the heart is a lonely hunter

My father left work early on Monday. He was painting an apartment when suddenly he felt very weak. He also described pain down his right arm and side. He asked his partner to clean up for him, and he headed for the hospital, figuring if he was having a heart attack, he could just roll out of the car, in the FH parking lot, and someone would take care of him.
Well, the feeling subsided, so instead of staying the course, he went home. And told my mother. Who then told me. While I was working and therefore powerless. Over the course of several heated conversations with my parents, I made absolutely no headway towards convincing him to get to the hospital. In fairness to my father, it's not just his bullheadedness nor his refusal to listen to anything his daughter says, he has very, very crappy health insurance.
Nonetheless, I decided to play all my cards. When the longest work day of my life finally ended, I stopped in at my parents' house and laid down my cards. My father's response was to tell me he felt fine, had experienced no further sensations like the morning, and probably it was indigestion. I wasn't scheduled to work the next day, and I offered to take him to a doctor or urgicare center. I also offered to go with him to MetroHealth where he qualifies for state medical assistance (but it would be a day of paperwork first). He blew me off. I left in a huff, angry with both my parents.
Unbeknownst to me, my mom and dad worked out a bargain: she would leave him alone about going to the doctor if he promised to go to the ER, immediately, if the pain returned. Better they didn't tell me about this because I wouldn't have trusted them anyways, and I would have been openly critical of their wishy-washy, mamby-pamby plan anyways.
Whether it was love for my mother, or the compunction of his word, or two hours' listening to Carl tell him how foolish he was being (Carl had a heart attack 9 years ago), or the thought of not being able to hold his granddaughter (yes, I played that card), at 11:00 PM, when he felt the familiar pain in his chest, he woke my mother up, and she took him to the ER.
Early the next morning, Mr. R. walked into our weight room and beckoned me to the phone. It's always serious when he interrupts my ride. It was my dad, and his trip to the ER confirmed that Monday's episode was, in fact, a heart attack. Later that day, he underwent a catheterization which revealed 90% blockage in the main artery, 30% in the left, and 40% in the right. The doctors cleaned out a fair amount of plaque and a blood clot from the main artery and implanted a stent. Afterwards, the main concern shifted to his leg and the artery that served as roadmap for the catheter. For 45 minutes, 2 nurses applied direct pressure to the incision. Next, he had to lay perfectly still, on his back, for 8-9 hours. About 1/3 of the way through, his nurse placed a sandbag on his groin to steady the leg even further.
And, because life is nothing if not absurd, we experienced high winds all night on this, the first night my father ever spent in hospital. A huge chunk of tree blew down onto their driveway, crosswise, and pulled a power and cable line with it. Mr. R risked life and limb to move the tree out of the way so my mother could access her car, but as of this writing, the house is still partially without power. My father, however, is home safely.
I wonder if he'll see this as I do - a blessing, a second chance, a karmic break? And, I wonder what he will do with it? It's not difficult to understand why he had the attack: 40 years of smoking; 60 years of my grandmother's authentic, delicious Southern cooking; red meat at the exclusion of all others; and a very cavalier approach to self-preservation. Things come easy to my dad, especially physically. I don't hold any of this against him as we all take risks with our bodies, and I am certainly no exception. But I do wonder what comes next - the devil you know or the dark unknown?