Saturday, September 11, 2010

Dread and Joy

There is a ganglia of nerves located in the brain that act as a data filter to the conscious mind. Without this brain triage system you would probably go crazy within a few minutes. The system blocks out data that is not currently necessary... for example, wherever you are at this moment there are hundreds, if not thousands, of bits of info being blocked so you can focus on this blog, eg. are you aware of the reflected light on your screen? Bet you are now. How about the sound of the fan in your computer? See what I mean? If you feel your eyes tiring, your brain will realize that you need data on the reflective screen light and allow that germane information into your conscious brain.

When the phone rings in the middle of the night this internal triage system goes into overdrive. Within a millisecond of the first ring your mind is blown open to all of life's potential tragedies. Before the first ring ends you're inventorying the location of your loved ones... one granddaughter is climbing a nearby 11,000 ft mountain called South Sister. Everyone else is accounted for I conclude in the time it takes to fumble with the phone. By the second ring the fight/flight adrenalin cocktail is coursing through your brain. In an instant, your mind rejects all of the positive possibilities... Dad, I won the lottery... Pops, we had a baby... etc. No one calls in the middle of the night with good news... it can wait. Bad news has an immediacy about it even if there's nothing one can do. For some reason, it has to be shared, NOW!

The voice on the other end of the line says the scariest five words you will ever hear in the middle of the night ... "Don't worry, everything is alright". If everything is alright why are you calling me in the middle of the night? Everything is alright with whom? The call from my nephew was to tell me that my brother had just had a massive heart attack. Everything is never all right when the phone rings in the middle of the night.

The next day I'm on a plane to Vegas. There's nothing I can do. He's in intensive care... tubings everywhere... constant noise... buzzers and bells... slow motion frenzy. There's only two of us, my brother and me. Out of six billion people on the planet, we are the only two genetic peas from the same pod. Are we close someone asks? Never considered that question... we are brothers. What more is there to say.

Jim and Marilyn
He jokes when he sees me, like nothing has happened. It's a family trait this macabre sense of humor we use to mask our terror and pain. I joke back. We both understand the fear behind the funnies.

My sister-in-law and nephew are there. Everyone is trying to be strong. We talk about Jim as though he's not there... "his color looks good"... "he seems to be breathing easier"... etc. We all avoid the 800 pound gorilla in the room... the dreaded D words... dieing and death. Even when we are out of his room, we avoid these words as though by saying them we might condemn the patient. We don't say the words, but we see their reflection in each other's tears.

His progress is bumpy. One day he seems better, the next less so, but the trend overall is positive. The miracle doctors mix a brew of pharmaceuticals that flow through a titanium stent they've inserted in one of his arteries. Billions of dollars in research by those wicked, profit-oriented drug companies come to bear on my brother's heart. Thousands of hours of training for doctors and nurses culminates in his care. This remarkable science, bolstered by the love of his family and friends, works its magic on his damaged heart and within a few days he's on his way home in anticipation of a full recovery.

I was home when he was released from the hospital. I got the call around 10 am from my nephew... good news can wait until after breakfast.

4 comments:

  1. Whew! Sounds like a close one. Hope he makes a full recovery.
    Love & Blessings,
    Lyn

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  2. I received a similar phone call from my sister after my mom had been admitted to Overlook Hospital in NJ--they specialize in brain injuries.The phone rang and, like you, I panicked because I knew there couldn't possibly be a good reason for the call.

    "Hi Annette", she said. "Did I wake you?" "Not really", I replied. I haven't slept a wink all night. I have a very heavy heart. Tina, how's mommy? Why are you calling me so early in the morning? What's going on?"

    It was about 4:30am. Jeff was laying next to me trying to get some rest. We knew we were in for a long day. Tina was spending the night at the hospital (we were doing shifts- family as well) and called to tell me that my mom had acquired a fever and that she didn't want to leave her side. She asked if I would I go to her house and watch the kids (ages 1.5 and 2.5) for a few hours so her husband could leave for work.

    I grabbed my mom's umbrella (it was raining hard), told Jeff and my dad that I was leaving, and headed to Tina's at 5am to watch the kids for a couple of hours. When I arrived at their house, I slipped into bed next to Julianna. I watched her lovingly while she slept and I began to cry because at that very moment it became clear that my mom probably wouldn't be coming home and that she wouldn't be able to look at Julianna ever again--in this life. I really had a difficult time looking at the angelic face that my mom loved so dearly!

    Tina confirmed that our mom was not doing well...with each day that passed her condition worsened. My cousin came to Tina's to watch the kids. Victoria, Jeff, my Dad and I went straight to the hospital. I knew that the dreaded D word was going to be unavoidable. I called our Priest who came twice. The first day to bless her and pray for her to get better...the second day to bless her again and pray for her soul to go with the Lord. He annointed her with holy oil and holy water. He did a small liturgy. We said the Lord's prayer and I felt the angels and the saints in that room.

    We held her, kissed her (she still smelled so good) told her that we love her very, very much and that we would be with her always. That we wouldn't leave her side. That we would take care of our dad and that the Lord was waiting for her. That we were going to miss her dearly but that it was ok to go now. With pure love around her. Angels, Saints and the Lord.

    The remarkable science is still in its infancy when it comes to strokes. Doctors do all they can, but they're not God, as they mentioned themselves.

    My beautiful mother was not able to recover and we are so very heartbroken. But, my amazing father-in-law is on his way to full recovery.

    My thoughts and prayers are with both of our families...now and always.

    May the Lord give us strength. Much Love, Annette

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  3. Our thoughts and prayers and with you and Jim and family. Let's look forward to more daylight hour phone calls.

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