As the scientist in the family, Steve Scott takes on a new role when his dad must undergo heart surgery.

Steve is a science communicator and public engagement professional working at the Wellcome Genome Campus near Cambridge in the UK. He has a passion for helping scientists to find ways of sharing their stories, and a particular interest in engaging people with genetics and genomics. Steve also loves musical theatre, exploring nature, music that gets you dancing, and seeing the best in people!

This story originally aired on August 9, 2019 in an episode titled “My Parent's Child.”

Story Transcript

My dad and are sat together patiently waiting.  The waiting room is busy but there's not much chatter.  It’s quiet.  Presumably, everyone’s in the same position as us, waiting to have a conversation about a potentially life-changing operation. 

I’m there to support my dad.  We’re a close family.  My parents, my brother and I all live within spitting distance to each other in Cambridge.  And we’re always there for each other, we support each other, we laugh together.  But I’m the scientist in the family.  I’m the one who’s meant to know about biology and medical stuff.  I've got a PhD.  I used to do research into heart disease so I’m the one that’s got to help my dad in this situation. 

My mom and my brother are not so good in these kind of moments.  They're a little bit squeamish.  They don’t do great in those medical dramas you see on TV.  My brother, in particular, has got a bit of a phobia about hospitals and has a tendency to faint, so I've got to step up. 

I’m happy to do that.  I’m here to support my dad. 

Dad’s got this bit of a tendency to check out during hospital appointments and medical appointments.  He kind of gets a little bit overwhelmed by the situation and tends to kind of switch off a little bit.  His mind starts going so it’s useful I’m here.  I can take mental notes and report back afterwards. 

Eventually, dad’s name gets called and we walk our way into a gray room, a very gray room with gray walls, gray floors, a gray desk, gray chairs.  But sat on the desk is a handsome man wearing a nice clean-cut suit looking everything you want to see in the man who’s going to perform open-heart surgery on your dad. 

He starts to tell us what we’re to expect.  He's done some tests on dad and he's talking us through what those tests mean.  Dad’s got a leaky heart valve and he's going to do an operation to sort that out, to replace that heart valve. 

All good.  That’s what we’re expecting. 

Then he continues, “You've also got an aneurysm in the major artery from your heart.”

What?  That’s not what we’re expecting at all.  I look at dad and, yup, he's gone.  He's no longer in the room with me so this is where I need to step up, pay attention.  We’re going to get the third degree when we get home from mom so I need to make sure I’m making notes here. 

The doctor starts telling us what’s going to happen and he's very reassuring, “This is not unexpected for him.  This is normal.  It’s quite common for there to be an aneurysm when you have a leaky heart valve.” 

My mind, however, is going, “Aneurysm?  That’s not good at all.  They kind of pop, don’t they?  And that means game over.” 

But I take that in.  In essence, he's saying this is a simple plumbing job.  We get the plumbing sorted and you'll be fine.  Actually, you’re getting a pretty good deal.  You're getting life-saving surgery, not once but twice, and you get it all for that bargain price of one operation. 

So I’m feeling kind of reassured.  Dad?  Well, he's gone.  He's nowhere in this room anymore.  He's got that glazed look over his face. 

Eventually, we leave the room and we head back to the car and we’re kind of making strange small talk.  Then we sit together in the car and I realize this is where our roles are flipping slightly.  I've had dad reassuring me for all my life as I've been growing up and now I need to provide him with a bit of steel and a bit of reassurance. 

So I say to him, “It’s a simple plumbing job, Dad.  We just need to get the plumbing and get that sorted and then you'll be fine.  It’s all fixed.  Everything will be fine.” 

I think I’m saying that as much for myself as I am for my dad.  But in essence, that becomes our mantra over the next few months in the build-up to this operation.  “It’s a simple plumbing job.  You'll be fine.” 

A few months later, mom and I take dad to the hospital to Papworth and he goes and has his operation.  They fix the plumbing.  Everything is fine.  It all goes really well.  Dad’s recovering well.  He's in good spirits when mom visited him after the operation.  I think that’s partly because he's high as a kite on the morphine, but he's in good spirits.  He's flirting with the nurses in that embarrassing dad way, but he's okay.  He's on the road to recovery. 

The following day, I’m staying with mom, looking after her and we get up as normal, ready for another day, preparing to go and visit dad in the hospital later on that day.  We have our breakfast and then we go upstairs to get ourselves ready for the day.  So mom goes into the bedroom and fuss about like mom does in the bedroom.  I go into the bathroom and start brushing my teeth. 

