Happy (belated) New Year everyone! So much has been happening, and I apologize, but blogging has kind of been the last thing on my mind. But today, here I am. And I'm going to start Da Capo. From the beggining.
It was about a month ago I'd say, December 13th or so, when things went awry with my brother. It was finals week, a thursday morning, when we received the call. I was getting ready, and had time to look at the phone with a confused look on my face before picking it up. My Gradnma had picked it up at the same time and it was a shocking, gut wrenching, terrifying thing when my Mom said to pray, that my precious brother had a stroke.
I'll be honest, it didn't really make any sense to me. I didn't know what that meant, I didn't know what to do about it. I continued to get ready for school, my whole world kind of fuzzy, dream-like. I told my friend from school, and she said she would drive me and my Grandma to the hospital. I went.
It's hard to remember, but I don't think I saw him that day. He was in for surgery, a life-threatening surgery that hadn't been done on someone as young as him before. I waited in the PICU waiting room, where he had been when it had first been determined that he had a heart condition, before he got the surgery for his artifical heart. I stayed with Mom who was crying on and off. She told me the tragic story, kept saying how terrible it was.
He had called for Dad around six thirty or seven in the morning and then he started to whimper and breathe hard. Mom told him that Dad was sleeping but she could help him, and what did he need? Did he have to go to the bathroom? He just continued to whimper and suck back laboured breaths. Mom told him he couldn't do that, he was scaring her.
In the dark she said it was hard to tell, but the side of his face looked like it was drooping. She flicked on the light, and it was. She called for the nurses, said she doesn't remember exactly what she said but something about there being 'something wrong,' and that my brother 'was having a stroke'.
The doctors later said that 'the stars had aligned' and that there was 'good luck in the bad luck' with how everything afterwards had transpired.
The anethesiologist wasn't currently occupied, and was ready for them when they wheeled my brother in. In addition, they had managed to catch the stroke within a four hour period. That window apparently helps to make the chances of recovery that much better if you can deal with the clot in that time period. The surgery went super well, they got nintey eight percent of the clot out, and were able to have my brother in the PICU again within probably five hours of the stroke.
The bad news? He was taken off the transplant list because in the state he was in, he wouldn't be able to support a new heart, even if one came. But, he was on his way to recovering from the stroke. Even though there had been a massive step backwards, he could start taking tiny steps forward again.
I went back to school on Friday, and finished the final exam on my class on the book of Joshua, as well as the test on the book of Acts that I had missed. That night, I do beleive, I went to the house near the hospital where my Mom was staying. It is a facility that is specifically designed for parents, and the families of pediatric patients who need to have access to the hospital at any moment. There are huge kitchen areas, a kids room, a gym, entertainment rooms, a library. It's an amazing facility, truly.
I stayed for the first week of my Christmas break, stopping off at home occasionally to grab a few new outfits, or workout. Now, I would be lying if I said that I totally enjoyed staying there. It was good to have that time with my Mom, but it was hard too. She wasn't herself, and was suffering from the trauma of having found my brother while he was having a stroke. She would wake up in the middle of the night while having a panic attack, or would start crying out of nowhere. She would be fine one moment, and a complete mess the next. She would say that she didn't understand, she would say that her kids were her life, how could this happen? She would say over and over that she just wanted God to heal him. She would ask me, again and again, if I really thought he was going to be okay.
What could I do, but tell her yes, I really believed that. And I did, but I was just as scared as anyone after his stroke. What if I was wrong? What if that feeling I had, that certainty that he would be okay, was just a different form of denial?
We received some good news a couple days later. My brother would be put back on the list for a transplant, at a higher status. That meant he could recveive a heart from anywhere in North America, not just from our country. But, it was a catch twenty two. Unless a perfect heart came in the next two weeks, they didn't want to do a transplant. They figured it would pose more risks to my brother than anything. At the same time, the doctors thought that it was risky for my brother to be on the heatware now because there was the possibility of another clot forming/being in the decive and it could go to his brain and cause another stroke.
We were all a little on edge.
Then, he started to throw up, and throw up a lot. Then he started to vomit blood. To be honest, I got mad at God. Wondered why He would let this happen. Wondered if He cared. Wondered if He really could just heal my brother's heart in a miraculous turn of events. And if He could, why didn't He? But, it wasn't my place to question God, or doubt Him, or ask why He wasn't doing things the way I thought they should be done. I heard it said once that asking God why contains an arrogance and pride that implies that you somehow deserve and answer. Who are we to God that we should ask Him why He does what He does? He knows better than we ever will, and we just have to trust Him, even when it doesn't make sense.
My brother went in for a scope, and they discovered that he had a contagious bacteria called CDIF. That was what was causing him to throw up so much, and the throwing up caused some superficial cuts on the walls of his stomach. But, that was the best news we could have gotten. It wasn't fatal, it wasn't tragic, it was good news. They knew how to treat him now, and he could start getting even better. He was put into isolation, and we had to wear gloves and gowns to see him, but it was a small price to pay. I am a bit of hypocondriac, so I must admit that I washed my hands rigerously after seeing him, and I didn't bring in a whole lot to his room, just incase. But that didn't mean I didn't see him, and certainly didn't mean I didn't love him. I visited him one morning, just me, while my Mom and Dad went to go check the house that they would be moving into in a month and a half. He slept most of the time, but I watched him, my heart swelling in my chest. I tousled his hair, pulled his blanket up around his shoulders, grabbed his left hand, which stayed clenched a lot after his stroke. I just knew he was going to make it. God would take care of him.
