Reflecting on the last night—in Myrtle Beach—of our summer vacation. We went to the beach every single day, and the sun shined blazing hot. We also dined in many restaurants there; most of these restaurants being seafood restaurants. It was by far one of the best times of my life. I, before going to bed, overheard a conversation between my parents, and I heard that Dad was having minor pains in his chest. Mom sternly told him, “When we get home, you better get a checkup from the hospital.”
Dad then responded, “It doesn’t hurt that much. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“You’re going to the hospital once we get home!” Mom argued in a trembling voice.
“Don’t worry I’ll be alright. Nothing will happen to me anyways.”
We, the next morning, packed up to leave. It took ages to get back home from car,—I slept most of the time. When we finally got home, we unpacked our belongings. Dad had a hard time carrying his luggage, so we had to help him out by carrying his luggage for him. Dad kept complaining about his chest pains, and he thought he felt alright. Mom, on the other hand, thought that he should go to the hospital right away—even though Dad didn’t want to go. I hope Dad is OK… I thought to myself.
“I just want to sleep, OK. I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow, it doesn’t hurt that much,” Dad explained.
Mom then responded, “You’re going to the hospital right now, you’ll never know if it’s serious or not. It could be very bad or life threatening.”
Our parents told us that they’re going to the hospital. “Be back soon alright kids?” Mom said.
“Don’t worry about me I just have little chest pains,” Dad told us.
“OK bye,” my siblings and I answered.
It has been a while since our parents were gone—hours had passed through the night. Minutes went by. Seconds passed. No one said a thing. Does it really take this long for a checkup? Please call or something? I began to worry. When I got to bed, we got a text from Mom, “Dad just got a heart attack, but he’s OK. He has to stay in the hospital for tonight. I’ll be home soon.” I sighed in relief when I heard about the news. I’m glad that he seemed alright… for now, I thought.
The next day we went to pick up our Grandma—being very worried—to go to the hospital. We walked into the room where our dad laid; he rested on a hospital bed barely moving a muscle.
“Hi Daddy,” I, in awe, had no clue what to say. This looks very bad, I thought.
When Dad found out that he had a heart attack, he jumped in shock. He, additionally, actually had a few heart attacks during our vacation too—this made the procedure more difficult for the doctors. If Mom didn’t force Dad to go to the hospital, we’ve could’ve lost him. Dad just kept complaining, “I want to go home.” Later, more of our family members and friends came to see him. His friends gave him many gifts: flowers, balloons, cards, and many others to help him get into a better mood. The doctors told us that they’ll perform surgery on him in a few days; this happened to be Dad’s first surgery in all of his life! He had to get a five bypass open heart surgery. They told us that he’ll need to follow a strict diet that is low in sodium and cholesterol for a while; this meant that he couldn’t eat many of his favorite foods. He couldn’t eat any type of fast food—this meant that he had to have a healthy diet. We all stayed and talked until night, and we went back home. Mom decided to stay the night at the hospital to keep Dad company. My siblings and I went to the hospital to see Dad every day until he could be sent home.
When Dad had his surgery, he couldn’t talk—he mostly mumbled—or walk. He had to stay at the hospital—for a week—until he could go back home. Dad really wanted to go home, but of course he couldn’t because of his condition. Because Mom wanted to stay with Dad, she had to take a break from work too.
After a week, Dad could finally go home, but he walked unsteadily and couldn’t do basic tasks. My brother, sister, and I had to take care of the chores he would normally do—the chores being very boring—and help take care of him while Mom went to work. Dad couldn’t lift any objects five pounds or heavier, and he had to eat healthy food—he mostly ate fruits and vegetables. After a week, he felt a lot better and he could walk on his own; he felt like he could run a marathon even though he knew he couldn’t.
After a month, he went to work and drove just fine—everything seemed back to normal. He still has a strict diet and still couldn’t lift hefty objects. We we’re all grateful that he stayed alive, and he’ll still be here for many years to come!