My dad had been sick for a very long time; the doctors told us he was sick for about a year or two, but the week before he went into the hospital was the worst thing for us ever. He was sick the entire week; he had to call out of work. He had always said, “It hurts to move, my chest is hurting really bad. Jeannie, will you go in my bathroom and get my inhaler? Natalie, will you call your mom and get her to go to the store and get me some medicine, please?” My dad was my hero; he saved me from a lot like my mom’s abusive boyfriends, things with school, and truly almost everything.
The day I walked in to his hospital room was like a volcano erupting in my heart. Everyone was crying, I still haven’t looked at my dad yet, I was looking at everyone else, but the second I looked at I felt like my heart fell out of my chest and onto the floor. The sight of him was scarier than the highest roller coaster. My dad had a breathing tube down his throat. It was terrifying to see him like that. The nurse said, “The tubes will most likely not come out and you all might not ever hear his voice again, I’m so sorry!” The only thing I thought to myself was this nurse is doing these things just to hurt us, not to help him. I was very upset because me and my dad used to fuss almost all of the time, and seeing him like that felt like I died a little.
Today, my dad’s tests and labs were completely different. My dad’s nurse called my mom and said, “Ms. Brewster, you