The Day I Almost Lost My Hero

May 30, 2011 was the first day of summer vacation, and the day that would mark the beginning of my real teenage life. I had a car, a job, and the permission of my parents to go and come as I pleased, so long as I was back by curfew. However, something that morning was not how I had anticipated; my dad was home with a terrible headache. He told me he’d woken up several times that night because the pain was so gut wrenching.

I went to pick up some Tylenol, hoping that would ease his pain, but nothing happened.

As the weeks passed, my dad’s headache only worsened, leaving him bed ridden for well over three-quarters of the day. I walked into his room one day to discuss a Led Zeppelin album and all I could do was stare at him. His facial expression was lifeless and full of defeat. “It hurts so much, I’d rather be dead.

” I heard him say. The words flowed out of his mouth so effortlessly, it was evident he wasn’t lying. I fought myself with everything I had and gritted my teeth as I forced out the words “It’ll get better dad, I promise.” Here was the one person who fueled my everlasting motivation, and strengthened my hunger for knowledge. The one person who loved me unconditionally, and all I could do was hold back tears, run off, and try to scrape those engraved words out of my head.

Before I knew it a whole month had passed and still nothing had changed, except that my focus was completely devoted to my father.

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I quit my job, and hardly saw my friends. I spent all my time in doctor’s offices and waiting rooms, looking at the same copy of National Geographic. Every few days I’d go to the pharmacy and little by little our mail counter turned into our own personal drugstore.

The more we’d talk to doctors the angrier I’d become. Not one could make a proper diagnosis during the 2 months that had passed, so I knew I had to do something. Little by little I’d find things out. Diabetes here, High Blood Pressure there. Every finding I discovered, I’d discuss with my dad and he’d relay it back to his doctors.

Finally, the thirteen medications he was ingesting everyday were making a small difference, and weeks after intricate dental work on a cavity his headaches finally subsided. The light was finally beginning to shine.

Putting my summer on hold to spend everyday caring for my dad made me stronger. I can face things more fearlessly with confidence and determination. Had I not taken matters into my own hands, my dad might still be laying lifeless in his bed. Three months later, the only thing wrong with my hero was a closed eyelid, which resulted from third-nerve palsy induced by diabetes. The pain was gone. The life was regained. I finally had my daddy back.