“And you are?”
“I’m the patient’s son.”
The doctor nodded and shook the outstretched hand. “Mr. Drake suffered what’s known as a coronary artery spasm—in layman’s terms, a very mild heart attack.”
“Oh, goodness!” Mary cried, voicing what some of the others had felt. Her own father had died when she was thirty, just ten years after she and David Jr. had married. Now, at seventy-eight, she’d known Papa Dee longer than she’d known her own flesh and blood, and loved him not one bit less. “A heart attack is serious. What are you going to do? A bypass? How can you say that he’ll be fine?”
“Your concern is understandable,” Dr. Saunders replied, his voice firm and matter-of-fact. “Heart attacks can be very serious, and very damaging. Fortunately, what Mr. Drake experienced is the very least of what can happen when the artery wall tightens and blood flow through that artery is restricted.”
“What is the treatment?” Dexter appeared calmer than he’d looked since Papa Dee dropped to the ground.
“We’re still performing tests to determine plaque buildup and other potential causes for the blockage, but in most cases the problems can be solved with medication.”
“Can we see him?”
“He’s still in ICU, but we’ll have him in a private room shortly. The nurse will let you know when he’s been moved.”
The family asked a few more questions, received the doctor’s reassurances and then sat down to wait. Only after looking around the room and then the hallways did Dexter realize that sometime during Dr. Saunders’ explanation, the angel who’d likely saved his great-grandfather’s life had left Loma Linda.
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