I put in for 2 hours sick time and left work early on Friday, after receiving a frantic phone call from my mom shortly after lunch telling me my dad’s in the hospital again. He had issues at work that concerned his coworkers enough to call an ambulance which delivered him to a hospital in West Covina, where my mom was driving to when she called me. So the bday dinner for my grandmother was postponed. People at work were concerned enough to keep telling me I can go ahead home, but I wanted to finish some deskwork I was in the middle of first, after I ascertained that I got permission to take off. Mr. W slipped out of his work a little early, too, and we dropped off my car at my house and went together to meet my parents in the emergency room.

The emergency doctor was very nice. They haven’t figured out yet what’s wrong with my dad, as there was no bleeding this time, so they’re running a battery of tests. She’d told us she wants to do a heart stress test this morning, but I spoke to my mom earlier and they just did an EKG (normal), was prepping for an MRI, and there was no order for a heart stress test. The people sitting in the little glass-encased admittance booth to let people into emergency were a whole different story that I’m not going into cuz it’d just piss me off more. The emergency doctor thought my dad may have had some heart issues, altho she’s not sure as he didn’t have classic heart attack symptoms. Plus, heart problems don’t exist in my family history on either side. It’s because of his risk factors (high blood pressure, high cholesterol, borderline diabetes, high triglycerides) that she wants to double-check his heart. Hey, I just realized I have a few medical professionals that visit my blog. I should explain what happened on Friday with my dad.

My dad was trying to move or disassemble their giant 4-poster bed in the morning, and he had thrown his entire body weight into it to try to turn the posts. He felt nauseated and slightly dizzy after that. He recovered in a few minutes and went to work. All through the morning hours at work, he had waves of dizziness, light-headedness, cold sweats and nausea. He said it was the exact sensation as what he’d felt the last time (I posted about it here with the diagnosis here.) Finally, he started throwing up and couldn’t stop. My dad’s boss took my dad’s cell phone to call my mom, and my mom said she would leave work and go pick my dad up at work to take him to the hospital. Because the vomiting was so severe, however, and because of my dad’s recent history with such similar symptoms, his coworkers called 911 to get him more immediate medical attention. He threw up throughout the ambulance ride, too. My dad had finished his medication they gave him for his bleeding ulcer just earlier in the week, and my mom said he hadn’t been good about sticking to a low-sodium, non-spicy diet. (In the hospital, my dad said he’s feeling hungry, which must be a good sign that his body’s functioning properly now. I said, “Of course you’re hungry, you threw up your food all day.” He said good humoredly, “No, I didn’t have food to throw up. I threw up water. And a couple of peanuts.” So I guess he’s been taking his regular vitamins and prescriptions meds on an empty stomach, too. Except if you count the peanuts, which he seems to.)

Mr. W and I still went through with our dim sum plans with Vanessa and another friend, Lisa, and the four of us had a grand time. Vanessa kept calling to make sure I wouldn’t rather cancel lunch, and I had to keep telling her I’m fine. Everyone else is really concerned with my dad and how I’m holding up, too, which felt strange to me because I’m thinking, “I’m not the one who’s sick.” But that got me thinking — should I be more concerned? I feel no fear or anxiety internally over this, it really feels to me like he had a little upset something or other, he got proper medical care very readily, and now they’re just checking to see what needs to be repaired or what lifestyle habits he needs to modify. The fact that there was no blood or severe internal bleeding this time is a comforting thing.

I remember being 6 years old and watching my mom worry and fret when it got dark and my dad hadn’t come home from work yet. She’d pace from room to room, she’d separate the living room’s miniblinds and peer out into the street for my dad’s car. There were constant fights about how he could’ve called if he were going to be late so that she didn’t have to worry that he got into a car accident driving 50+ miles of freeway to and from downtown LA each way. (I just suddenly remembered that Cheating Ex tried to tell me my dad was late because he was having an affair. Whatever, not every man cheats.) At some point, my dad established a new routine of calling my mom really briefly from the office shortly before he left. It was a “I’m coming home now;” “Oh, you’re coming home? Okay;” “Bye!” “Bye” phone call. But before he started doing that, I’d watch my mom as she seemed sick with worry, and soon I became nauseated like at the beginning of a panic attack with tingly knees and wide, scared eyes, and I’d find myself going to the window, separating the blind with my tiny fingers, looking into the dark street, and praying, “Please, God, let my dad come home soon. There’s a car’s headlights. Please let that be my dad. Oh, that’s not him, they drove by. Please let this next headlights be my dad’s. I’ll be good if you make this next car be my dad’s coming back home,” and I’d visualize my dad’s car turning into the driveway and entering the garage with all my mental might. Now, after my big depression a couple of years ago, I react less strongly to things. I have my sensitive buttons that the last relationship created within me, but Mr. W has been systematically doing away with those and I’m generally calmer and less mentally emotional now (except for the thin line keeping me from irritation when I’m PMSing). All that makes me wonder whether being overly-dramatic, or anxiety disorders, even, are a learned behavior.