Remembering

Yesterday, February 8th, was my brother's diagnosis date.  We have been very blessed to have him in our lives for another 13 years.  When I think about the amount of time, 13 very long years, it actually seems very short in some ways.  When I focus on all the awful things, diagnosis, failed treatment, radiation, BMT, ARDS and pneumonia, 6 months of family isolation, brain damage, near kidney failure, cataracts, osteoporosis, cracked vertebrae discs, liver tumor, depression...and that was only the first 3 years.  Well, my point is, it has all been so overwhelming.  It's a lot for one body to handle in 3 years, let alone live with it all for 13 years and counting.  It's a lot for the mind to handle as well.

The mind makes me think of memory and how my memory has been a bit wonky in these past events, especially when I was young.  Some of the most traumatic experiences, such as being brought into PICU to say "goodbye," I simply don't remember.  I do remember the discussion at home, of being told why I, an 11 year old was being brought into PICU against the hospital rules.  There is only one reason a hospital breaks those rules: you need to say goodbye.  I remember that being explained at home by my parents.  Also being told by my parents that they weren't giving up, even though the doctors said life was unlikely, that we ought to consider "pulling the plug."  Oh, yes, I remember that.  I was horrified.  Surely, if there is life, there is hope I thought.  I've stood by that stance ever since.

As I said, I remember all the circumstances surrounding my hospital visit to say goodbye.  I simply don't remember doing it.  I only have a vague memory of a very dark hall in PICU, with glass walls to see into patient's rooms, and nasty long fluorescent ceiling lights that gave off a light that was a very depressing and poor imitation of real light, sun light.  I hate fluorescent lights to this day, because they remind me of the hospital, of people dying under the light of an intruder and poser of sun light.  Other than that vague impression, I don't remember really anything.  I think my memory did me a favor that day.  I think that event was so traumatic, that my memory just decided to blot itself out for a brief period of time.  I already knew everything, knew and remembered why I was there.  Why let the poor kid suffer with these memories for the rest of her life?  Nay, we'll be kind today, kindness is needed.  If my memory function could speak, well then, I believe it would have said something along those lines.  I know that is not scientific at all, but that doesn't matter.

Memory is just so funny like that at times.  Memory can save your butt on an exam, or it can crush life right out of you by forcing you to remember terrible things.  I've remembered plenty of traumatic things, and quite vividly too.  I've done my best, with God doing most of the handiwork, to let the remembered memories and experiences shape my life positively.  I value life in a way not many others can quite understand.  I understand the need to remain calm and objective when all you want to do is panic or escape.  I also have learned to not judge others based on how they handle facing death.  Some people create the most unique excuses to avoid going to funerals, insist on speaking of the dead in the present tense, shun life, escape into drugs, alcohol, hobbies, relationships...etc.  I escaped those first 3-5 years into novels.  Look at me now, an English major.  That was a positive outcome, but many aren't.  No, I don't judge them, because I've been there.  I pity them and pray for them.  I pray they can forget what needs to be forgotten, and grow into strength, wisdom, and compassion through their past experiences and memories.

A very special picture on a very special day.  My brother left the hospital after having a BMT. He spent about 2 months in the hospital because of this procedure.  It was his only hope of survival and there was only a 50/50 chance.  My youngest brother is giving him a hug because he hadn't seen Jon, except through a window, for 2 months: