Terry.

     My dad has always been a hard worker.  He never complains, and rarely gets ill.  But on Monday, October 19th of '98, my dad came home from work feeling sick.  We knew it must be a big deal if he was even bothering to mention it.  He tried not to stress too much about it and went off to work the next day.  By the time he got home on Tuesday, he told my mother he was going to see a doctor.  As they were about to send him home, they discovered that not only was his heart enlarged, but he also had a murmur.  He was sent to hospital immediately. 

     While in the hospital, he was being pumped full of antibiotics.  They knew that his heart valve was bad but no one was sure why.  They could only assume a virus had attacked it.  Nothing else was apparent.  After days of watching him get worse, my mother was certain he was dying.  His oxygen levels were consistently dropping and his body was unaffected by the antibiotics.  My mother was asked to leave the room so the doctors could speak with my father privately.  They drilled him about his habits, assuming he had taken some sort of drugs.  Why wasn't he improving?  They didn't understand what was wrong and that seemed to be the only logical explanation.  He swore he had done nothing.

     As Saturday rolled around, my dad's aorta was beginning to rupture and know one knew.  They fed him breakfast because his valve replacement surgery was scheduled for later.  However, a short time after, people began to rush around and my mom was promptly asked to sign off on paperwork.  They needed to get him into surgery immediately!  The surgeon had opened his chest just in time to save his life.  My dad was only 34 years old.

Terry, Rhonda and Andy 2008
10 years after surgery

     I remember very little during this time.  This was the most trauma I had ever experienced and I believe I have blocked it all from memory.  The only thing I do remember is visiting my dad in ICU.  He was so swollen I didn't recognize him.  After all, he was "clinically dead" for roughly 12 hours.  I didn't stay long.  I couldn't believe what was in front of me.  Little did I know it would always haunt me.

     At this point, red flags began to surface.  What was wrong with our family? Could it honestly all be coincidence?  My brother Andy and I began seeing a cardiologist shortly after my dad's surgery. They had never heard of anything like what we were describing to them.  The only thing they knew to do was to begin measuring the size of our aortas.  At the time, I was in 7th grade and Andy was in 4th.  The doctor told me that the size of my aorta was classified as a "gray area".  They would need to see me once a year to monitor any future growth.  Since Andy was so young, his aorta registered at normal, but given a developing family history, he would also continue to be monitored. 

     From this point on, I would live each day in fear as our questions would remain unanswered for 13 years.  The sound of my heartbeat was no longer a sign of life.  It was a constant reminder of what might be out to get me.  What did this mean for us?  Who would be affected?  How would it change our lives? 

I still wish I didn't know the answer to those questions.