My son, my caregiver

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What happened to me on the second to last Tuesday in October was not as serious as a heart attack but having a wife and two children who I love dearly I’m glad it was not.

What I’m also very glad for is my son, Matthew. After prodding from his mother, the state certified paramedic pulled out that we kiddingly call his “almost-like-a-doctor” tools and checked on his father.

I had spent Saturday and Sunday sneezing and coughing up a storm, did the same and felt even worse on Monday at work, where a co-worker who is also a nurse, said later in the day that I had bronchitis. From previous bouts with the illness I believed she was right.

I steeled myself for the drive home. Coughing during the early part of the trip, it calmed down and then the hacking returned toward the end of my commute.

Finally, home I was sweating and wheezing. I could not catch my breath. Matt took out his stethoscope and checked my breathing. We decided to go a doc in the box in the area for an EKG. 

On the way I was coughing and not looking so good, according to Matt who used the description used by his EMT cohorts in the Copiague Fire Department. The words cannot be written in a family newspaper. It pretty much translates to mean you’re feeling like crap. 

He called in to the FD, took me there and had me climb into an ambulance. Matt took my blood pressure, read my EKG in the ambulance and put in an IV line. He and his colleagues were nothing but soothing and professional.

Then we were off to Southside hospital in Bay Shore. I’d rather been going to Southside restaurant in Lindenhurst, but I did not argue. At the hospital, Matt made sure the doctor knew exactly my condition and what was done and why.

The doctor confirmed my co-worker’s earlier diagnosis. Bronchitis is an inflammation of the lining of the bronchial tubes, which carry air to and from the lungs.

Matt remained with me through the more than four hours at the hospital. His mother came later. All we needed was my daughter, Elizabeth, and it could have been a family outing. 

At the end of the movie “The Rookie” the father finally watches his son play major league baseball, saying he missed too many of these moments as his son was growing up. 

I have listened to Matt’s stories story since he became a volunteer firefighter, an EMT and a paramedic. I never expected to be a patient, but I’m glad I didn’t miss that moment when my son, who I helped nurture, became my caregiver.