I've never been home for my dad's heart attacks or blackouts, but as I cradled his head and yelled at him for 10 minutes to keep breathing, to stay awake, to focus on my eyes, I was pretty sure that I was watching him die and there wasn't anything I could do about it.
He didn't die.
He is in the hospital for the rest of the weekend (at the very least), and no one's really sure what happened today. "Mini-stroke" is the best guess — and an unverifiable guess, since only an MRI would definitively determine that, and his pacemaker means he can't have an MRI.
Mom called this afternoon to say Dad didn't feel well (something he never admits) and to ask if I would come over and talk to him.
I had just walked in the door and was asking him to describe his pain when, mid-word, he stopped talking. Clutched his chest. Turned white.
Stopped breathing.
His eyes rolled to the back of his head, he looked like he was choking, and he slumped backward and to the left, toward the wall of the stairs where he was sitting.
No.
Not now.
Not this.
I'm not ready.
It's amazing the thoughts that your brain can process in the 0.05 seconds before you lunge forward, grab someone you love and try to pour all your will for living into them.
"CALL 911!" I screamed at my mom, who was on the phone with the Kid Brother-Doctor.
And then I screamed it again, sensing hesitation.
What would you say? If you thought your last moments with them would be you holding them upright, urging them to breathe, to stay awake, to live, to just breathe?
"I love you, Daddy. You're breathing so good. Keep breathing. Breathe with me. Breathe in. Now breathe out. Keep your eyes open. Chew this aspirin. Look at me. Help is coming. Just breathe. I love you."
A lot of tests get run for things like this, and a lot of people get called in on their day off.
Sometimes, a lot of shoulders get shrugged and a lot of I-don't-knows get given as answers.
"It's very complicated," one doctor told us as he walked out the door.
"Complicated" sums up the past four years pretty aptly.
"Hell" is a contender, too, though.
