The Hospital Bed
Last Thursday, my grandpa had a heart attack. As soon as I got the news, my heart sank1. I immediately dropped what I was doing and made my way to the hospital. This news comes less than 24 hours after he returned to the U.S. from spending a few months in Peru. I went into panic mode because coincidently my friend's dad recently passed away unexpectedly from a heartattack at the airport.
His Primary Caretaker
My cousins and my sister were already at the hospital when I got there. Only two people could go into his room at a time and I was ok waiting my turn. After the first pair went in, they told me my grandpa asked for me. I'm probably the closest to my grandpa. You don't have to say it when you know you're someone's favorite.
In 2020, my grandpa was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I played a huge role in getting him the care and support he needed during that time. It was actually so ironic since one of my earliest memories with him is playing doctor when I was a little girl. This time, during his intensive radiation treaments, I was in the middle of grad school, battling depression, and figuring out how to show up the best I could for him and the family.
Since then and through last year, when he officially retired and decided to spend majority of his time in Peru, I was considered his primary care taker. There was not much I had to do in terms of day-to-day responsibilities. He's always been super independent. He would work, cook for himself, do his own laundry, walk everywhere, and spend/save his own money. He beat cancer but that never stopped him from enjoying his vice: alcohol.
The Vice
Apparently, in his past life, my grandpa would consistently abandon his eight kids and wife to escape to the mountains to be with his other family. For that reason, lots of my aunts and uncles resent him. It's not that they don't love or care for him -- they do -- but they also never forget.
Despite what anyone has said, it has never influenced the way I see my grandpa. Yes, he's imperfect, he's made poor decisions, and has a terrible drinking habit but he's always been a great grandpa to me. He's kept me company in some of my darkest days, and caring for him during his cancer journey is one of my proudest, least spoken about, moments of my life.
Praying for My Grandpa
Since I've moved farther away and he's been traveling, I've taken a step back from checking in on him as frequently. I've kind of been pushing the rest of the family to help out a bit more, and I'm grateful they have. However, when I saw my grandpa in the hospital bed, guilt weighed heavy on my mind and heart. What if I checked on him more while he was away? Could this have been prevented? But as I already learned with grief, it's not about me.
I couldn't help but just hug him and let him know how much I love him. The cardiologist said that my grandpa coming to the hospital when he did was divine timing. They were able to place a stent to help the blood flow. They also mentioned that this condition has been silenty attacking his body for years since there are noteable blockages all over his heart.
I'm worried.
I'm scared.
I'm hopeful.
My grandpa has beat cancer and now he's slowly recovering from a heart attack. He's 86 years old, and while he's lived a full life, we're all on board that we'll continue to support the recommended treatment plan as long as he's in no pain. He's strong and we are praying for a speedy recovery.
Fitting idiom for this senario.↩