Growing up, health wasn't a constant concern. Thankfully, we never had any major sicknesses or emergencies. All four of my grandparents are still alive. My longest hospital stay was when I got my tonsils out when I was 6. So, when my mother called me to tell me that they had detected a brain tumor, I didn't have a script ready.
At first, we all tried to play it off as "not as bad as it could be" but as more results came in, the sinking feeling in my stomach became a constant companion. The tumor had apparently been causing small seizures in my mother's brain for over a year. What do you even say to that?
When my parents scheduled the surgery, I offered to come up from Guatemala to be with her during the hospital stay. She said no, made it seem like it wasn't a big deal. But the next day she called me back, and asked me come. It was one of the most clear moments of my life: nothing else was as important as going to her. I called Elizabeth at YASC, rushing to tell the story and get the okay to travel.
But she didn't just give me the okay to travel. She opened her arms to me and talked me through this situation. She offered her help and the help of the entire YASC program. She told me that of course, I needed to go to my mother's side. I felt comforted through her words and incredibly loved.
I went to Wisconsin for the surgery. I cannot tell you how frightened I was, but of course, I knew my role there was to comfort not to be comforted. (I wonder how I would have handled news like this as a child.) I waited the long hours with my father and when my mother thankfully awoke after the brain surgery, I sat with her day after day, marking small moments of progress. I was the center of communications making sure all of her extended family and friends had their updates.
One of the hardest parts of those days were when she asked me to go get a coffee for her. I had read that within the hospital there was a Starbucks, so I went in search of it. Little did I know, it was in the Children's Hospital, next door to the surgical wing where my mother was recovering. I could hardly stand to be there. As I waited in line alongside exhausted parents and fragile children, all I wanted to do was to return to my mother's arms. I thanked God that she had woken up.
She ended up needing a second surgery and we started all over: long hours of waiting and hoping and then longer days of watching and testing out new skills. I stayed over 2 weeks there, able to finally bring her back to her own house in Wisconsin with my father. Peace settled into my heart when I saw her back in her own room.
Since then, so many people have told me how lucky we are. And they're right. But we aren't just lucky that my mother is recovering---we are lucky that we have each other and that we have people who support us and believe in us. These are the moments where I feel God with me-- how could I not? He placed the right people in my life to guide me and accompany me during his process. It's a long road ahead but...
Do not fear, for I am with you.