Between Beeps

March 2023. After school, I made my way home as usual. I joked with friends on the bus, then admired the trees along the highway as I walked from the stop.

“I’m home,” I called out to my mom.

“Good, good. I need you to read this; it's your dad’s report. Tell me what it says about his kidney stones,” my mom exclaimed, shoving the paper into my hands.

I rolled my eyes and sighed as I threw my bag on the floor. I skimmed the report but stopped around the third section. Then suddenly, my hands went weak. I almost dropped the paper.

The words jumped out: "Shows symptoms of coronary artery disease.” I remembered learning about it just a week prior in the living environment.

“Forget about the kidney stone, Mama, Papa needs to be checked for this immediately! He might have a heart problem!” I shouted as I sprinted towards the kitchen.

“WHAT?” My mom screamed, dropping the cooking utensils and hurrying to call my dad.

RING RING RING RING RING.

I stood across from my mother, gritting my teeth. Her hands shook as she dialed him. Each voicemail made her gasp in short, fierce breaths. A shiver ran down my spine as every worst-case scenario filled my mind. Finally, my dad picked up the phone.

“When you get off work, go straight to the hospital, I’ll meet you there with your report,” my mom said before he could even say a word. She raced to the closet by the front door, leaving a rush of air that almost shoved me aside. I trail behind her, but stop once I reach the door. However, I couldn’t bring myself to go with her. If I went to the building full of the crowd in need of serious medical attention, that meant there was a reason to worry about my dad possibly joining them. I plop down on the bed in our prayer room, burying my head in my hands.

“He's going to be okay,” I whispered low enough for only myself to hear, “I’m not a doctor…I just read the report wrong.”

“Where is Mom going?” I snap my head up to see my brother’s big, brown doe eyes fixed on me. His hair sticks out in every direction, and in his hands, he is clutching a small blue toy car. At only 4’9, he stands tall in front of me, radiating his innocence. My eyes flood with tears as they meet him. My heart takes the form of temperate glass, one crack away from shattering.

“She just went to the store to get some groceries,” I lied quickly, looking away. My mother didn’t come home until midnight. My countless excuses finally put my brother to sleep. I lay in bed with him, brushing his hair with my fingers as my mom finally walks in.

“Go to bed, you have school tomorrow” she mumbled. I didn’t respond; I was too busy searching her figure for any hint at what might’ve happened while she was gone. She kept a poker face, determined to hide the truth, but her eyes gave away the exhaustion. I decided she had had enough for the day and went to bed, leaving my questions unanswered.

The next day, I brush my teeth and get dressed for school. I grab my baseball bat and head out, completely unfazed, despite the chaos from the day before. My mom drove me to school, but I wasn’t focused on her. I had one thing on my mind, and that was showing off my skills at tryouts. After a lengthy and dull school day, I made my way to the gym, and the trial began. My eyes focused on the ball as it soared through the air into my glove. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace as my bat made contact with the ball. I headed home confident about my performance. Once I set foot in my house, my mother called out, “I need you to stay with your dad tomorrow. They’re giving him an endograft, but I have work, and your sister has softball tryouts. Nav, someone has to be there for him.” I felt my face turn red as it began to feel hot.

“I haven’t missed a day of school in years! How will I know if I made it to the second stage of tryouts? Why does it have to be me? I have a life too!” I shouted, storming into my room. I threw myself onto my bed, landing on my stomach. Pushing my head back, I was able to look through the window. I stared at the green leaves on the trees dancing in the wind until the sun went down. When I woke up the next morning, I refused to eat or dress up. I was still bothered that they were making me go without giving me the right to choose. I didn’t understand why it was so important for someone to be there. He would be home right after this; he’s not sick, unlike the people who should occupy the room he was in. I tossed on an oversized black graphic tee with baggy grey sweatpants and waited impatiently in the cold, dark entrance of the hospital where they kept him. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but visiting hours began, my mom dropped me off at his room, and shuffled to the exit. I slowly lowered myself into the sofa chair next to his stretcher, my eyes not leaving his body for a second. I surveyed his limp body as he slept. His skin had lost its color, and he was completely pale and clammy. There were multiple tubes connected to him that I traced down to the floor. The sun eventually rose, and he woke up. I ultimately looked away and chose to email all my teachers about my situation. It was official, my 4 year long perfect attendance streak was finally broken for something I was convinced was a minor setback. The doctor eventually arrived, cautiously explaining the procedure to me as the handful of shifty nurses who followed him prepared my dad. My eyes darted back and forth between the doctor and my dad.

