On Sunday, while viisting me, my brother ended up having to go to the hospital. It was one of the more harrowing experiences of my life. When we arrived, Tristan was ushered into the back. They didn't take any of his insurance or contact information; and I wasn't allowed to see him for almost 4 hours after he was admitted to the ER.
Before anyone worries, my brother is ok.
However, the last 72 hours have been a whirlwind. Part of me is still trying to sort them out, to separate facts from fears.
I remember calling my parents. I remember talking to my mother on the phone, my mind focusing on a single thought: "Hold it together."
I remember the sight of my brother for the first time, connected to multiple IVs and with sensors strapped to various parts of his body. I remember at that moment how strange and different he looked.
I remember my father walking into the room, following Katie and my mother. I wasn't sure he was going to make the trip out. I'm not sure he knows how much better it made me feel that he did. I'm not sure I could express it to him.
I remember finding out that my brother had another episode while eating I was lunch. I remember the actual taste of the food changing when I found out.
I remember returning home Sunday night. I remember being exhausted, tired, drained - As I lay in bed, I remember crying - in fear of what might have been, and in relief of what wasn't.
I remember waving to my parents and brother as they left the parking garage tonight, headed back to Philadelphia. I remember that feeling.
My brother is ok.
During the entire ordeal, he was amazing. I can only hope I have that strength when I need it.