The phone starts to ring.  I hear mom’s tiny, little footsteps walking across the bedroom and then the phone stops ringing and I can hear mom’s muffled voice on the end.  I can hear her going, “Okay.  Uh-huh.”  But every time I hear her voice, it gets softer and it gets lower. 

I can tell just by hearing that one side of the conversation that this is not a good conversation, so my heart starts racing.  My brain starts going overtime.  I’m thinking, “Well, something is not good.  What’s up with Dad?  What’s happening?  Is this something really bad?  Did something catastrophic happen overnight?” 

So I start to make my way into the bedroom and I see mom sat there on the edge of the bed, still with the phone to her ear and she's got her shoulders hunched over.  She's not saying an awful lot and it’s clear from her face that things are grim. 

I sit next to her and I wait for the call to end, trying to get some gauge of how bad this is.  Eventually, mom puts the phone down and I ask her, “Is everything okay?”

My mom goes, “He's got a chest infection.  He's back in intensive care,” and then she starts crying and I have to step up again. 

I've got to help mom here, and I’m putting my arm around her and making sure she's okay, consoling her as best as I can, but in my head I’m thinking, “Whoa, whoa, whoa.  This is not what’s meant to happen.” 

And I’m thinking, “I’m not mature enough for this.  I can’t help Mom in this situation.  How am I meant to help her?  What is this going to mean?  How am I going to support my dad?  How am I going to support my mom?”  

My brain is whizzing around and around and around and then, boom, I’m out.  I fainted.  I’m out sparkling.  I’m laying on my back on the bed and then I hear mom’s voice saying my name over and over again. 

“Steve.”  Then getting a bit more anxious, “Steve.” 

Eventually, I come to, feeling pretty lightheaded.  I can see my mom kind of sat over me.  She even goes as far as to slap my face, which I think was a bit too much.  But I come around and mom starts apologizing, starts saying, “I’m really sorry, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I've got to get a grip.  I’m really sorry, Steve.” 

Eventually, I kind of sit up and then I just keep moving forward and put my head between my knees, because that’s what I need right now.  My head is really light.  I think that’s partly because I've just fainted but also because I think there's just a weight kind of lifted off me.  That pressure I'd been feeling for the last few months, all the worries and things that I'd been feeling is just suddenly no longer a secret and I’m sharing it. 

Mom and I chat and mom apologizes.  I think she's realized that this is my dad as well as her husband.  This is my dad.  Her fears are the same as the fears that I've been having.  So we vow we need to support each other. 

Mom says, “You know, I need to support you, I need to help you.”  

So my mom’s back.  She's being my mom again.  And I vow to support her as best I can even though I’m feeling like I’m a bit out of my depth. 

That day, later on, we make our plans to go to the hospital to visit dad in intensive care and I’m worrying about what dad’s going to look like.  We've all watched those medical dramas and intensive care is never a great word so I’m wondering what sort of state my dad is going to be.  We walk through the doors and we pass people lying flat on beds with all kinds of machines connected to them and beeping and all kinds of noises.  And then I look across the ward and I can see my dad. 

He's sat in a chair and he's got what looks like a full gas mask on his face.  So he's basically being fed oxygen through a mask that covers the whole of his face.  But underneath that mask, I can see there's my dad giving me a reassuring wry smile as if to say, “Son, I’m all right,” and I feel so much better.  I feel so much better. 

So we go and we spend a bit of time with dad.  It’s ridiculous because he's got this bloody stupid mask all over his face.  Then he has to eat a fruit salad and he's picking individual bits of fruit and having to lift it underneath the mask and trying to get it in, and he's looking so guilty about it as if he's eating some kind of contraband that you shouldn’t be eating in a hospital.  It’s fruit, dad, for goodness sake. 

So he's doing okay.  We manage to persuade my brother to go and visit as well.  Despite all of my brother’s fears about hospital, we see he does really well and he agrees to go in.  He spends some time with dad and he does great. 

Then the nurse comes and says, “We need to take some of your dad’s blood,” and that’s where my brother makes his excuses and makes a swift exit and makes his way to the door, and goes flying, faints completely out of it again. 

We look back at those days and we often talk about my brother fainting in ICU and we laugh at him and point at him and it’s all good fun.  And I don't think my brother nor my dad realize that I fainted too.  It’s a little secret between me and my mom, and now a hundred people in this room. 

But in essence, that day marked a real change.  My dad is the guy that I look up to.  I aspire to be like him.  He's given me so much guidance, reassurance, support, help, love through my years growing up.  He's even done a few plumbing jobs for me around the house, which is great.  But now, it’s flipped a little bit and he's now looking for me for some guidance, reassurance and support.  That’s a little bit weird, but it’s fine because he's my dad.  I love him and I'll always be there for him.  Thank you.