I hear a lot of survivor stories of this, what I call a "silent killer". I am not fortunate enough to be writing of a happy ending though. I am 22 years of age and lost my father on September 26, 2002. It was only two weeks ago that he had been admitted into the hospital. You see, my story is not like all of the others( or at least it seems that way to me).
My day began like any other day but would ultimately test myself and my family. My father was an outgoing person, always keeping himself occupied with little projects around the house or helping my brother and I with little problems that we had in our lives. I always looked at my father as a best friend. My father raised my brother and I to be respectful individuals and I am happy to live my life the way I do, because of him. I feel that I honor him and the way he raised me, each and every day that I get up in the morning and start my routine like every other day before that tragedy.
Like most stories I have read, my father was complaining of a massive headache. Shortly after taking some medication for the headache, he started vomiting. My mother immediately called 911. The ambulance arrived and the medics came to my father only to demand him to get himself up to the stretcher. He had to do this under his own strength. The medics refused to get near his vomit due to infectious diseases that he did not have. My father crawled to the stretcher and the medics wheeled him to the ambulance. Twenty minutes later, they were on their way to the hospital. At this time, no one knew what was wrong with my father.
He arrived at the hospital semiconscious and was only able to speak one last word to my sister-in-law. He was complaining that the pillow was bothering him. He didn't know that there was no pillow. That was the pressure from the blood on his brain. Shortly after, a nurse came to tell us to expect the worst. We were informed of the brain aneurysm. They had told us that there was no swelling and that he was critical but stable. At that time, the lead Doctor advised us that they will Medivac him to a better hospital.
Five and half hours later, they finally came to pick him up. He was in terrible condition by that time. They flew him to one of the best hospitals in the U.S. on the east coast. When he arrived, the Doctor told us that he was misdiagnosed as a stage 3 when he was a stage 5 from the beginning. The original hospital thought he wasn't as bad as he truly was. By this time, it was too late to do any surgery or angio. His brain had started swelling and blood pressure sky rocketed.
I don't know what the outcome would have been if my father was rushed to the second hospital first, but I do believe that someone goofed up. I miss my best friend that happened to be my father. I live each day knowing that he is in a beautiful place now and we will see him soon. I work in law enforcement and have some knowledge of medics and general orders. I question the character and lack of duty of all involved with my father. I feel bad to have so much anger built in me but I believe someone should be held accountable for their actions (or inactions). I won't have my father there to see me get married, have kids and watch them grow.
This is a my sad story and I hope someone learns from this tragedy. To you Demosthenes, We all love you.
Your friend and son,
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