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My Dad And My Father Video

He was placed on a ventilator a couple of days later.

His doctors believed he now never would. Read: A failure of empathy led todeaths. It has deep roots.

I remembered a song my dad had used to sing me to sleep at night. He had terrible pitch, really, but imbued the words with such meaning.

Then, miraculously, though with agonizing slowness, he started to wake up. Eventually, days after he was first admitted to the hospital—last week, as I write this—he came back home. The British government had imposed a lockdown a few days earlier—but the announcement had come with a time delay, which made it feel considerably less urgent than it should have felt. Like many others, I went out to the pub the night before lockdown came into force.

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It all seemed like a lark at the time, in a way that feels strange even to remember. Although experts and hospitals were sounding the alarm, warning that they might soon be overwhelmed, that the danger was clear and present, I had—a lot of us had, I suppose, back in the before times—a feeling of invincibility with which it is now impossible to empathize. That pub trip will haunt me for the rest of my life. The next day, Dad woke up exhausted, and complaining of stomach trouble.

He go here most of the day in bed, and the rest on the toilet. The following morning, I found him facedown at the breakfast table. My Dad And My Father him Fatherr, I felt the first spike of real fear—a fear that would stay with me for months.

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I called the U. That really shook me. Hours passed before paramedics finally arrived to take Dad to the hospital. The paramedics were kind. Then they lifted Dad into the ambulance and closed the door. It sat there, doors closed, for about 10 more minutes.

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I stress-smoked a cigarette. Then, at 11 p. When Dad first caught COVID, his chance of survival was statistically decent—somewhere between 90 and 99 percent, from what I could figure out during the hours I spent in the dark, obsessively reading research papers.]