A Day I Will Never Forget
I’ll never forget that day. It was in February that my father told me my older sister might not be coming home. I was home alone and had been since the very end of January. My dad called me from the Children’s Hospital in Denver, Colorado. It started out with what seemed to be a normal conversation.
“Hi, Dad! How’s Bridgette doing?”
“She’s still goin.’
Just had another seizure. We got some news today.”
“Oh, yeah? What is it?”
“Well, if your sister has surgery, there’s a chance she won’t make it.”
I was eleven at this time, and I remember sitting down in a moment of silence. Then I quickly said, “Goodb ye.” It all started when Bridgette was in her terrible two’s. She had been having problems sleeping during the night. She would wake up terrified, shaken, and crying for dear life.
Everyone thought they were what my parents called “night terrors,” but aft er having these episodes for quite some time, she was diagnosed with a brain disorder called epilepsy. Soon afterwards, my parents began doing research on it. My aunt was helpful because she also had epilepsy as a child, but her case terminated when pubert y began. We hoped for the same with
Bridgette.
It wasn’t until she started puberty, though, that the seizures hit hard. The stress of my parents’ divorce added even more aggravation. She’d been on medications prior to this phase, which acted like a barri er, but they never stopped for an extended amount of time. The episodes became more frequent and uncontrollable. There were numerous times that she was taken to the hospital or rushed to the ER. She had also been flown out on Flight for Life to Denver, CO
.
My family was being pushed to the limit. Dad had been off work for over a year, money was precious, and spending was to the point of restriction. We took turns staying up with
Bridgette every night, holding her hand, and soothing her thoughts. Because B ridgette had a seizure every three
-
to
-
five minutes, rest was slight. We had to sit
“Hi, Dad! How’s Bridgette doing?”
“She’s still goin.’
Just had another seizure. We got some news today.”
“Oh, yeah? What is it?”
“Well, if your sister has surgery, there’s a chance she won’t make it.”
I was eleven at this time, and I remember sitting down in a moment of silence. Then I quickly said, “Goodb ye.” It all started when Bridgette was in her terrible two’s. She had been having problems sleeping during the night. She would wake up terrified, shaken, and crying for dear life.
Everyone thought they were what my parents called “night terrors,” but aft er having these episodes for quite some time, she was diagnosed with a brain disorder called epilepsy. Soon afterwards, my parents began doing research on it. My aunt was helpful because she also had epilepsy as a child, but her case terminated when pubert y began. We hoped for the same with
Bridgette.
It wasn’t until she started puberty, though, that the seizures hit hard. The stress of my parents’ divorce added even more aggravation. She’d been on medications prior to this phase, which acted like a barri er, but they never stopped for an extended amount of time. The episodes became more frequent and uncontrollable. There were numerous times that she was taken to the hospital or rushed to the ER. She had also been flown out on Flight for Life to Denver, CO
.
My family was being pushed to the limit. Dad had been off work for over a year, money was precious, and spending was to the point of restriction. We took turns staying up with
Bridgette every night, holding her hand, and soothing her thoughts. Because B ridgette had a seizure every three
-
to
-
five minutes, rest was slight. We had to sit