This is about my sister Bobbie, who as most of you know almost died last spring. Warning...it's not graphic to me, but I do describe surgical stuff. Not that any of my friends are wimps :)

  My sister Bobbie almost died last spring.

     She is 17 months younger than me. Mom raised us practically as twins, dressing us alike, cutting our blonde hair into the same styles. Although younger than me, Bobbie is taller  (she is almost 6 feet tall, I’m 5’3”) so mom could dress us in the same size from the time Bobbie was 2. Most of our childhood pictures show us side by side…she the same height as me…her hair just a tad darker than mine. It wasn’t hard to have hair darker than mine..Ray (my younger brother by 3 years) and Boo (it’s actually Amanda, younger than me by 9) had this hair that wasn’t blonde..it was a silvery white. Ray’s eventually darkened a tad… then disappeared altogether with the genetic curse that is the Preston male. Boo’s hair is still just as white as ever. I doubt she colors it, as I do mine.

  But back to Bobbie. This wasn’t the first time she scared us like this…it’s closer to the third. This time was different, though and it’s a story I feel I need to tell. The first time she scared us, she had a horrid miscarriage that required surgery and left her bloodless and pale. The second time was after her tubal ligation, she developed a tubal pregnancy…a rare, but deadly pregnancy not in the uterus, but in the fallopian tube. When the pregnancy reaches a certain size, it literally explodes the tube…causing massive internal bleeding. So…I’ve gone to the bedside of my sister before, seeing her pale and wan and hovering over her, talking of blood types and surgery.

  This time was different.

Bobbie had a routine hysterectomy scheduled that day in April. I had fairly large chickens and was planning my daughter’s wedding. Mom (also a nurse, as is Bobbie) had to work. Boo volunteered to stay with Bobbie that day. Bobbie and her husband Jack were separated at the time and actually…Bobbie had filed for divorce. The marriage seemed to be broken down to the point of no repair.   After 4 children and 5 miscarriages, that uterus HAD TO GO as Bobbie and I would say to each other. So off goes Boo to the hospital with Bobbie for her routine surgery.

  After I got the chickens walked and ate lunch, I worked a little on wedding stuff. At about 2, I started feeling….restless. Ill at ease. Like I was supposed to be somewhere. I put my makeup on, the whole time wondering WHY. I don’t usually put makeup on if I’m not going somewhere. I called my friend Carolyn and she stated she was heading to town to pay a few bills. “I want to go” I blurted. “I’ll drive”. So I picked her up and we drove the 5 miles to Caulksville, paying the water bill…depositing checks…checking the mail. I said “hey, let’s go to walmart!” which surprised Carolyn…I’m not an impulse person…and Carolyn commented on how this was odd for me. I said “I feel like I’m supposed to be somewhere, but I don’t know where. I feel….restless. Like…something’s wrong.”  

  We got our stuff done and headed home. I dropped Carolyn off and told her I’d holler at her the next day. As soon as I got home, I unloaded everything and my phone rang. It was my mom. I had gotten a text from Boo earlier saying Bobbie was out of surgery and doing fine. I answered the phone and mom was SCREAMING. “There’s something wrong! Go to the hospital! They think Bobbie is bleeding internally! It’s bad!”

  I ran back in the house and told Tara I had to go, check the chickens for me please…I called Clint as I backed my Expedition out and sped down the highway. I made it to the hospital in record time.

