The Seventh Sibling

I can't delve into what's happening right this minute because my brain can't handle this stress much longer. I will write later, just know that we need your prayers again..... STAT!

By the way, St. Jude, I need you again today.

I do need to write though and have long wanted to write about a family I met here, a family I made friends with and who I found to be quite remarkable. Obviously I cannot share their names, but telling their story will help me now, when I feel the sense of hopelessness we have all shared here in this room.

Parker came down to ICU for his first surgery on the 13th of April. Later that week this family showed up. At first it was just two young men pulling an ice chest on wheels, setting up shop in one of the back corners of the waiting room. By the next day there were people I was able to identify as the parents of the patient, a fiance' (one of the two young men who was here at first) and about 15 other people. There was more food back there than at any family reunion I'd ever seen.

Over time I got to know the family. The patient was a young woman age 30. Her wedding date was supposed to be this coming Saturday, May 2nd. She had come into the hospital the week before with unexplained kidney failure. That was resolved pretty quickly, although I don't know that they ever found out what caused it. Before she could be discharged from the hospital she had what was referred to as a brain bleed. That Thursday night, two days after the darkest day of my life, the girl had brain surgery.

This family was remarkable. The fiance' stayed here in the waiting room with his brother the first few nights before moving to the same place where I have a room. The fiance' was about 30 also, very polite, very smart, and so crazy in love with the girl it was remarkable to see.

The mother is one of the strongest, most focused people I have ever met in my life. You would think she was tough on the outside, but she wasn't. She was compassionate, kind, and always seemed to know exactly the right words at exactly the right time. Where I can write what I feel, or what needs to be said much better than I can speak, the perfect words seem to fall from her with a grace I had never experienced before. There was a lot to be learned from her. She had more clarity and wisdom during this incredibly stressful moment than I have on my best days in Wyoming.

The Dad was laid back, very bright, emotional, kind, and funny. Oh, and tall. Really tall. Like a big, tall Texan. He always had a kind word and a hug for me, always wanted to know about Parker, and listened with genuine interest and concern. He and his wife were like two pieces of a puzzle that fit together to make a whole.

On the next Tuesday the Chaplain came with the neurosurgeon and took them into The Room where you get bad news. Half an hour later the Mom flung the door open and came out on a mission.

It's very, very bad news, she said to me. I have to save my daughter.

With that the Mom sat down at her computer and got to work researching what the doctors had told them, researching everything she could to get the ball rolling to make sure her daughter had every opportunity to recover, the opportunities the doctor had just told her would not make a difference.

I could see the Dad and the fiance', still in the room with the Chaplain who was comforting them both. They held their faces in their hands, their shoulders racking with sobs. It was horrible. I wanted so much to comfort them. I put my hand on the Mom's shoulder and told her, Let me know what I can do.

The neurosurgeon had been unnecessarily brutal. The "best case scenario" he gave them was what they had believed would be the worst case scenario. It was grossly unfair. They were not prepared for this news.

Another young man might have walked at that moment. Another weaker man might have not had the guts or the strength or the love or the will to stand by this girl he had not yet married. But after a day spent in shock, in an agony you cannot describe no matter how you write, he came back the next morning with an armload of books. He had armed himself with every available resource to figure out a way to prove the doctors wrong. He wasn't going anywhere. I wonder if the girl knows how lucky she is. If not, she will know someday because there is a "happy" ending to this story.

Every day when I got here a few minutes before 6:am, the fiance' showed up right after me. We said hello, then went to our respective loved ones rooms to say good morning and see how the night went. I didn't know where he worked, or what his employment circumstances were (being away from his job for so long), but I did hear the Mom comment a few times that his boss had been incredibly supportive and told him to do what he had to do. They all said he was very lucky to work where he did and have such support and kindness.

The neurosurgeon was wrong. The girl DID recognize them. She did respond within a few days when they spoke to her, she recognized a friend who came to see her and "chatted" away about everything that had happened. She couldn't speak with sound yet, but she had an understanding of what was going on, she had memory of recent events, she knew who the people around her were.

It was like a miracle. She still couldn't move the effected side of her body very well, in fact only occasionally was she able to do anything. But that family had done their research and had taken into consideration every aspect of what would make the best rehab facility for her. I heard the Mom make a comment that she wanted to be sure where ever the daughter went it would be an easy place for the fiance to get to and to visit every day.

My understanding was that they didn't know the fiance' very well before this event, and while the Mom had gone to college with his Dad 40 years ago, the two families hadn't met again until this happened. You get to know people in a totally different way in this room. We are stripped of everything that protects us from fear. We are no longer separated by race, by gender, by station in life, by geography. We are all in this together, and we band together like I imagine God intended us to from the beginning. That is how you get to know people in the room.

The Mom told me one day it was a bright light in an otherwise dark picture, getting to know the family who loved her daughter and who would be a part of their family for the rest of her life. She said they felt so blessed to have found them to be such wonderful, spiritual, generous and loving people. I am sure there were bumps and glitches and challenges, that would only be natural. At least I assume there would have been some. But these families were so graceful and dignified I would not have known if there was anything like that.

In the end the daughter was moved to a regular room last weekend. I missed the family's companionship, the waiting room became lonely and dark again. But how could I not be so happy for them?

Yesterday the fiance' and the Dad came to see me, to say good bye. The daughter was moving to her rehab facility. They were joyous and optimistic and hopeful and on the verge of being happy. They asked about Parker, I told them about the most recent set back, and they both hugged me.

Right before they left, the fiance' said, I'd like to do something nice for you. I work for a restaurant about 5 miles from here. I'd like to treat you to dinner when you get to the point you can leave the hospital for a few hours.

What restaurant? I asked.

Of course, the only restaurant it could have been is the one owned by my brother's best friend and college roommate. He is the family friend who opened his home to Parker when he first moved here, gave him a place to live until he got a job and got his life moving forward. The same friend who has been a part of our family for 30 years, the friend who was the only one with the guts to change out my grandmother's false eyeball when it got turned the wrong way. He even lived with another one of my brothers when he first moved to DC, before returning to Austin to open a brewery and restauarnt. He is the friend who has come and gone throughout our lives like a seventh sibling. The fiance' of the girl with the brain injury is the brew master at our friend's restaurant. What a small world, and a funny twist.

I love you Parker, keep fighting Sweet Cakes. We're all right out here waiting for you. God is with you.