Giving an estimate, I’d say 95% of my sister’s appointments were fun. Sounds odd seeing the mortality and grimness of the situation. However, my sister from the beginning told me that I’d have to put my “you too serious” face away. She only wanted to see that face when I had to ask questions. We were having a good time!! We were not walking in acting dead. That is what we did too.
The first “serious, this one’s for real Kate”, doctor we meet with was the neurosurgeon. His staff was very welcoming and warm. You mix that with my sister and (sigh), there were hugs every where! No, these people don’t just walk up and hug you. However, my sister didn’t give them a choice.
First impressions, this guy is WAY too young to be a neurosurgeon. Especially a high recommended one. He is too stand offish. I swear he is going to bathe in hand sanitizer if my sister hugs him one more time.
He was very thorough. Her boy friend asked him questions. I asked questions. His answers were always down to the point but also as informed of an answer as he could give. I didn’t look at him much. I watched his hands. The whole time we were in there, I watched his hands. This guy was about to cut open my sister’s head. If I saw him have even the slightest slip of pen while we were there, I would tell her to find someone else.
Leaving impressions, this guy is alright. If any one is going to slice her melon, he seems very qualified to do it.
Her impressions: “Kate he was sooooo hot for a white guy!!!”
At this moment, I just looked at her, like I often did. Such an enigma. A puzzle of the most randomness. That day, I couldn’t recall what he looked like. I just remember he had steady hands. I told my sister that. I wasn’t checking the guy out to be eye candy. I was checking the guy out to cut open your head!!
I was so mad. My minds went on a silent tirade. Everything’s always a joke to her! Did she hear the risks?? NO of course not. Why? Because that’s my job. I get to hear all the bad news, numbers, side effects and then I’m supposed to be happy. Joke around.
Breathe. Focus. Your sister’s mind set is the focal point. She has to stay positive to stick around. Count to 10. Ok maybe count to 50. You have to calm down. You have to be her backbone. Square up.
With a horrible Shelby (Steele Magnolias) southern drawl my sister looked at me with that giggle in her voice intterupting my mental arguement:
“Momma, I never worry because you worry enough for the both of us.”
She was right. I always did.
Sometimes, I still do. I worry if she knew how much I loved her. Did she ever doubt it? Did she ever feel unloved? Did I ever make her feel less then?
In those moments, did she understand that my worry was my love showing?
In those moments, did she hear? Did she really hear what I was saying?
Forever & always. Always & Forever.