  I ran directly to Bobbie’s room, like someone was guiding me. I flew in the door and there lay Bobbie. Her face was the color of clay, her breath labored. Her abdomen was swollen. Her lips were ashen. She was moaning.  Boo stood in the corner, on the phone, giving details to someone. Boo was crying and saying “hurry! just hurry!” I ran to the bedside and looked at Bobbie.  Her eyes opened and she looked up. “you just thought you couldn’t come today. I’ll do anything to make you come see me.” she whispered, trying to joke. Her tongue was thick and slurry. Her eyes were lifeless.  The nurses came banging into the room with a gurney. I kissed Bobbie’s forehead. It was cold. I  thought “I’ll never see her alive again. This is it. She’s not gonna make it.” I helped them get her on the gurney and grabbed the head of it and ran with the nurses down the hall to surgery. It was strange…such a comfortable thing for me to do…load someone up….run down the hall to surgery…it had been my job for so long. But this WASN’T my job and this was my sister. I felt that strange detachment that you feel about a patient you are working on…you can’t think about it too much…your gloved hands coated in their blood…she became a patient. I couldn’t cry, not now…that would come later, when there was time. Right now there was a bleeding patient and an O. R. There were details to sort out and calls to make. I stopped short of going into the O.R….oh, but if they had let me go in…I would have. Would I forget this was my sister if they had let me in? I’ve been elbow deep inside an abdomen…seen the glistening blood and muscle. I’ve held pressure to stop bleeding. I’ve felt that fear that we could lose a patient…a bleeding mother of 4… I’ve cut suture and suctioned the blood. I watched them take her and I knew. I knew they were prepping her belly, the betadine running and pooling under her back. I could see the incision, quick and sure…the belly filled with blood , pouring out of the incision…it’s TOO much …it’s TOO dark, the blood, it’s been there for TOO long…the doctor muttering under his breath…where’s the bleeder? SUCTION! handing the clamps as fast as you can. Counting the sponges out loud to the circulating nurse. The loud voices, calling for more blood..another IV …more sponges…more clamps..more hands to STOP THIS BLEEDING…  I watched the blood guy run by…once. twice. three times. I know you can’t check out less than two at a time. That’s six, I counted to myself. Finally I walked the 20 feet down to the waiting room. Boo was there, crying…I hugged her. She said “I knew something was wrong. no one would listen to me.” I assured her she had done all she should and silently cursed the recovery room that let this slip. After what seemed like forever, the doctor came out, tired and shaken. “We finally just stuck our hands in her and held  pressure in her abdomen. She got 6 units of blood. She’ll be in intensive care for a couple days.”

  We process. 6 units? most people have 6-8 units of blood total. They replaced her whole supply? Within a day, she gets 6 more. They replaced her blood TWICE.

  I go with Dad into the recovery room (you should have been with her in the FIRST recovery room. this wouldn’t have happened. it’s YOUR fault my internal forever oldest child tells me. you could have fixed this) She is laying on the gurney, the head of it as high as it will go. She has an oxygen mask on full blast. She is holding the mask on so tight, pressing it to her face, precious oxygen. She gasps the air in, swallows it in great gulps, lovely oxygen. I hear her lungs rattle with each breath.  She sees me and tries to say something. Dad can’t speak. He pulls back. Seeing his child so pale, so sick…I lean in. She pushes the mask aside.

                                                I THINK I DIED.

                                                I THINK I DIED.

                                                I’M PRETTY SURE I DIED.

 She repeats this several times, with out inflection or any sense that this will shock me.

Daddy recoils and leaves the room. I don’t blame him. I lean in, sure I’m hearing her last words.

                                                I DIED.

                                                PRETTY SURE I DIED.

She repeats it again and I nod. “Well, you just about killed me.” I say. This makes her smile and she grasps the mask to her face, sweet oxygen. Her voice is wet and raspy…too many fluids, too fast. I know this is the danger now…she’s alive. We have to keep her that way. But too much blood, too much stress, too much. Too much. Pneumonia? Infection? More bleeding? What next?  I shove my inner nurse aside and focus that she is alive. I now understand why ignorance is bliss. My knowledge makes me worry.

   I tell her I love her and kiss her pale, cool forehead again. She dozes off and I step out. Mom goes in, and Boo. I stay in the waiting room. Bobbie’s oldest kids go in. I call and text and plead on facebook for prayers.

                                   I know she isn’t out of the woods. I know this, but I say nothing. My mom knows it and is silent. We silently say nothing and we know.

