ABSTRACT
The greatest loss in my life is not something which has directly happened
to me, but it affects me and my family greatly. My greatest loss is that of my
father’s health, to be specific, his battle with an unknown, unexpected lung
condition, of which there is minimal to no medical history. It is a direct
result of his work as a firefighter during the attacks on New York City on
September 11. It is a condition which doctors for the past few years have
been trying to figure out, of which they have not even derived a name. While
we accept that those in the medical field speculate as to the extent of certain
conditions, how they will progress, and how they may be treated, my father’s
is a condition of which the speculation is truly a mystery. He has not lost his
life, but he is slowly losing much of his ability to breathe properly and
easily. It is a battle my family and I witness on a daily basis as he coughs,
struggles to do some physical activities, and can always be heard taking deep
breaths while he is sleeping. We do not speak much of his condition because
I think our fear of the inevitable forces us all to push this problem aside.
When I speak to him about what the doctors have said about the progress
of the condition, he is always very honest. He tells me in his most optimistic
voice that they think it will not spread any more, that the steroids they give
him are working. Every conversation is either interrupted by or followed
by a full, deep, heavy cough. It is no surprise that even his optimism does
not comfort me. He is a strong man who will do everything that he can to
not let us see that he is hurting. However, I know that he has physically
changed in these few, short years that have passed since he spent weeks at a
time breathing in the poisonous air with his colleagues. I can only hope that
he has many years to his life, however, now at the age of 44, I fear that the loss
of his lungs will take him from us much sooner. It will always be too soon.
