Two years ago, I learned the hard way that sometimes, the people you rely on the most can let you down in the worst possible way. I was 19, living with my dad, and what started as mild cold symptoms spiraled into something far more serious. But every plea for help was dismissed, ignored, or met with outright frustration.
Around that time, my dad’s coworker had been diagnosed with colon cancer. Naturally, he was worried about her and went out of his way to help. He visited her daily, brought her gift baskets, and was constantly checking in. I understood his concern, but his focus on her meant that I was left to deal with my deteriorating health alone.
At first, I thought I had a cold. But as weeks turned into months, my symptoms worsened, and new ones emerged. I started to realize something wasn’t right. I told my dad I needed to see a doctor, but he brushed me off, calling me dramatic and telling me to stay in bed. He was too busy with his coworker to pay attention to me.
I kept asking for help, but every time, he’d argue or dismiss me. When I called in sick to work one day, he stopped speaking to me for a week, saying I was lazy and needed to grow up. Eventually, I gave up asking him.
When I decided to get tested for COVID as a last-ditch effort to figure out what was wrong, he called me during the taxi ride to the testing center. His response was to mock me, saying, “You want to see someone who’s actually sick? Look at [coworker’s name].” He told me I was wasting my time.
I never made it to the testing center. I collapsed in the taxi and woke up in the hospital, where I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. The doctors told me I had been living with it for nearly a year without treatment and was dangerously close to a life-threatening situation. They asked why I hadn’t sought medical attention sooner. I explained everything, and they made it clear that ignoring the symptoms could have cost me my life.
When I got home, I was furious. I slammed my diagnosis papers onto the table in front of my dad. Before he could even process what he was looking at, I punched him. I was overwhelmed with anger at how he had ignored my cries for help, how he had prioritized a coworker over his own child.
That punch was the beginning of the end for our relationship. He didn’t speak to me for days, and years later, we barely talk. When we do, he still brings it up, as if that single moment defines everything.
But the truth is, that punch didn’t ruin our relationship—his neglect did. He chose to ignore my health, dismiss my concerns, and belittle my pain. That’s what broke us.