Happy 2022, y’all! Man, 2021 was a weird year. Wild and wooly, I’ve called it. It started out terrible with the pandemic still raging on. Then, vaccines! That brought some hope. I got fully vaxxed and cautiously opened up my life a bit. I went from being a hermit, not going anywhere but the pharmacy once a month to going twice to Cubs within a few weeks. Hey, I wasn’t going crazy, but I did feel a sense of optimism. That was in May/June. Then, September 3rd happened.
My life will forever be split into before September 3rd and after it. It’s funny because that’s my parents’ anniversary. Probably not a good association for them now. My brother called them on September 3rd at night, which would be September 4th their time. I know he said to them something like, “Minna is in the hospital and it’s very serious.” I’m sure he told them everything that happened to me in a bald fashion because that’s the way he operates. When I came to, he told me everything, including the fact that I should have died. And the fact that I should have brain damage, not to mention difficulty walking and talking.
My favorite story is when my brother told me that he was talking to two social workers about my situation. They were asking how he was doing because that’s their job. He looked at them and said fine. They probed a bit more and he said bluntly, “If she dies, she dies. I can’t do anything about it.” I burst out laughing because I could imagine the look of horror on their faces. My brother is probably on the spectrum, though he’s never been diagnosed, and his way of dealing with emotions is to–not. It’s not that he doesn’t feel things; he does. It’s just that he feels them differently and expresses them differently than most people do.
My brother shows he cares by doing things. He’s always been like that. One time, it was like fifty below zero with windchill and I got a flat tire because a nail punctured it on the way to work. I called my brother after work and he promptly drove to my workplace and changed my tire. Another time, I was at my Taiji demo in twenty below weather. My car wouldn’t start and I called my brother to come do something about it. He managed to make my car start, thankfully. He’s my go-to guy when I need something fixed mechanically or electronically. In return, I listen to his problems and give him suggestions after hours of griping. He’s my fix-it guy and I’m this therapist. It works for us!
While I was in the hospital and before I woke up, he had to make all the decisions since I didn’t have a partner to do it for me. He also was the one to talk to the doctors every step of the way, making sure to keep everyone updated about what was happening to me. I read the Caring Bridge journal he wrote during that time every now and again. It blows me away every time I read it. Not just because of what happened to me, but also how much work my brother did to keep everyone informed. One of my brother’s biggest strengths is that he just does what needs to be done without complaint. He came to see me in the hospital once or twice a day, talked with the docs, and updated the Caring Bridge journal every day. This was in addition to taking care of his business and his family. Then, he prepared my house for when I left the hospital and bought a shit-ton of stuff so I would be ready to go home.
Again, he did all this without a murmur of complaint. When I tried to thank him for it, he shrugged and said, “We’re family. It’s what we do.” I want a shirt with that on it, by the way. He’s right, but not everyone could have handled it as well as he did. Also, not every family would have done what he did. I think that’s what amazes me–that he just ho4pped to it without a second thought. And that’s why I have to laugh at the social workers prodding him about his feelings. I know they were just doing their job and probably recoiled at his answer, but that’s how he deals with his feelings–by doing. And I’m thankful for that. While I was unconscious and on the brink of death, I didn’t need someone who would be weeping and wailing, not knowing what to do with their grief. Was my brother compartmentalizing? Hell yes! Did it allow him to get done what needed to be done? Also hell yes! Neither of my parents are the types who are cool under pressure. From what I’d heard, they were freaking out as I laid, motionless, in the hospital bed. That’s understandable. I don’t have kids, but I can accept that having your child on death’s door is a pain unlike any other. I don’t blame them for freaking out is what I’m trying to say.
I’m so glad my brother had his shit together. He met with the doctors and kept on top of what was happening to me. He updated the Caring Bridge journal every day so people could check it with regularity. He talked to my closest friends whenever they needed reassurance or just wanted to know what the fuck was going on. K told me she didn’t want to pester him, but she couldn’t help messaging him to see what was going on. She had the talk with her husband whether she should fly out to see me one last time or wait for the (presumable) funeral. Her daughter is into witch stuff (which is cool) and made a small jar of different–I want to say herbs and flowers. Then she sealed it with wax. K said she would meditate over it every night and it was her spiritual ritual.
I will never be able to repay my brother for what he’s done for me. He made a difficult time easier for everyone else and I cannot appreciate it enough. I am eternally grateful that he didn’t have to decide whether to pull the plug on the breathing machine or not. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.