Everyone loves him, and he would do anything for the people he loves. He's so annoying sometimes, and I always tell him to go hang himself in the shed, but I wouldn't have him any other way. He's my dad, my role model, my best friend. And the thought of losing him just makes me cry (again!) so much.
But today, my dad is well. He makes jokes and I've already told him, like, ten times to go hang himself in the shed. He's a little bit more tired than usual, but I'd rather have him tired than not there at all.
Papa, je t'aime.
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