The Most Important Man In My Life

On Tuesday night, I went to go visit my dad.  I sat in bed with him, made jokes, we watched Dancing With the Stars together and talked about life.  Even though surgery loomed ahead of him, he seemed in good spirits.  He was able to get up and walk himself to the bathroom.  He would call or text me saying, "lol I'm walking around the hallway!"

My dad, this past Christmas Eve

I'm a lot like my dad, good and bad traits.  We both like to make people laugh, we are both very out-going people, however when me and dad fight, we go low-blows, and we are the most stubborn people you'll ever meet.  I love my dad -- when I look back on my childhood, most of my memories are of my father.  My dad used to be a party boy.  He liked his booze, he liked his women (he has tattoos of different women's names) and he liked to go out every night of the week and get blasted (maybe this is why I like the boys I do?)

"I changed when you were born.  You made me a new man," he'd later say.  He has had 5 children.

My dad is also very protective.  When a sister's boyfriend laid a hand on her, my dad kicked the shit out of him with a baseball bat.  And he wasn't a fan of Chunks either -- it took some convincing to put the baseball bat away.


Then on Wednesday afternoon, I was waiting to hear back from my mother to get the O-K to see him.

"Listen, Natalie... it's not good."  I rushed over to the hospital.


While walking down the hallway in the critical care unit, the walls of the rooms were glass and I was peeking at the other patients.  All of them looked in bad shape, but were watching television, sitting up in bed and I was expecting my dad to be doing the same -- but he wasn't.  His chest cavity was bandaged, there were bags filling with blood, wires connecting him to 5 machines, and a tube down his throat.  My mom was sitting in the corner of his room with her head down, and I could hear the respirator helping my father breathe.  What made it worse were the straps holding my father down to the bed -- apparently the pain was so bad, he was thrashing in his bed and biting down on his tube.  He was in a comatose state.  I wasn't sure if he was aware of his surroundings, but every time I went to his bedside, his heart rate would change.  The doctor said, "maybe he can smell your perfume."


I've been to church every day this week. 


All of your warm, positive thoughts and prayers are appreciated.