The one “Dad story” you are thankful your dad can tell you


We had a bit of a fright a few weeks ago when Dad had what now appears to be a warning shot-across-the-bow heart attack.  Without going into detail, Dad realised that something was wrong and immediately called 000.  By the time he gave his address (which took a few goes) hung up the phone and switched on the front light, the ambulance had arrived.

If nothing else, take this message: Ring an ambulance as soon as you have any symptoms.

Dad’s symptoms starting with burping continually as he laid down in bed.  As I know my dad, burping would not rate highly as an abnormal symptom.  But when he sat upright, the annoyance of burping was replaced by the frightening experience of breathlessness.

So the weekend before last I listened to my father tell the story.  (I had heard it from my sister, told the same way so I can tell that Dad didn’t add or remove any detail.)  From the first belch to being picked up by my sister a week later, I hung on every word.  There wasn’t much about the story that I didn’t know: the flat battery in the cordless phone by the bed, given a sugary cup of tea at the hospital despite wearing a Medic Alert bracelet with “DIABETES” stamped on it, the dinner kept waiting for his arrival at the private hospital, the vastly inferior room at the private hospital compared to the ocean views at the previous public hospital, Dad’s jokes to the hospital staff and so on.  Every word.

At the end of this Dad story I thanked him for being there to tell it to me.

Here’s a photo from yesterday; just a few days after his first operation to insert stents for 2 of the three blockages.

Image

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