I don't know what to say...

I don't know what to say...

So, I'm not so good at talking about my feelings or things that are going on that suck. I also am not one to post random cryptic "Life Sucks" messages on Facebook, making those who might care wonder what it going on. Nor am I one to post lengthy Facebook posts that describe in great detail crappy events happening in my personal life. I feel like i have to talk about this. Like it needs to be out of my head. I just don't know what to say.

I feel like I need to say something, because as my insanely mature 14-year-old niece told me, it's a thing that is happening in our lives that will affect us and it's important to remember it no matter how hard and awful it is.  Yup, 14.

And so I'll tell a story to a few people who, well, I guess I trust won't make me feel all weird about sharing.

The short story...

My brother Phil died today. He was 54. He's the one I was closest to of my other siblings from my dad's first marriage. He was there when I was born. We weren't allowed to touch his guitars, but otherwise he was always pretty cool about his little sister and brother (17 and 19 years his junior) hanging around him.  When my mom burned down her house in a crazy psychotic break when I was 25, his family was the family that Karl and I had to feel normal. He died today on the same day that our father died 26 years ago. I don't know what to say. 

The long story...

Friday night, May 1:

I found out via my older brother, Bob's, Facebook page (yeah, um, thanks for the phone call or personal message) that my other older brother, Phil, was in the hospital. Apparently, he found out on accident somehow because Phil like didn't have any of us listed anywhere as an emergency contact. 54 and 58 years old, those two are. *shakes head*  So, I contact Bob and get hold of my niece, Emily, who says that Phil was admitted to the hospital with breathing problems, but that as far as they knew, everything is ok. Sweet. I go to sleep.

Saturday morning, May 2: 

I call the hospital. They are all, "Oh are you a blood relative, can you make medical decisions, we had to put him on a ventilator because his blood pressure dropped and he stopped breathing and he's got sepsis and once he's stable he will need at least his toe amputated" and well a bunch of suck.  Over the course of the day, I learn that due to the fact that he's basically ignored the fact that he's a diabetic for the past few years, he probably developed diabetic neuropathy in his feet, cut his toe or got sores or something, they got infected, he didn't notice or ignored that too, the infection spread into his bone, and then sepsis.  And now I'm making decisions about his care.

Sunday, May 3:

Phil is still unconscious. I talk to my niece, Sarah. She's scared and asks me if I'm coming to New Jersey. I say yes.

Monday, May 4:

Drive to New Jersey

Tuesday, May 5:

I spend the day trying to figure out what is happening and hanging out with Sarah.  After stalking doctors and nurses, I'm able to cobble together more information: Due to years of ignoring his diabetes and drinking too much, his liver is not in the best shape. His kidneys are borderline. He's not on dialysis yet, but that could be not too far in the future. He's got ulcers in his esophagus and stomach from, yup, untreated diabetes and drinking.  He's not able to breath on his own and still on the ventilator. The sepsis in his toe has spread to his ankle. His fever can't be controlled. It's just a pile of suck.

Wednesday, May 6:

Sarah and I play hookie and spend the day at the Liberty Science Center trying to think about something other than her dad's terrible condition.  That evening, the doctor calls and I have to give consent for them to amputate my brother's leg below the knee.  The second worst decision (not really a "decision" so much as a "must do", but still) I've ever had to make in my life.

Thursday, May 7:

Drive back to New Jersey. Surgery is postponed because no doctor is available.

Friday, May 8:

They call again for consent. I have to talk to 2 doctors and 2 nurses to say "Yes, I give you permission to amputate my brother's leg". I hate that sentence. He makes it through the surgery only to have both lungs collapse and they need to put in two chest tubes to re-inflate.

Saturday, May 9:

His fever is down. Nothing else really changes.

Sunday, May 10:

He is awake and alert. He is able to respond to yes/no questions and squeeze her hand. 

Monday, May 11:

He's less alert. His fever is back up to 102.

Tuesday, May 12:

He is unresponsive. His fever is 103. They are checking his blood. His heart stops and that's it. He gone. My brother is gone. Just gone. 

So, I guess tomorrow I go to New Jersey.

I'm mad. I'm mad because this didn't have to happen. I'm mad that he has a 14-year-old daughter who is going to be crushed. I'm mad because I love him and he's gone. I'm mad because I'm just mad. I'm sad. I'm confused. I feel sick. I want to cry but I hate to cry. I feel like my head is full of pressure. I feel like it's not real, but it's too real. It's too much. 

I'm tired of calling people. "Hi, it's Jenn. I have some news. Phil died this afternoon. *pause because person on other end is at loss for words or starts crying* I'm sorry. It's terrible. His heart stopped and they couldn't get it restarted. Yes, thank you. I'm sorry, too. Will you be ok? I don't know yet about the service but I will let you know when I make a plan. Your welcome. Yes, this is awful. Yes, I know, it's sad. I'm sorry. Will you be ok? Ok, I'll talk to you later. Thank you. Goodbye."

Goodbye, Phil.