On Being A Family (Of Five)

I was raised Christian, and married by a minister, but I will admit to not being terribly religious. I do consider myself very spiritual, with some components of religion thrown in there- my own special cocktail. There have been times in the past year and a half that my faith has seriously wavered. Good things happen to good people? I wasn't so sure anymore. I'd always liked the idea that people I'd loved and lost were watching out for me from up above. What grandpa, you don't think I'd make a good mom? What gives? Despite my best efforts to be positive and handle this ordeal with as much serenity as possible- there have been times that I have straight up been angry at God/The Universe/Cosmic Muffin/Whatever Works For You for not delivering the miracle we so badly want.

On Friday August 26th at around 7:30 in the morning, my 13 year old brother and one of the greatest gifts God ever gave me, was rolled out of his hospital room and into surgery to remove a very large tumor resting on his optic nerve. Having succeeded in putting on a brave, optimistic face for him in the two days leading up to the procedure that we spent in the hospital- I finally fell apart as he disappeared from view. My baby brother was having brain surgery. I sobbed and sobbed, and told God that my brother and his surgical team could have all my miracles.

And then I pulled myself together, and went down to breakfast in the cafeteria. Because that's how I was raised, that's how this family works. We keep moving forward, putting on brave smiles. As I sat around the table with my sister and parents, I reflected on how much Harry has changed out family. A mid-life "surprise" for my parents, he's nearly 15 years younger than me so naturally much of my childhood was spent as a family of four. Would we still go on family vacation together every year? Would we still spend all of our holidays together? Or would other priorities shift to the top? Would I have come home from California and gotten together with my now-husband if I didn't have a little brother telling me he really, really missed me and wanted me to come back?

The five hours that he was in surgery actually went by quicker than I expected them to. I sat with my family in the surgical waiting room for awhile after breakfast, and then wandered back to Harry's room for some alone time. Just when I was finally wondering why the promised updates during surgery hadn't come, and feeling like I might vomit imagining why that might be, his nurse came in and told me that he was being "stitched-up" and would be back in the room in 20 minutes. 

The next 48 hours were tough. The procedure went perfectly, Harry spiked a tiny fever that first night but other than that had zero complications. He didn't wake up blind, which was a risk. But he was miserable. He'd been so positive and upbeat about the whole ordeal going in, but was dismayed when he came to and realized that he was actually in much worse pain than he was pre-surgery. We took turns reading aloud to him, and that was when he seemed the most comfortable. Familial nerves frayed a little as we all worried, and wondered how we could fix it for him. For a short while he was convinced that he was dying, and we were keeping it from him, and that was the low point for me. 

Have you ever heard of someone having brain surgery on a Friday and going home on Monday? Me either. But somehow, that is exactly what happened. Late Monday evening the option was presented to my parents in front of Harry, go home tonight or in the morning. Needless to say, my sleep-deprived parents deserve some sort of medal for packing up in record time and making the journey back home on the fly. And my brother was perhaps the happiest person ever to be sleeping in his own bed that night.

There's so much more to say about this experience, and I'm sort of overwhelmed trying to adequately document all that happened and how I feel about all of it. We were so supported by our community of friends and family, and I truly believe all the prayers and positive thoughts helped us all get through it. We got the pathology report back on Wednesday, and it confirmed that he doesn't need any further treatment. His eyesight is compromised, and we don't know that if that is caused by pressure that should alleviate in the next 6 to 8 weeks- or if this is something he'll have to learn to live with. 

But he's alive, and he's my miracle.

Until next time,

Grace