Asparagus

Very early morning Wednesday May 28th I hear pounding foot steps outside my bedroom door. I look at the clock and it says 4:40am. I knew that it was supposed to be very cold out that night and maybe my mom was running outside to cover up some unsuspecting plants from impending frost. I was still vacationing at my parents for our extended Memorial Day weekend trip. It couldn't be frost, she covered up the tomato plants last night before we went to sleep. It must be something else. I go out of my room to find all the lights on and go into my parents bedroom. My dad is lying on the bed visually in a tremendous amount of pain. He is not OK, my mom has called 911 and they think he is having a heart attack. He woke up around 4am not feeling well and took an aspirin before waking my mother, tapping her on her the shoulder, something is wrong. His brow is wet, he is moaning. I get a cool wash cloth and sit with him on the bed. I want to call 911 again but my mom assures me she gave them good directions. My parents live in the county, a half hour drive to Rockford. Living in Chicago we have a 3-5 minute response time to 911 calls. I was watching the clock like a hawk as 5 then 10 minutes crawled by. My immediate thought was to say a prayer, a prayer to help my Dad get through this, through the pain. My mom was the smart one, she called 911, she turned on all the lights so the house could easily be found, she even shut Zola's door so we wouldn't wake her up. I'm a huge empathizer (not a real word) with those in pain that I feel light headed, feel my own blood pressure drop, start seeing stars and go to lay on the floor.

Just then, the EMT shows up. I see him come in, say we are upstairs, but am alarmed that he has no equipment. Then another EMT shows up. Both EMTs are come in their own cars. A young officer with the Capron police comes too (my Dad later tells me that he would have had the defibrillator, would it have been needed). Finally the ambulance comes. No one can tell that my dad is having a heart attack for sure. The EMT gives Dad a nitroglycerin tablet. Dad says that it didn't help at all, maybe that's a good thing, maybe it isn't a heart attack after all. Dad walks down the stairs to the stretcher, wowza. He figures this would probably be safer than having someone try to carry him down the stairs.

While I was sitting with my dad he is saying that he didn't want it to happen like this, he didn't think this would happen to him. He had been having pains for a week. They would come and go. He was never sure what caused them, but was deducing that perhaps the pains came when he would eat asparagus. My dad has his own "Handyman Ken" business. He is working all the time, he had just built that large play set for the kids. He told the EMTs, he is fit, not overweight, eats well, takes care of himself. He and my mom have done a great job taking care of their healths. Otherwise this incident could have been much worse. The problem is, my dad inherited crappy heart genes from his dad.

My dad's dad, Grandpa Joe had his first heart attack at age 47, that would have been in 1961. At that time the hospital told him to quit smoking, change his diet, and take a month off of work. It is amazing (a miracle?) that he lived to the age of 87 having survived another heart attack in his 60's.

This picture was taken at 5:30am is of the two EMTs cars' in my parents driveway.

As the police officer was leaving, he was commenting on what a great house it was. I proudly told him that my Dad does all his own work, has his own handyman business. I didn't go to the hospital. I stayed with the girls so I don't know all the details that followed. I do know that my Dad is OK, a champ really. After he failed his stress test (they put him on a treadmill to confirm that he was having a heart attack - yes, I thought that was crazy too) he was sent to emergency surgery. The surgeon located the blockage and was able to put a stent in the artery, restoring blood flow to his heart.

My dad is now at home, recovering. It has been an emotional roller coaster for us all.

Thankfully, my dad can still eat asparagus.