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The Final Rounds. May 21st, 2017

May 22, 2018

Logic vs. Emotion: a match-up you will hear me speak about many times.

I know, logically, there is no direct correlation between my actions that week and my dad’s survival. But, emotionally, you can’t tell me otherwise. Not then, and not now.

Just yesterday, I broke down in the middle of my FlyWheel class (sorry 11:30am class!). I pedaled as fast as I could, but I still could not hit the RPM the instructor demanded.

You can’t do it. You can’t hit that number, just like you couldn’t save him,” the vicious side of my brain said. Suddenly I couldn't decipher the sweat from the tears pouring down my face. I put my head down and gave in to the emotions in my dark corner of the room. I was taken back to his final days.

Wait for heart to heal.

Hope, faith, determination. Code Blue, scream, collapse.

Emergency Transfer to Jefferson Hospital.

Hope, faith, determination. Denied entry, scream, collapse.

Day of Rest for heart and lungs.

 


Hope, faith, determination. Setback, scream, collapse.

I remember that Sunday morning. I laid lifeless in bed. My swollen eyes opened and I felt the weight of the world pressing down on my emaciated chest. This is no nightmare. This is real. I wish I could melt away into the bed and disappear, but there’s another day of the boxing match ahead. A battle that I was losing, and as a result, so was my father.

I was nearing a TKO. I had been ruthless for days on end. I had competent family all around, supportive friends at every angle, the best doctors in the nation at Jefferson. But it wasn’t enough for me. If one doctor gave me information, I needed to compare facts with two more doctors, my friend in cardiology at another hospital, WebMD, and the guy who worked at Wawa that said he got an A on a health exam once.

I arrived at the hospital, slowly and shakily getting out of the car. I looked around, colors blurring together and images distorted from all the blows to the head this week. I was in shock that people were just out in public, walking the streets, living their lives. I forgot what that felt like.

My body was heavy as I walked into the hospital building. I had been in these conference rooms for meetings about new innovative programs that will saves lives and I had roamed these halls with reporters highlighting patient success stories. I prayed deeply for another saved life, another patient success story.

I was my father’s only child. It was my job to fix this.

 

Logically vs. emotionally.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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November 24, 2018

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Rittenhouse Square

Philadelphia, PA, USA

©2018 by Gianna DeMedio