June 12, 2011

Welcome to my longest post, ever. And the longest and scariest day of my life.

Two weekends ago our little family spent time doing what we do on weekends - nothing much. Running errands, making the grocery list, doing laundry - you know, regular working family weekend stuff.

Saturday night I texted back and forth with my sister as she was in Fort Worth at one of her friend's bachelorette party. She had contemplated coming to stay with us that night because there were so many girls at her friend's place, but at 11:50 pm, she let me know she was going to stay in Fort Worth for the night. My text back was "Ok. Have fun & be careful sis. Love ya."

At about 2 am, my phone started blaring. Still half asleep, I heard my sister calmly and collectively telling me that she and her friends had been in a head on collision in the cab they were in. She said she was at the hospital just so they could check her out. She kept saying "Don't freak out," in such a calm voice. She sounded fine. She even told me I didn't have to come to the hospital, but of course, I threw on some clothes (after having a minor freak out because I couldn't find my stupid blue jeans), grabbed some gatorade and crackers and flew out the door. The entire 45-minute drive was terrifying. My thoughts were all over the place.

"She sounded fine. She's going to be okay. But what if she's not okay. What if she's in shock? What if she dies? But no, she sounded fine. Oh my God. What am I going to tell Mom & Dad? I don't think I can do this. I can do this. What will I say if a cop pulls me over for speeding? No, stop speeding or you're going to be in a wreck yourself. Oh my God. No. Please let her be okay."

I arrived at the ER in downtown Fort Worth around 3 am, parked my car and went running as fast as I could though the dark parking lots past the security guards and into the waiting room. But I was in slow motion, kind of like you see in the movies. My hands trembled as I waited in line to explain why I was there to the front desk personnel, and when they handed me a badge to clip on my shirt, I couldn't even steady myself enough to clip it on. The nice desk lady clipped my badge on and and led me back to her trauma room, as my eyes darted in each room we passed. I nearly broke down and kept repeating, "This is not happening, this is not supposed to happen. Not to her, not to us. No. Please let her be okay."

They had taken her to have a CAT scan, so she wasn't in the room when I arrived. I briefly spoke to the two girls that were there with her (that we don't even know - who were so sweet to "take care" of her until I could get there) before they left. I sat down and began to mentally prepare for them to bring her back. I had calmed down enough and expected them to wheel her back. She was going to be sitting up on the bed smiling. She'd tell me she was fine and they were just taking precautionary measures to make sure she was fine. I watched a few other beds roll by, and I waited.

I felt kind of guilty looking toward the other beds as they came rolling by. I saw an older man who was having trouble breathing. And someone else who was alert but lying down. And then a bloody beat up person who was out of it. And then they rolled that person in Andrea's room. It was her. Not sitting up smiling at me like I expected. Not fine. Not okay. Chills run through my body as I type this just remembering that fear that overcame my body in that instant. I was scared out of my mind, but somehow, I held it together. I have a tendency to freak out over the most minor of things (hence, her telling me NOT to freak out over and over on the phone), but I guess I went into "Mom mode" and knew I had to take care of her as much as I could. Or big sister mode or whatever you want to call it. I wanted so badly to scream and yell and curse and wake up after this horrible dream, but I couldn't.

My baby sister laid there with blood all over her face and in her nose, a black eye that was swollen shut, swollen lips, cuts, a neck brace. She kept saying, "It hurts. I need something. It hurts so bad." She must have been in shock when she called me because she was not okay. She could barely speak out of her swollen lips. Her neck brace was so tight on her already throbbing jaws that she didn't want to speak. When she did speak I could see blood all over her teeth. It's like I was on the set of Gray's Anatomy. It was too bad and too graphic to be real.

It took what seemed like forever to get any answers. She went in for CAT scans of her head and again for her body. She had xrays. She finally got enough pain meds to calm her down and allow her some rest. The staff took good care of her, but it was still horrible. No one should be subject to that. Somewhere around 6 am, I finally called Mom & Dad. I wanted at least someone to get some sleep before rushing up to the hospital to sit and wait. Dad was calm. Mom freaked out. Guess it runs in our blood.

