My dad's heart attack

Last week I received a surprising and frightening text from my mom, "Dad had a major heart attack last night around midnight.  We called the ambulance and came to the ER.  They called in the cardiologist and his team right away.  Around 1:30 AM they put in three stents.  One was in the LAD which was totally blocked, AKA the Widow Maker.  The other two stents were for a 95% and 80% blockage.  We are in the ICU at Logan where he will spend today and tonight with anticipated discharge tomorrow.  The doctor is very pleased with the surgery results.  We don't know the amount of long-term damage yet but we are hopeful it won't be too bad."  What do you do when you receive a text like that?  We were mid-morning school rush, trying to feed the kids breakfast and get them ready.  I couldn't really process what I had just read until my girls were out the door, but my mind was spinning and my heart was racing.  My dad had a major heart attack?  Apparently he'll be okay, but will he?  Should I go out to help?  Can I even get everything in order so quickly?  Will my parents need me?  As the girls were walking out the door I made up my mind to go to Utah.  I told the girls just to come home after school but that I wouldn't be there.  Luckily a friend stepped in to take them to her house after school.  Then I jumped into a hurricane of prep activities.  I started packing suitcases for the boys and me, rushed to get the three of us dressed, and just walked away from all of the responsibilities I had at home.  I spent the first hour or so of the drive making calls to make sure my girls would be taken care of, and to arrange some other schedules.  After that was done though, the reality of the situation hit me and it was tough to accept.  Sure the doctors said that he was going to be okay and they were pretty confident about their work, but what if something went wrong?  What if a doctor made a mistake and this was it for my dad?  I couldn't completely let myself go because I can't drive and cry hysterically at the same time.  So instead I buried my worries and just tried to immerse myself in the eight hour drive to Utah.  

I pulled into the valley and dropped my boys off at Camille's before heading to the ICU.  When I arrived my Aunt Sheri, Aunt Teri, Aunt Maureen, Alan, and Ryan were in the waiting room.  It doesn't seem to bode well to me when that many people are hanging around.  Ryan showed me where Dad was and when I walked in I saw him laying down with all sorts of wires hooked up to him.  He was trying to rest but it wasn't going very well.  He was tossing and turning and in all sorts of pain.  It's such a helpless feeling.  On the far side of the darkened room my mom was stood up when I entered.  She looked so tired.  It was 5:00 at night and this whole ordeal had been going on for nearly 17 hours.  Apparently my dad had been having chest pain for the previous two days so when the heart attack actually happened he knew exactly what it was.  The more we talked the more I realized how incredibly lucky we were that my dad insisted on calling an ambulance.  Had he been delayed in receiving treatment, or had he needed his operation just five years ago it wouldn't have been available in Cache Valley and that could have been it.  My dad could have died.  I tried to busy myself in making myself useful the rest of that night so I didn't have to think about the possible outcomes, because I just didn't have the strength to do that.  After my mom went home for the night I had the chance to spend time with my dad while he slept.  Thankfully the most recent round of painkillers was taking effect because he finally seemed to be resting.  He woke up and we had a chance to talk a little bit.  No one had any idea that he might have a heart attack.  He isn't overweight and I wouldn't consider his diet horrible.  That leaves family history as a culprit.  Come to find out two of my aunts have had heart problems, my great uncle, and a few of my dad's cousins.  My Uncle Stratford also had his first heart attack at 58 years old, and while that doesn't affect my dad, it does affect me.  We took a look at the images the cardiologist took before and after surgery.  I just saved this one.  The before picture is actually on the right.  There is a dotted line drawn by the doctor showing where the artery should be.  It's completely gone.  There was absolutely no blood getting through there.  The picture on the left is post surgery with the stent.  No wonder he's been so tired for so long, there's hardly any blood getting to his heart.  We didn't talk long before he wanted to rest.  I headed home for the night and planned on returning in the morning.  

My dad was a completely different man than the one I had seen the night before.  He looked alert and aware of what was going on.  He looked alive.  I was so relieve to see him looking so recovered.  At first I was skeptical that they were going to release him just the day after surgery, but now I could see why.  He was anxious to get home to his own bed where he wouldn't be poked and prodded all the time.  It was hard to really visit because we was receiving so many visits: the cardiologist, the dietitian, the pharmacist, the cardio rehab team, nurses, they just kept coming.  They all had good news to share however and that was he should be just fine.  It's hard to tell if there is going to be any permanent damage to the heart, because some of the muscle stuns after surgery.  However, since the treatment was so quick he should be fine.  There is obviously still some plaque in his veins, but everyone has that.  Now he just has to think about ways to keep his heart as clean and healthy as possible; mainly just exercise and a healthy diet.  He was discharged around noon and came home to finish recovering.  

I was worried about the boys being loud and disruptive, but even though they had their moments they were really just fine.  My dad liked hearing the reports of them walking to the park, laughing as they wrestled, and how Daxton went to find help when Kelton had climbed on top of the car and was stuck.  

We ended up staying four days just trying to do what we could, but it was pretty obvious that with time my dad was going to be just fine.  It was not the way I would have chosen to spend my weekend, but in a strange sort of way it was still a good weekend.  It really made it apparent how much love we have in our family for each other, and I hope that never changes.  As I drove away I couldn't help but be so grateful for the second chance my dad has, and that it's not time to lose him.