Never Prepared

Last Tuesday morning I was almost done with my overnight shift at work. At 7:50am, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I picked it up, expecting to see a text from the day time emergency doctor, saying she would be running late. Instead it was my dad, with a message I had been expecting pretty much since I was old enough to know what drug addiction meant. My oldest sister, Barbara, age 44, had overdosed and was on life support in the hospital. Twenty plus years of preparing for that moment, and I still wasn't really ready for it.

As the details unfolded, it became more clear that this person who always knew exactly how far she could push herself did not do this by accident. She had been a user for more than half of her life and was always adamant that no one ever do it alone. But she had closed herself in her bedroom that night, had been dropping clues for weeks. All of last week was a process of my family processing the fact that this was ACTUALLY happening, this was no longer a matter of speculation of when or how or why. Everything the doctors were saying, I knew there was no way she was going to wake up. It was such a hard place to be. No, I'm not a human doctor, but I am an emergency doctor, this is the kind of scenario I deal with on an almost daily basis: a dear loved one, terminally injured, with the rest of the family left with guilt and grief and loss. I am proud that it never devolved into what I sometimes see: family blaming each other, taking out their anger and grief on each others' faults and shortcomings. It would have been easy to do, but it didn't. Everyone stayed supportive and understanding, sharing the grief equally. And I'm also grateful that when it came time, Barbara did what all of my clients pray their pets will do: make the decision themselves. Another curse of working in emergency medicine is I knew when I walked into the room that day that her vital signs would not keep going much longer. The decision had already been made that that would be the day she would be removed from life support. My biggest fear was that she would remain stable for days after removal, leaving everyone second guessing the decision. But she didn't do that. She had already made the decision Monday night we knew. She just waited for everyone to accept it. I am grateful for the peace that she met at the end.

But it doesn't make the loss easier. I really didn't see or hear much from her. In fact, I felt like I had to hide, afraid that I could be seen as a source because of my job and how close I was to where she lived. It made me a terrible sister. I deluded myself into believing it was for her own good. But she didn't need anyone's help, didn't ever want it and would never have taken it if it were given against her will. What really mattered to her wasn't how long she lived, just that she mattered to others. And I didn't show her that she mattered, that she was my big sister and that was important to me. It wouldn't have made a difference in the demons that she lived with. But she would have known that she was loved, and that was all she really seemed to care about. Services are tomorrow morning. One more chance for everyone to come together. One more chance to say good bye. I see her every where, and I hope that never changes.

How my childhood memory will always picture her. Love you Barbara.