On Sunday, December 9th, 2001, my father had a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital.  He was put in the Coronary Care Intensive Care Unit, which was very scary for us.  They hooked him up to all these machines that monitored everything about him.  The doctor said the next day they would run a stress test on him to find out exactly what was going on.

     The next day, the doctor decided not to do the stress test, but to do a heart catheterization test.  The results came back later on in the day that my dad had some arteries blocked.  One artery was 100% blocked and two were over 50% blocked.  It was very upsetting because the doctors told us the only option my dad had was to have open-heart surgery and they wanted to schedule it as soon as possible.  I was thinking that this couldn’t be happening, he was too young, (he is only 47) this sort of thing happens to older people.  The doctor told us that his age, being not overweight and in good health (other than his blocked arteries and heart) would work in his favor.  This was Monday night now and the operating schedule for Tuesday surgery was already booked.    The doctor decided it was best to get him in for the surgery on Wednesday.  That gave us twenty-four hours to get my (paternal) Grandma and Aunt Rona up from Florida for the surgery. 

       We had our family assembled in the hospital on Wednesday, December 12th while my dad was in surgery.  The doctor told us that he was going to do a triple-bypass and it should take three and half to four hours before someone would come out and speak to us, although we would be getting updates through out the surgery.  After four hours, no one came out and my mom was getting a little upset.  She went to the desk and asked what was going on.  The lady in charge told her that my dad was still in the operating room on the operating table and he was stable.  Finally, five and half-hours later, the doctor came out and told us that my dad was fine and he performed seven bypasses on my father.  We couldn’t believe it: seven bypasses – he was only supposed to do three! 

     The nurse took us all down the hall to the recovery room, but only my mom and grandma were allowed to see my dad.  My sister Jenny and I were still not allowed to see him, but my mom begged the nurse.  She explained how scared were and that we just wanted to see him and make sure he was alive and all right.  The nurse relented and let us in for a minute.  Not I know why they have the rule that children are not allowed to see patients immediately after being brought up from recovery from heart surgery. 

   About four hours later my mom asked the nurse if my sister and I could sneak in and see my dad again.  This time it was much better.  Then four hours later we got to see him again.  This time he opened his eyes and smiled at us.  The doctor asked my mom when was my dad ever sick, and when did he last visit a doctor?  My mom replied that they have been married for twenty-three years and he had never been to a doctor because he had never been sick.  The doctor told he that now he was going to go every six months to see the cardiologist to be checked. 

    My dad stayed in the hospital for the next five days and then they let him come home.  Things are a little different with our lives now, but everyone is adjusting quite well.  My dad is doing much better and he looks really good.  We are all so happy and thankful that he is here with us today and enjoying everything life has to offer. 

    Everyone has been so wonderful through this whole ordeal and I can’t thank you all enough.  I just want to add a special thank you to Larry for all he has done for my family, especially the books he made for my dad to read while was home in bed.  Those books are so special and mean a lot to him; that was so kind of you to do that for him and for us.  Thank you, thank you, thank you everyone!

Photograph by Tisa Delavolpe, courtesy of Shayna Syken.  Skate photograph copyright © Dave Amorde.  Unless otherwise noted, all content Do not reproduce elsewhere without permission.