I don't want to say goodbye

Last Friday, when I flew up to see my sister we had what I've come to dread - the Family meeting. This is when Sister's medical team requests to meet with the family to provide an update on her progress and talk about the next steps of her care. It's never good news. It's never a time to celebrate and high-five each other. But my brother-in-law requested they hold off for a day and have it on Friday so I could attend. I truly appreciated being included though, as I mentioned, I've quickly come to hate these meetings. Unfortunately, the meeting was what I thought it would be. Her medical team asked us what we thought she would want. Because the best outcome they predicted, based on her lack of responsiveness, her tests and scans, was that she would be able to hear and maybe be able to see but she would not be able to process what she was hearing or seeing. 

All our hearts broke again.

We were all holding onto hope that her brain would recover from her strokes and that she just needed more time for the swelling to go down. But it seems there is too much damage from her initial stroke and then all the small ones she had while in the hospital. She had just gone through too much and that is why she was no longer responding to anything but pain. It was decided that her care would change from life-saving to comfort care after close family and friends said their goodbyes. 

We flew our mom up Saturday afternoon to see DD for the first time in the hospital and also to say goodbye. Our mom had recently been in the hospital herself late last June and we didn't want mom to put herself in unnecessary danger. We figured that we would wait until sister moved from ICU to Acute Care and then both would be a bit stronger to see each other. My sister, when still responsive, had held up her hand in a "wait" or "stop" position when we mentioned mom wanted to visit her. Knowing how anxious and worried my sister gets around our mom, it made sense that she made that motion. And her husband, knowing my sister the best, also felt it was the best decision for both of them. Our mom still desperately wanted to visit but without anyone helping her book flights, hotel or transportation, it would have been impossible for her to do it herself. So she waited. 

As expected, it was very difficult for our mom to see DD with a breathing tube, IVs, her head shaved and, most of all, knowing this visit was so she could say goodbye to her daughter. My mom and I went straight to DD from the airport. We stayed just before visiting hours were up. I had booked us a hotel room less than 10 minutes away so we took an Uber there. It was the first time in a long time since I spent the night in a room with our mom. Notorious for being loud, she did her best to be quiet so I could rest. I really appreciated her efforts even though neither of us got much sleep that night.

We joined my brother-in-law in the morning to visit with my Sister again. They were allowing up to four visitors and appreciated that her other visitors wanted to give me and my mom visiting time, along with my sister's husband and son. Whenever one of us needed a break, there was a family member or friend ready to step in. There were also others who visited specifically to say goodbye so we wanted them to have their time with DD, too. And around 2:45 PM, we were allowed to have six of us gathered around as my sister's nurse and respiratory therapist removed her IV and breathing tubes. We all cried and continued to sit around her. My mom and I had to say goodbye in the early evening so we could make our flight home. We hated to leave her.

We had no idea when she would leave us. Her nurse said it may be a day or so. It is now five days later and she is still here. This saddens me greatly because it just goes to show how strong my sister's body is. It's only her brain that isn't allowing her to be with us. But it's the one that matters most - over her heart, lungs, and kidneys. I have cried every day since returning and am thankful to my brother-in-law for his calls and online updates. I can only imagine how hard this has been for him. I know he is grateful for anytime he has left with her but I also know this very long goodbye has to take a toll both physically and mentally. Because he knows that she will eventually go. And I mourn for her now because even though she is still with us, she also isn't. This is the longest I've gone without speaking to her and I'm so so sad that I won't ever get to talk with her again. 

A rollercoaster

 This is the 3rd time I'll be going to Seattle this month. Before my sister's stroke, the last time I was in Seattle was for my nephew's - her son's - high school graduation in 2018. Before then, it was sometime before The Bean's birth so before 2014 because I only had one baby then. Because of my babies and our parents' limited mobility, DD often traveled down to see us. She would come when our parents were sick or if I needed help. Or for holidays, special occasions, or funerals. 

Two days ago, I thought I was going to say goodbye to my sister. It has been a tough 22-now-23 days. Just about every day my brother-in-law calls with updates. And almost every day, it feels like it's one step forward, two steps back. Because I'll hear that she had a good day, a boring day, and we rejoice in the ordinary of it all. Then on other days, we hear find out she had a setback or that she isn't progressing as they'd like. Most recently, a doctor told my B-I-L that they were not confident my sister would wake up. 

In the past 23 days, my heart has broken over and over again. I have imagined the best and I've imagined the worst. The best is her needing major rehabilitation and it's bizarre to think that 23 days ago, that was the worst. One month ago, our mom being in the hospital with pneumonia and the flu was the worst. Two months ago, it was me not knowing what to do with my career. It's incredible how perspectives can change in an instant. 

