Two weeks ago, my dad called and said that my mom’s brother, uncle Jerry, had experienced a mild heart attack.
“Is he alive?” I asked. We’d been down this road before.
She lost one of her brothers to his umpteenth heart attack in 2008. She lost her father to Parkinson’s. She lost her mother and stepmother to cancer. And now, out of the four children, only the two females have avoided diabetes (so far).
“He’s alive and should make a full recovery. Your mother is at the hospital. You should call her.”
Immediately, I phoned and listened to the sterile details. She maintained composure but I knew it was a facade. I knew that familiar voice all too well—that “I’m holding myself together only because I’m the strongest pillar in the family” voice—as her nieces and nephews sat nearby, hoping for good news.
“Was that his first?” I asked. There is no such thing as a good heart attack, but chances of survival are greatest for the first. “Yeah.” “He needs to switch to a plant-based diet,” I responded before I could filter myself.
This article appears in Jun 14-20, 2012.