One minute I’m in the office putting a dent in my morning cup of coffee. The next I’m bursting through the living room with my thoughts scattered.
What brought the change was a phone call of Dad’s wife. “The nurse said if he’s got any family they should get to the hospital as soon as possible.”
Dad had a heart attack, but at first everyone was saying it was minor. It wasn’t minor. It wasn’t serious. It was critical.
There are few things more stressful than wanting to be somewhere right now and having to wait.

I took a taxi from the airport to the hospital and less than two minutes after I got to my fathers bedside alarms were going off, nurses rushing in with a crash cart, and we’re being asked to wait in the waiting room.


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