A sign
I have never been so happy to get “flipped the bird” as I was on Monday afternoon.
No one can quite insult you and get away with it like your brothers and sisters. It is as if they lay awake at night pondering new slurs or jabs that make you want to simultaneously start bawling and laughing in appreciation. OK, so maybe it is just my family that is weird this way, but I don’t think so.
A therapist would probably identify that the finely honed sarcasm skills of my siblings is a defense mechanism to shield them from the verbal barrages and digs. They might be right. I’m not a therapist.
A holdover from this sarcasm is that when we ask each other if they are OK, the affirmative response comes with a rude hand gesture most associated with Illinois drivers on the highway. It has become an unspoken signal between us showing that while we may be battered, wrapped in bandages or in severe pain, we are OK, or at least we will be.
Last Friday I was at the Medford Curling Club watching the high school teams compete against Portage. My phone started ringing with a call from my older sister, Janet.
Even before I answered, I started to worry. Getting a phone call from my sister during the day is a sure sign that something bad has happened. In this case, she was calling because she was on her way to the regional heart center hospital where our sister was being admitted for emergency surgery with a dissecting aortic aneurysm.
Those words shook me. It was as if I had been transported back more than three decades and was a high school student. It was my junior year of high school that by the grace of God and the skill of surgeons my dad survived his first dissecting aortic aneurysm. It was also that same condition that killed him a few years ago.
When you are 1,000 miles away, there is not much you can do but say a silent prayer, or 20, while you are waiting for updates.
When Janet would find out information from the doctors and nurses, she would relay it to rest of us on our family text group. She let us know when the eight-hours surgery was completed and updates on the care Darci was getting including the names of her nurses.
Over the weekend, the priest visited and performed the Anointing of the Sick. Janet reported that it took him an hour, which is kind of impressive considering that Darci was heavily sedated and had a breathing tube preventing her from talking even if she wanted to. This report resulted in a lengthy exchange of comments between the siblings about Darci’s sinless status just in time for Christmas and what her New Year’s resolutions would be and how some people will go to extremes to get on Santa’s nice list.
Throughout the weekend, I went on with my life, doing the tasks that needed to be done, working on finishing some finicky lights in the light displays for Kiwanis in the park. All the while, I was worried inside, anticipating the phone call that would have me booking flights and calling in favors to rearrange my schedule. I have no doubt that my brother in Texas and my sister in Hawaii were doing the same thing. There are a surprising amount of logistics in dropping everything.
On Monday morning, Darci was back in surgery to close up the incisions. Janet reported things had gone well. The breathing tube was removed Monday afternoon and Darci was brought out of sedation enough to communicate.
Janet’s question about how she was feeling was met with a very weak, but unmistakable rude hand gesture.
Janet shared a picture of it with the rest of us. Sometimes a sign is all it takes. It felt as if a weight had been lifted. Things are still far from good and the road ahead will be a long and lifealtering one for Darci and her children.
To live, is to carry burdens. You can either complain and whine about your troubles and wallow in your despair, or you can give them a rude gesture, get up and get on with your life.
Brian Wilson is News Editor at The Star News. Contact Brian at BrianWilson@centralwinews.com.