  The next week is a blur of chickens, wedding plans, and Bobbie. My friends and church members call…text..email…facebook. I’m shocked at the people who reach out…and angry at the people who don’t. People that I have helped through trials. Even though I know they know…trust me. I KNOW they know what’s going on with Bobbie, my sister I love. I hear nothing from them. I ponder this and set it aside, sorting my life a little. I release these people from my life. Bobbie and I talk about this…people she has know as long as I have, that know she almost died and seem to not care. She releases them too and it is freeing to us. We are glad to sort these things out together, my pale sickly sister and I.  I go to the hospital every day just as soon as I can get someone to check the chickens. When she gets home, I take soups and casseroles and lasagna I have frozen for just such times. Bobbie is pale and weak, her abdomen still swollen. Jack is there, her estranged husband. He came to the hospital to see her. I was shocked at his pain. I felt I barely knew this man who had been with my sister for 14 years. Jack visits with me…he asks if I miss being a nurse. He asked me this in the intensive care unit as I was helping Bobbie with her bath. Bobbie said “how can she miss it? she’s taking care of me! I’m not going to give her a chance to miss it!” and we laughed. Jack thanked me for coming and for being nice. He says “Tell Clint I appreciate him being nice to me, too.” I assure him I will.

  At Bobbie’s house, she admits she’s confused. She’s not sure she wants to go thru with the divorce now. I tell her to wait, to pray. This will be a good test. She agrees and lets him move back in. This will be a good test, she says back to me. A good test.

                                         Jack passes the test.

She is happier now than ever, her children rising up and calling her blessed. Jack is the man she loves. He is different now…sweeter. More considerate. He takes Bobbie to church. They pray together. Almost losing her life has saved their marriage. This is one of those “…but then, God” stories. “Bobbie almost got divorced and almost died..but then, God stepped in.”

  There are pictures of Bobbie, Boo and I at Tara’s wedding. Tall, lanky Bobbie. Still a little pale, a little swollen, but she’s THERE. She is still in pain.  Boo, tall, pretty, smiling. Me in my roundness, all smiles and big hair and fake eyelashes.

  She leaves a little early, tiring so easily after the ordeal. We don’t talk much about what happened and when I ask her if she remembers saying I THINK I DIED, she doesn’t. I joke and ask if she saw a great light and Papaw and Granny. “Nope! Guess not!” she says. She says “I remember so little.” Thank God, I think to myself.

               3 weeks ago, I was in Walmart and my phone rings. It’s Bobbie. She’s crying. “What’s wrong?” I say, worried.

       “ I just went on your facebook wall..the day I almost died. I can’t believe the people that reached out. I can’t believe they were donating blood. I can’t believe I almost died!”

   I walk around walmart, talking softly into my headset, talking about blood and surgery and death, telling her I didn’t think I would see her alive again. I’ve told her this before, but this time it sinks in. I tell her about calling Ray and his shock. I tell her my whole church lifted her up in prayer. I tell her Clint cried. I tell her Tara is more concerned with Bobbie than her wedding. Well…almost.  

    I stop by the laundry detergent and wipe my eyes. I’m crying.

People worriedly glance my way.

I care NOT.

I put bread into the cart while saying “Praise God you’re ok!”

People are staring.             

I care NOT.

Bobbie and I talk about God and His plans and husbands and kids and she settles down. I head to the check out and say “I still wish you’d seen a bright light and Granny and Papaw.”

Bobbie laughs, still sniffling a little, and says “I’ll try better next time.”

I say back “oh, no! you better not! I’m not going thru this again! I’ll kill you if you try to die again”

The check out girl stares.

I care NOT.

I take my headset off after Bobbie hangs up and smile at the checkout girl. “That was my sister. I love her.”

 The checkout girl stares.

I care NOT.

I walk out of walmart and unload my groceries into the back of my Expedition. I climb into the seat, put my head on the steering wheel and just breathe, sweet oxygen.

 I thank God for the blood that saved us all.