Page 73 - North Star Magazine 2022

that comforting lie. There’s another side that screams at me that it’s much worse. She’s aware that our luck is worse than being chained to a spiked mattress.
The CVPH hospital reminds me of a factory from the way it was built.
It gives me Willy Wonka vibes outside, but on the inside, it is a different story. Bright, light colors, and the bleach smell that hides death, injury, and sickness all around. You don’t know who isn’t going to make it out of the hospital. I expect my father to walk out the hospital doors like he did in the past with us. We will go out to eat and be done for the day.
In the waiting room, my brother, my sister, my dad’s mom, my dad’s sister, and my dad’s brother are here. Normally, I don’t see any other family members other than during the time my dad fainted years ago. It was only dad’s brother, Uncle Jason, that was with us. My brother, R.J, admitted that he was speeding to the hospital after hearing the news. Mom scolded him for it.
That’s when I got the story. My dad unexpectedly swerved into a field. Luckily, his boss, Great Aunt Ilene, noticed while she was following him home from the camp. He was gasping for air and collapsed. His heart stopped. Good thing there was a local that knew chest compressions. They were able to do CPR until paramedics arrived. They were lucky to revive him and get him to the hospital.
A doctor comes to the waiting room. He appears to be in-between young and old. I don’t believe he is middle-aged. He informs us that dad has woken up and is arguing with the doctors. We chuckle about it because that was the dad we knew and loved.
“It looks like he had a severe heart attack,” the doctor reluctantly tells us. My mother breathes in frustration. Heart attack is bad on its own. How can it be severe? My dad needs surgery to clear the blockage. He leads us to the ICU Waiting Room. On our way there, we see dad also being transferred. He is intubated since he couldn’t breathe. He is also unconscious. They stop for us to be by his side.
“You can touch him,” one of the nurses says to me. I touch his ankle. It feels warm and alive.
A feeling creeps into my gut, warning me that it is going to change.
The ICU Waiting is much better than the normal hospital waiting room. There are actual couches and a small kitchen to make coffee. Plus, it’s not as crowded. It is just us in the waiting room. Our conversations remain about dad. We can’t think of anything else. I noticed a missed phone call from dad during the time I was working. He knew since he was the one that dropped me off at Laura’s Bridal before he went out to do errands at a