My husband has been a rock for me. He has tried to alleviate some of the responsibilities I have as a parent (he has an awful commute so I take care of all transportation to and from school and activities for our kids, as well as meals). He's also the one who gently but firmly has made sure I'm taking care of my health since my sister had undiagnosed high blood pressure and diabetes. He also has assured me that I can talk to him about all of this so I don't have to keep it bottled up inside. 

He told me it seems like I'm taking my sister's crisis much harder than my father's death. I loved my dad very much. He was one month shy of turning 82 years old yet it was still a surprise to all of us when he passed. His passing was very quick, less than 24 hours. It was my mom who had been in the hospital for several weeks just before he passed. I told my husband that while I really missed my dad, I also knew that the body he was living in frustrated him. I knew he hated being frail and having to spend so much time getting dialysis. He was frustrated by his physical limitations and didn't like depending on other people to help him. I took comfort in knowing that he was finally free. 

My sister is only 57 years old. Again, perspective is a funny thing. When I was a kid and even a young adult, 57 seemed ancient to me. Now I know there is so much more potential life left, decades in fact. Her son is 22 years old. We didn't talk about it much (I think we didn't want him to feel rushed and, honestly, he IS pretty young) but I know she looked forward to his wedding and him having children. As for me, I was looking forward to the time when I had fewer obligations and could visit her again like I did in my 20s. Visiting her was so peaceful - it's where she taught me how to knit and entertained my interest in going to all the local coffee shops to find the best coffee. And finding places that potentially made the best oatmeal. We would knit and drink tea or coffee and chat. Or take walks. I cherished those times and, just like how I felt about going to Hawaii with my girlfriends, I looked forward to the time when I could make those visits with her again. 

We are never promised tomorrow, I know. But when going through the day-to-day, one can't help but get pulled into the daily routine and think that one day in the future, we can look forward to the things we want to do. And I unwisely assumed that my sister would always be there because she always had been. Since I was born. So her life hanging in the balance is shocking to me. It's something I've never imagined. And it's devastating. I cling to hope and sometimes wish I didn't because when I hear that she may not ever be with us, I am gutted. And this has happened over and over again. But as my B-I-L has written, where this is life, there is hope. And my sister continues to breathe on her own. So I pray throughout the day that she will wake up soon, whole and healthy.

A love letter to my Sister

The two posts before were drafts that I hadn't realized were never published. It's been a long time since I've been here. What brought me back to this little place was seeing my Sister's blogspot on her FB page. Though she hadn't written anything since September 27, 2011, she still had it listed. We both started writing in 2005 and it was just one way for us to keep in touch.

My Sister is fighting to stay with us right now. She had a hemorrhagic stroke almost three weeks ago and our lives have forever changed. At first, I was devasted to hear that she would lose mobility on her right side and possibly her speech, though they said she may be able to gain it back. But in the past three weeks, she has had many ischemic strokes while in ICU, a craniectomy, and other setbacks along the way. Who would've thought that losing mobility and speech would be the best-case scenario?

I turn to this little place because it's where she and I would "talk" through our writings. And I've been praying so much for the past three weeks that maybe this is another form of prayer. 

My Sister is one of the best people I've ever known. She was like a second mom to me when I was growing up. She is 13 years older and gave me the attention and patience that my parents didn't have. They were great parents but they were busy ... and tired. My sister would play with me, braid my hair, take me with her to school, shopping trips, friends' homes, fun outings - she was just a great big sister. I remember having classmates who were jealous of how nice my sister was to me because theirs were mean and made them feel like a pest. Not my sister. She always made me feel loved.

And as I grew up, that never changed. She always encouraged me to visit her and made time for my sporadic calls. My sister came for long visits after I birthed each baby to help and just be there for me. She did the same for our parents when they fell sick, or when our mom wanted to go to the Philippines but didn't want to leave our dad alone. My sister came and kept him company. Even though he resented having what he called a "babysitter", we know he enjoyed her company. Because my sister is sweet and kind. She is so happy making other people happy. She finds joy in bringing joy to others. She's just an incredible human being. That's why I don't understand why she is in a hospital right now. I don't understand why someone so wonderful, kind, and giving is suffering. 

I know miracles can happen and I keep praying for them. But I'm also incredibly sad and frustrated by all the challenges that keep coming her way. The world is a better place with her in it. I am certain of that. The lives she touches are better for her being in it. She and I used to lament how some people couldn't stand how happy we are as individuals. Admittedly, I think I'm saltier than her. A little more jaded, a lot more attitude. My sister can't help but beam sunshine. She's really that good. She has the biggest heart. So I continue to pray that she can pull through. That she can come out whole and healthy. Because I love her so, so much.

Part of August, in a nutshell 8/22/15 9:28 PM

Reunion: Vegas and Zion 8/22/15 9:33 PM