.::Plavix::.

Life can hit you pretty hard sometimes. You never expect it to happen to you. It always seems to happen to others in some other part of the world.

We all watch the news and hear about disasters that shock us; Hurricane Katrina, 911, the Haiti Earthquake, and even Michael Jackson’s death. Everyday, something dreadful happens, that rattles our bones and makes our hearts skip a beat.

I have never really had an experience like that. Sure, 911 was a big shock, but I was in 5th grade, and I wasn’t really that aware. Hurricane Katrina made me feel bad for those, and I gave some money to the fund at my church to help. But, I’ve never been truly affected. It didn’t affect me because I wasn’t a part of it. I didn’t live in New York during 911, and I was hit with an earthquake or hurricane. And I sure didn’t know Michael Jackson personally. So what affect could it give me?

I learned my lesson about a year ago.

It all started in October, when I came home from school and noticed my dad’s van in the street. He was supposed to be at work. I was a little concerned; mostly because I was afraid he was sick, and I have a bad case of Emetephobia. The last thing on my mind was unemployment.

When I went home, he told me the news, and I was a little upset, but I wasn’t too nervous about my life. Mom had, luckily, gotten a job a few weeks earlier, so we were getting a paycheck every week. Dad was collecting unemployment and we were sure we could pay off the bills. We had to spend less money on clothes, food and we had to not use the heat or electricity for a while, to try to save money. But most of all, we had to stay healthy, because none of us had health benefits.

This went on for a while, and we soon were able to buy more food and spend a little money here and there for ourselves. Life was hard, but we managed, and nothing else really changed. I was doing well in school, and I still hung out with my friends. My dad basked in the stress free lifestyle of being a stay at home dad, and mom was working on losing weight and she was bringing home the bacon.

Everything changed on a very cold, very quiet, Sunday night in February.

I had finished my homework and went to bed early, since I was exhausted from the day. My mom was already asleep, and my dad was watching T.V. downstairs. He was still recovering from the colonoscopy he had earlier today. I curled up into a ball and slid under the covers, trying to get warm. Slow, sad music played on my radio as the fan lazily turned. It was pitch black, and I kept thinking about the Creepy Pasta I had read earlier. My heart raced a bit, but I told myself I was being paranoid and it was only a story, and soon I found myself asleep.

I woke up from my deep sleep when my mom rushed in and said my name. I was still groggy so I didn’t respond, but I could tell that she paused and walked back out, closing my door.

I’m used to my mom coming in and telling me to get up and get ready for school. It was weird that she just said my name and didn’t try harder to wake me up. I rolled over and looked at my clock, blinking the sleep from my eyes.

The red neon lights flashed 2:35.

I sat up and heard my mom talking on the phone as she ran downstairs. I thought I heard her say something about my dad, so I pressed my ear to the wall and tried to listen to the conversation downstairs.

My heart raced as I heard her saying something about my dad looking really pale and him sweating a lot. I knew something was wrong, but I never expected to hear her saying that she thought he was having a heart attack.

The next thing I knew, she was trying to tell my dad to sit down and rest, and I saw blinking lights shine into my dark grey room. I jumped up, immediately awake, and looked out the window. I saw the ambulance pull up halfway into my drive way, the medics rushing into my house. I heard so many voices downstairs as I focused on the blinking red and blue lights; silent, but ominous in the night.

I blinked back tears that welled in my eyes. I had never really had an extremely good relationship with my dad. When we were younger, we used to wrestle and draw together and spend a lot of time with each other. I guess I started resenting him more when I drew a giraffe and he told me that I drew it wrong. I was seven at the time and it really hurt my feelings.

I haven’t shown him any of my drawings since.

Now I’m a teenager, and I am embarrassed by him and I want him to leave me alone. He’s always following me, trying to talk to me. But it just annoys me more.

Thinking back, I had forgotten all about that. I was just scared that I would lose my dad, and I wouldn’t have a chance to say sorry.

I remember praying to god, saying I’m sorry and to please let him live. It was all I wanted.

I watched as the brought him out into the cold, only wearing his pajama pants. He had things sticking all over him as they lowered him onto the stretcher. I wondered how they were going to lift a 300 pound man into the ambulance. When I saw them close the doors and drive my dad away, I stepped away from the window and lay back in bed, wiping the tears from my face.

My mom had walked in and whispered that she was going to the hospital and not to worry. She thought I had been asleep this whole time.

I told her she had woken me up when she came in, and that I’ve been listening and watching silently from my room the whole time. She smiled sadly and told me she’d be back before I had to be driven to school. I told her it was fine, and I watched her get into her car, and head to the hospital.

I jumped up and turned on my laptop, and wrote a long journal about how I felt. I edited and rewrote a lot to make sure it was just right, like I do with all my journals and stories, and then posted it onto deviant art. I forced myself to turn off my laptop, knowing no one would be up this late to read and comment immediately, and curl up back into bed and get some more sleep. I had to remember I had a big test tomorrow, and I needed to focus on that.

My dad got through it all and he’s doing fine a year later. He tries to eat healthier, but he’s not doing to good of a job at that. We learned it was a minor attack, although some doctors said it was a major attack. We don’t really know for sure.

The cause of the attack was because of the blood thinners. My dad’s blood clots extremely, and it’s been affecting him in so many ways for a long time. So he’s been taking Plavix and other blood thinners to control it. The doctor who did the colonoscopy told my dad to stop taking Plavix about five days prior to the surgery, so my dad wouldn’t excessively bleed. It was because of this, that his blood clotted near his heart, and caused the attack.

I learned that anything can happen to anyone, and that even though it may not be news worthy, it can still affect you more than any celebrity’s death, or natural disaster on the other side of the world.