On the morning of Friday, January 31st, my sister Kirsten called me and said these terrifying words: "It's Dad." 

He had checked himself into a hospital in Mexico when he found himself suffering with severe chest pain, profuse sweating and extremely high blood pressure. He could barely breathe on his own, anymore. The doctor told us he was stabilized for the moment, but they suspected congestive heart failure, and said that the administration of his hospital would need a deposit of several thousand dollars simply to admit him for examination and potential treatment. 

Never mind the several thousand dollars, Kirsten and I needed magic carpets to fly us down to Mexico in a flash, so that our father wouldn't wake up in that condition all alone. I asked if there was a public hospital to which he could be transferred, and we were told it was a death trap under the best of circumstances. We couldn't have been more grateful when, within moments, the doctor called again to say that Mia Flato had arrived at the hospital and put her own credit card down to have Dad admitted and examined. Hero of heroes! Champion of champions! Not just because she was so generous with her finances (they are good friends, these days, and this is something you'd more likely see from a life partner), but because our father was no longer facing this alone. She is still taking care of his apartment, his beloved pup Corky, and coming to the hospital to be with him every day. 

The eventual diagnosis does sound grim. He has 2 completely blocked arteries and a 3rd which is 98% blocked. Survival isn't expected when the 3rd reaches 95% blockage. A simple stent placement in that 3rd artery will put him back in our futures, and I need my Dad in my future!

This is the man who put my feet on his toes to dance me around the living room when I was too little to do anything but cling to his hands and laugh. He put too much tinsel on the Christmas trees and played all the best music and told elaborate stories about anything I asked, just to keep life fun. He taught me to love music, and never let anything get him down. He took my daughter into his home and gave her a quiet and loving place to be when my life was turned upside down. I have always come to him with my problems (and my friends' problems), and he responds like a true freedom fighter on all of our accounts. He became a criminal defense attorney in the 1970s because he could see genuine human beings as they were treated like pond scum and cattle in the criminal justice system, and he wanted to change their lives. He wanted to re calibrate the system itself, so that it would operate on the basis of truth and righteous judgment, and he put everything of himself into the cause of freeing the oppressed and giving light to those who walked in darkness. He is the kind of man who doesn't hesitate for a second when there is something you need; you are not even done asking him about it before you hear a bright and cheerful "Sure! I was just making something to eat, why don't you come over and we'll talk about it - you need to try this pasta, it's out of this world. Have you heard the new Jason Isbell, yet? I'll play it for you." And you would know that no matter what you thought was wrong, everything was going to be alright, now.

Please help us find a way to give that beautiful feeling back to him, somehow, and let him know that we love him, we're all here for him, and everything is going to be alright now. 

Thank you.