“It will only take 30 minutes. You can wait outside for him,” the tall man in a white coat with neatly combed brown hair said, his tone serious and professional. Unable to sit still, I paced back and forth. The sobs of the families surrounding me echoed in my head. No one was by my side to comfort me. My heart sped up, my stomach twisting. Suddenly, a small hand rested on my shoulder. It was my mom, after losing my perception of time, I assumed it was past 1 pm since she was off work. My mind eased knowing I was in the presence of someone I knew. She sat me down and insisted that I pray with her.

“I don’t want them to put a stent in your father. I heard it's dangerous. Pray with me that he won’t need a silly procedure,” my mother delivered in a stern voice. Shortly after , they wheeled my dad into the ICU and invited us in. An electronic translator accompanied us. The unreadable man wasn’t escorted by nurses this time, but another man around his height but slightly darker and chubbier. This mysterious man wasn’t wearing white like the rest of them, but blue, tearable scrubs with teal gloves and a scrub cap. The man who once remained professional now spoke to me in a gentler tone.

“Your dad needs immediate open-heart surgery. His three main blood vessels are severely damaged. The most important is 100% closed, the second is 80%, and the third is at 20%. It’s a miracle that he’s alive,” the man said in a clear, calm voice. My mother burst into tears as she fell to her knees. I walked out of the room, completely shutting out my father, who looked at me with his hopeless eyes, and my mother, breaking down on the floor. Once I met with them again, I called everyone I was asked to and spoke to them for my mother. She couldn’t form words through her tears, so I kept myself together for all of us. I informed my grandparents, uncles, and family friends that he would be going into surgery the next day. His best friend immediately showed up to be there for us. The hospital staff transported him to a different hospital that specialized in heart surgery. I researched all night about the surgeon who would be cutting open my dad and refused to go home. The guilt of not wanting to be in school instead of with him was eating me alive. I woke up the following morning to my mother shaking me. It was time for him to go into surgery. I glanced at my mother as they rolled his stretcher into the operating room. She looked as if she was going to have a nervous breakdown. My father stared at me, his head covered in a stringy blue hair net and face hidden by a blue mask. His brown eyes were the most visible. The long period of eye contact reminded me of my younger brother and how he had no idea our lives could change forever at any moment. He entered the operating room at 9 am and remained there until 3 pm. My friend texted me a picture as I waited, showing that I had made it to the second part of tryouts. I realized how stupid I was to have wanted to put a lousy sport over my dad. We rushed to see him when he got out. The floor staff warned he might not be able to communicate due to the anesthesia, but he rose immediately at the sound of my mother’s voice. She had to leave again the following day, as I spent my 3rd day with him. However, this day was different. The vibe was gloomier, and the sun was hidden behind the clouds. The darkness outside the window of his ICU room expressed the darkness I felt inside my heart. I continued to ignore it since it wasn’t nearly as important as my dad’s health. My mother disappeared to her job again, and I was left in the tenebrous, silent room alone with my dad once again. The machine monitoring his heart beeped rapidly, signaling a sudden drop in rhythm. My eyes widened. I staggered into a corner. I watched the concerned nurse tug on the tubes and machines he was hooked up to. I pressed my eyes closed, trying to protect myself from the terror.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

At that moment, I was two and had just come to the US. Every night, my dad would come home past dinner and greet me with a wide smile on his face, showing all his teeth. My sister and I climbed onto his back. I didn’t know what he sacrificed to provide for me.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Then, I remembered when I was 9, I was racing my father to the fence. He let me win, but I scraped my knee. The big, strong man who lost to me carried me back inside. He blew on my injury, laughing with me as my mother cleaned the wound.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Afterwards, I thought of the time of year when my sister and I would raid our parents’ closets and try on their clothes. We’d force them to sit and watch the play we put together, pretending to act like our parents. I would always be the one to dress up like my dad.

The room went silent, and I slowly opened my eyes. Thankfully, they were able to save my dad.

In that moment, I learnt not to take such simple things for granted. The strong man who carried me through my childhood now needed me to help hold him up and keep him going.

I understood all the hardships my dad endured for me and my family. My life felt easy because he had quietly shouldered the weight of my mistakes. In a week worth of time, I had almost lost someone who kept me together so effortlessly. I recognized all that I overlooked. Today, my dad and I always catch up, asking each other about how our day went. I frequently check up on him and read all his reports without anyone needing to ask. I’ve begun to notice the small things in everyday life and appreciate them more: my parents’ tired faces after a long day, my brother’s joy over a new toy, my sister’s loud complaints about her teammates. I don’t take these moments for granted anymore. In the end, this has made me a better person and reminded me to always express gratitude towards everything I have because every gift life offers is a privilege, regardless of how simple it seems.