We finally got answers from the trauma surgeon that she had a contusion on her brain and multiple facial/skull fractures. She would be moved to ICU for monitoring because of the brain injury. In my mind, ICU is a really scary place. I always associate it with people who are dying. People in really, really bad shape. And after 6 or 7 hours in the ER, that's where my sister was headed.

The rest of the day was spent taking in information, fielding calls and texts, directing family where to find us, going back and forth to watch over her in the ICU when we could, organizing and looking for her belongings. We didn't get many answers about her prognosis because, well, the doctors didn't know. We knew she would eventually pull through, but we didn't know if she'd need brain surgery or plastic surgery. We didn't know how long she'd be down. Even surrounded by my family, I didn't know what to say or do.

As I sat in the cold, sterile hospital room looking at my very best friend of 26 years, I recounted everything we've ever been through. I remembered how we used to run and play as kids. How I was the typical mean older sister in junior high and high school. How we've become very best friends and each others supporters as adults. How all this almost ripped our family apart.

Several days later, I went to the police station to get the police report, since we didn't have any accurate information or explanation about the causes of the wreck. The driver who caused it was drunk. And on drugs. I teared up walking down the streets of downtown Fort Worth knowing that some idiot and sorry excuse for a "man" did this to my sister. I know the right thing to do is to forgive, but I'm not there yet. Right now, I have a lot of choice words I'd like to say in his face. I want him to feel the pain my poor sister felt. And the fear that my family & I experienced. But alas, he'll probably get a slap on the wrist and go out and do it again. Guess it takes killing someone to actually "learn" your lesson.

Andrea was released from the hospital on Saturday, June 18, 2011, coincidentally, 5 years to the day that Nannie passed away. I posted on my sisters facebook page that I've hated this day for five years, but today, I have a reason to be happy. I know she was up there championing and fighting for her Dede Hopper to get well enough so she could go home. The day has a new meaning now, and I know Nannie had a part in it.

Andrea continues to improve, and slowly but surely, she's getting back up on her feet. I'm so proud of my sister for pulling through so strongly and bravely. I can't imagine my life without her.

Andrea has recounted the story - it's much shorter ;) and easier to read - and put up some of her pictures on her blog.

Thank you all for the prayers, support and kind offers. It's so comforting to know that so many people love and care about Andrea. She has a lot of people rooting for her.

Paci Free!!

I used to be very anti-pacifier. I had read that the paci can interfere with breastfeeding if introduced early, it can cause problems with teeth aligning properly and it can be hard to take away. I just *knew* we wouldn't need it before the girl was born.

The night we came home from the hospital, I did a pretty quick 180. In the coming months, our sweet girl became a paci baby. There were times I loved that thing, and there were many nights I cursed it (you know, that stage where they want the paci to fall asleep, but then wake up screaming because they can't put it back into their mouth after they've spit it out during their sleep?). It was a love/hate relationship, for sure.

A long while ago we cut way back and only allowed the paci during naptime and at night. We had gotten into a pretty good routine with it, and sometimes she even asked to go to bed early so she could have her paci! In my mind, I'd planned on taking it away before she turned 3 and could understand what we were doing (and hopefully she could have a say in it, like the stories I've heard of the "paci fairy).

Rewind to May 10. I had gone to the gym while Daddy took care of bathtime and bedtime. He also decided to kick off "Operation: Get Rid of the Paci" that night, too. Thank goodness I wasn't there (I am the weak one). She cried for a while but eventually went to sleep and slept all night with no problems. The next night, Daddy put her to bed again and did a great job of explaining to her that she didn't need a paci because she's a big girl. She went down without a peep!

There were a few nights when she cried for her paci, but she soon decided she didn't need it and just needed to be rocked before bed, which a really awesome end to the day for Mommy or Daddy. She's playfully asked for it a few times since then, but we just totally ignore the request and change the subject, and she's fine.

So, we've officially been paci free for almost TWO months! We're so proud of our big little girl!