Oh, wow. What a weekend! It was lovely, actually, until Sunday afternoon. Let me start by saying that I, Jim and the baby are all fine – this has NOTHING to do with us!
Sunday morning I made a big crock pot of tortilla soup to take to dinner at my dad’s house Sunday evening. Around 2:30 my dad called, and I thought he was going to push dinner back, confirm we were all still coming, or ask if he needed to pick anything up/do anything before we all got there. No. He was calling to tell me that he and his ex-wife were at the emergency room because my brother had a seizure. WHAT?! Not cool. This is my brother who had invasive neurosurgery four years ago to STOP his seizures. The brother who had a benign tumor that, after taking medication daily for years to keep the seizures from happening and having countless tests to figure out what to do, a fantastic doctor found a way to remove. The brother who has been FINE since after the surgery, who has carried on his life, grown his hair to hide the scar and grown up into a successful, happy, healthy (SUPER-HEALTHY – works out all the time, runs a stream of nutritional shops, etc.) young adult. The brother who, did I mention, has been FINE for the last four years!
Um yeah. So I went up to the hospital and hung out for awhile with my dad, my brother, my brother’s mom (he’s my half-brother, technically, but if you read my sibling series you know we don’t use that term very often), my brother’s roommate and my brother’s girlfriend. Our older sister got there a little while later. The CAT scan showed nothing new, a blessing but also a quandary. They were given the name of a neurologist (my brother’s previous neurologist is no longer practicing) and were going to try to get in to see their family doctor today to get an official referral (for insurance purposes) to a neurologist or neurological team in the area. My brother cannot drive himself around until a doctor says it’s okay, cannot bathe without someone outside the door listening for any issues, and has to resume taking daily medication.
We’re hopeful that he’ll find a neurologist that can explain why this happened better than the ER doctor could (“Well, sometimes this happens after a big surgery like that; there’s really no way to predict it.” – To which my brother replied, “Then WHY did I have the surgery in the first place!?”). He’s hopeful that the daily medication will not be forever, that he won’t have to have another surgery, that he’ll be able to resume his life as soon as possible. I feel for him because there’s nothing else I can do. It’s not my problem to fix (not that it’s not my problem, because anything involving a close family member counts as an issue in my life), and there’s nothing I can do to help besides offer to drive him where he needs to go and offer to be there for him if he wants to hang out. I don’t want to take on the stress of the situation because it won’t help, and Lord knows I don’t need to stress out myself or this baby with only 37 days to go in the pregnancy. We’re all trying to stay calm and stay hopeful.
My heart goes out to my brother, especially, but also to his mom and our dad. I know the pain of your child hurting where there’s really nothing that can be done except trust the medical team (albeit in a different way). But now, instead of being 17 and living at their houses, he’s 21 and living on his own, and they can’t control his surroundings or restrict his actions. Please send any positive thoughts or prayers toward Oklahoma.
Oh the drama… it always seems to find our family when things calm down.
P.S. Anyone want some chicken tortilla soup? 🙂