He was taken upstairs again, back to his old room, and a whole bunch of his old nurses were there to say hello, and welcome him back. He was still in isolation, but that was almost a blessing in disguise. It meant that he needed a nurse to be with him at all times, and that helped put everyone a little more at ease. He was well taken care of.
At the end of the week I went home to pretend that things were somewhat normal. My other sibilings were coming to the city to stay with me and my Grandparents for their Christmas holidays. I couldn't wait. To have the busy-ness, the hustle and bustle, my family, around me? That would be wonderful. A great distraction. Something good in the midst of the bad.
When Christmas Eve rolled around, my siblings went to 'The House', to be with Mom and open up some presents. I had invited my biological Dad (we'll call him The Drummer, for ease of understanding), his mom and my step-mom to the Christmas Eve service at my church. It was fantastic! I couldn't help but watch The Drummer, and my other family to see how they liked it. The Drummer and my step-mom aren't saved, and it's kind of hard to know about my Grandma on that side. She used to be Roman Catholic, but kind of is more holistic than anything now. I so desperatly want them all to see that God is amazing! That He doesn't have to be boring, sit, stand, pray, kneel, the way we try and make Him. And the Christmas Eve servie was a good way to introduce them to my church, and the exciting God we worship there, without being too 'in your face this is church yo!'
They said they enjoyed it, which was great, and then they drove me to 'The House' to be with my Mom and siblings for the rest of the night. I opened up my presents, distrubuted those I had bought to my siblings, and then crawled into bed. It was a strange kind of experience. Different, I suppose, is the best word to describe it. My Dad wasn't there (not The Drummer, but my step-dad), and neither was my youngest brother. It was strange not having Christmas with my whole family.
But, in the morning we went to the hospital to be with the rest of the family. My littlest sister couldn't come though, because she was sick and my little brother was really suseptable to sickness. If he even caught a cold it could be not good. Like--really not good.
So Christmas was spent with most of the family, in a hospital room, in gowns, gloves, and masks, because my Mom was paranoid that we were carrying sick germs. It became a joke later, that she was being over-protective and that we would be masking up because we had been around people who had been around people who were sick. It made her laugh when we later told her one of the nurses asked us why we were wearing masks, because we didn't need too. But we were happy to oblige, and it was for the best anyways.
My Auntie had dropped off some homemade perogies, smoked turkey, and cabbage rolls for Christmas dinner for my parents at the hospital. We all ate some, though my brother couldn't hold down that food, so we ate outside his room while he was sleeping. In the evening we went home because he was falling asleep, and me and my sister ate some of the dinner my Grandma had made, and we watched the Avengers with my Uncle, my Grandma, my Grandpa, and our two younger siblings.*
*I have four siblings. My youngest sibling, in the hospital, a nine year old sister, an eleven year old brother, and a sixteen year old sister who also happens to be my best friend ever and the Flute player.
Me and my sister, the Flute, spent so much time together while she was here. She really, REALLY, loves Anime, so we watched a fair bit. We also drew some pictures, wrote, talked, walked to the store about a hundred different times, drank some Starbucks, watched movies with the family. It was fun. One of my favourite things though was definitely Thursday. I have a best friend who I've known since I was in kindergarden, and she's probably a Tuba player. I know the Tuba has a negative connotation, like the nerdy kid plays the Tuba, but I'd like to kill that stereotype now. The Tuba players I know are all very self assured, confident, don't care what other people think about them, and very skilled. They are gutsy, strong, and an essential part of the band. That's my friend.
Now, it doesn't seem like a Trumpet, a Tuba, and a Flute, would go together that well, but they do. Me and my sister walked over to the Starbucks near my house and met up with the Tuba. I got a Chai Tea Latte, my sister got a Caramel Machiatto, and the Tuba got a Double Chocolate Chip Frapaccino. We walked over to a bus terminal with our drinks in tow, and bussed it to the biggest mall in the city. We bought ourselves some frozen yogurt, and walked all around the mall, talking, laughing, joking, making jabs at eachother, and all around having a good time. When we had finished looking at everything there was to see, we bussed over to the Olive Garden and had some of the best pasta ever. We laughed so hard when I looked out the window and said that when we were done we should go to the coffee place across the street.
We hit her house afterwards, sitting around and just talking for a bit before me and my sister bussed back to my place and continued to stay up for the rest of the night, watching anime and laughing hard with eachother. It was a good day, for sure.
My siblings went back just yesterday, and I have to admit I was really sad to see them go. They will be moving to the city in about three weeks, but I almost feel as though I can't make it that long. Spending that much concentrated time with them makes me realize how much I missed having them around. Not that it hasn't been a fun, amazing adventure, but I'm a family girl for sure. I think once there here I'll be there, or they'll be here probably every weekend.
Oh yah, and the best part of ever! The Friday before my Thursday almost quartet adventure, I got a call from my Mom.
"Your brother is getting a heart!"
So now, my little brother is the proud owner of a brand new heart! And he's doing amazing on it. He's out of the PICU, the fastest to ever get moved onto the forth floor after transplant, and he's going to be discharged from the hospital to 'The House' on Wednesday!
The crazy thing is, the doctors wanted him to get a heart two weeks after his stroke, because they figured he'd be stable enough to support it by then. Sixteen days after his stroke he got his heart, and had he not been a status 4 on the list from his stroke, he wouldn't have gotten the heart because it came from the international status.
Looking back, it's easy to see God's hand in it all. Had he not had a stroke, he wouldn't have been bumped up, and wouldn't have gotten the heart he did, when he did. It's a blessing in disguise, really. And now he's doing so good. I'm so happy I could cry.
He gets to start Da Capo. A new life, a new heart. It's amazing, and I couldn't be happier.
Praise God!
--Trumpet Player.
