Today was one of those days that leaves your heart rattled and your nerves frayed. What started as an ordinary morning quickly turned into a long, exhausting day in the Emergency Room—filled with uncertainty, fear, and endless waiting. It’s never easy seeing someone you love in distress, and walking through those sliding ER doors feels like stepping into a place where time slows down but emotions race.
advertisement
Dad wasn’t feeling well—he was dizzy, weak, and unusually confused, even more than his usual baseline. We knew something wasn’t right. His color was off, his movements were slower, and he couldn’t articulate what was going on. It wasn’t just a bad day—it felt urgent. So we rushed to the hospital, trying to stay calm but feeling that deep pit in our stomachs grow heavier with every mile.
Once we arrived, the ER was, as always, busy and chaotic. Bright lights, the constant beeping of machines, people rushing past, and the sound of pain and worry hanging in the air. It’s a place no one ever wants to be, but sometimes it’s the only place you need to be. After checking in, we waited—anxiously watching Dad, holding his hand, offering water, and quietly praying it wasn’t something serious.
When they finally took him back, a team of nurses and doctors sprang into action. Vitals were taken, blood drawn, IV started. Watching it all unfold while trying to keep him calm was a test of both strength and composure. Dad was confused and scared. He didn’t fully understand why we were there. He kept asking what day it was, where we were, and when we could go home. It broke my heart.
The hours dragged on. Test after test. Monitoring. Repeating the same questions. The waiting felt endless. We sat beside his bed, talking softly, playing music he liked, holding his hand so he wouldn’t feel alone. It’s hard to describe that strange mix of helplessness and fierce protectiveness you feel in those moments—wanting so badly to fix it, to trade places, to make it all go away.
Eventually, the doctors came back with results—no stroke, no major cardiac event, which was a massive relief. It seems a mix of dehydration, low blood pressure, and the toll of dementia had pushed his body and brain too far today. They rehydrated him, adjusted his meds, and monitored him for hours. Thankfully, he stabilized.
By the time we were discharged, it was late. We were exhausted, physically and emotionally. But we were grateful—so deeply grateful that it wasn’t worse, that we caught it in time, that we were able to bring him home. He’s resting now, and so are we, still shaken but reminded of just how fragile and precious life is.
Our day in the ER was long, overwhelming, and scary—but it also reminded me how strong love can be when it’s tested. Today could have gone differently, and that thought alone makes me hug him tighter tonight. 🤍🏥🙏
advertisement
Watch Video Below