my parents and it frustrated me. How could
I care for my little sister if I didn’t get words
like vascular, cardiac, complexity and who
knows what other words.
I vowed that day that I would always try to
understand what words like those meant,
even if it took me years to do so. The doctor
left. My mother looked at me, pain visible
in her tired eyes. She called me over and
her voice cracked a little. My parents knelt
down in front of me, getting on my eye level
like they had done so many times before
but somehow this felt different. They told
me that my little sister’s heart was broken,
and that she was dreaming right now. I asked if I could see her, but my mother shook
her head. “Not yet sweetie, but soon.” She
answered. “But soon.” My father repeated. I
nodded believing their words, so I waited.
BREATHING AGAIN
I waited till the clock made a full circle, and
another. Some women came to check on
me, asking me things, but I refused to reply,
just how they denied me access to see my
Amandine. Finally I could see her, I could
see my little sister. My mother told me not
to be frightened when I would see her, because she was still Amandine. I nodded. Her
skin was still pale, but less. Her eyes were
closed, peacefully so. Tubes were going in
and out her body, to all kinds of machines
that filled the small room with sound. My
ears were aching again with want, no with
need, to hear a sound pass her lips. And it
did. Amandine was breathing, wheezing.
The sounds was painfully high, but it felt like
bliss. She was breathing, so I felt like I could
finally breath again too. My lungs filled
themselves with oxygen, and deflated again
when I took Amandine’s limp hand. It felt
cold to the touch, and not at all like Amandine, but I remembered what my mom told
me. So I straightened my back, and I kissed
her cheek. My mother put her hand on my
shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. I put my
forehead on hers, and I let her breath wash
over me. She was alive, and therefore so
was I.
HELPING HAND
Around a year ago in 2012 Amandine got
this little pump called a VAD or Ventricular
Assistance Device. It’s a helping hand to
make sure Amandine’s heart keeps beating
since her heart doesn’t have the strength
to beat for itself. Amandine is on a heart
transplant list. Thanks to the loss of oxygen
her brain experienced, Amandine is a year
or two behind on her mental development.
Nonetheless my little sister is a very bright
and smart girl, and she has a lot for her
going already.
I’m currently studying to be a doctor myself,
I dream of being a heart surgeon one day. ■