I really feel like, if I were happening upon this blog, I wouldn't believe half of the stuff I write about. I just retyped it all here, all the crap and confusion, all the chaos and clusterf#%^s, but it made me physically ill to see it all typed up again, all at once like that. So I erased it, wishing that I could erase it all from my mind, my life, just as easily. If only.
Today is Older/Only Brother's 31st Birthday. He has not been "the best big brother a girl could ever hope for," because this is not a made for TV movie. No, this is real life, and sometimes, he really sucked: He made fun of ever pimple I ever got, and teamed up with one of our cousins to christen me Moo-Cow. He used to make me play sting with him in the schoolyard near our house, even though (or maybe because) I was a sports equipment magnet and would wind up getting hit in the face, or the back, or the neck with the ball and would walk around for the entire summer with round bruises showing on every bare inch of skin. He is merciless; I am "overly sensitive." He's a master manipulator, and has taken advantage of me, at times. He had his own room, while three of us girls (sometimes 4) were stuck together in another. He almost never remembers to call when he says he is going to, or people's birthdays. His temper is legendary, still, and he once went through a period so dark he thought we'd all be better off without him, and did something I don't know if I can ever fully forgive him for.
But he's my big brother.
And I love him.
Because he is also an awesome guy.
Because, he used to let me 'help' him sort his baseball cards... and resort them. And sort them again. Because he was the first one of my siblings to understand just how much it sucks to be sick all the time, that I wasn't faking, that he really didn't get it (and probably never would), but that I needed him to help me out. Because even though he disagreed (maybe still does) on my position towards our father, he stopped trying to convince me of how wrong I was, when he realized that it was what I needed him to do. Because he trusts me to take care of his kids, and knows that I love them with all of my heart, just like I love him. Because, when we were little, he would drag me around behind him, in a laundry basket. Because I gave him a hernia. Because he's trying to be the best father he can, and growing up and accepting his responsibilities, and making me proud of him, every day. Because he sat through recitals, even if Mum made him. Because he's strong and doesn't see it, because he's smart but sometimes forgets. Because he puts his finger out like ET so that we can 'hug.'
So, when the phone rang from his (soon-to-be)in-laws place early Friday morning, I just thought that it would be him, asking us, last minute (AGAIN!!) to watch Lil Girl. And I was less than happy with that thought, but rolled over to get the phone anyways. And heard from his MIL that his job had called and told Soon-to-be Sister In Law that he'd had a(nother) seizure. This is his second seizure, ever, as far as we know.
His first happened in early June, and he was diagnosed with a seizure disorder, which he didn't believe he had (since he was also dealing with a pretty serious painkiller addiction, and was mixing them with his RX drugs, so this was thought to be the most likely cause of that episode). However, they did an EKG and put him on Depakote, and he was fine. But on Friday, he had a much less serious seizure, and was taken to the ER, and they found that his Depakote levels were ridiculously low. So, they doubled his dose and said that he needs to be more religious in his medication taking.
He's ok, he's fine now - a little achy, a little freaked out, because he honestly didn't think that the seizure disorder thing was going to be a real issue in his life, and now he has to rethink that. It's a pretty frightening proposition, you know, when you realize that your body isn't really under your control. When you start to think that whatever you've got, it could be with you forever. It probably will be with you forever. And now you've got to deal, you've got to cope.
I have to say, though, I'm getting really sick of coping. I'm getting sick of answering the phone to some new disaster, major or minor - "Someone mangled my driver side mirror while I was in the house;" "The basement refrigerator stopped working - no wait, maybe it's just unplugged - no, it's definitely dead;" "I presented your case at a health conference of immunologists - 2000 of them, and they were all amazed, but they didn't have any concrete answers for us!" I'm getting sick of having to type out the horrible things that are happening, of having to remind myself of how much worse things could be.
And, they could be So. Much. Worse.
Older/Only Brother is fine today, on his meds.
My aunt is improving enough that they let her use a walker to get to her in-room bathroom once today.
My Nana is being stubborn because they want to put a feeding tube in, just in case, while they do the radiation, but doing the radiation gives her an 80% chance of remission.
My cousin's twins were born on Monday, almost full term, and a respectable 4.5lbs and 5.7 lbs. Yes, they're still having trouble with feeding, and we haven't been able to see them because they're keeping them in the NICU, but they're alive. My cousin came through the delivery ok, is up and moving again.
Honestly, everybody is doing as well as can be expected for their own situations. And I am wholeheartedly glad and excited about that.
I would just like for there to be no more situations, if that is at all possible.
I am determined to write/post something uplifting soon... this blog is not here to depress me or all of you, and I could use something new and different... maybe even some pictures!