2 years and 10 months ago my brother told me that he was going to be a dad.
This was me:
Not only was I excited that I was going to be an aunt for the first time, but I was also excited because now he had his girlfriend locked down for 18 to life. (Yes, I realize that that sounds kind of crazy, but I just want him to be happy).
They were really excited about the impending bundle of joy, but then, over the course of her pregnancy, my sister-in-law-to-be (or, as they say in mommy groups online, FSIL) found out that her baby was going to have a serious heart defect. Some might say that that was terrible news (I mean, YES it was TERRIBLE news, OBVIOUSLY), but it was also fortunate that they discovered it in utero. Had they found out at the time he was born, they would not have had a game plan, and his birth and life could have gone very differently.
So fast forward 3 surgeries (2 heart, 1 tonsils if you’re keeping count), we get to this past Monday. This past Monday, this handsome dude had his last of 3 open-heart-reconstructive surgeries.
My brother and family checked in to the hospital on Monday morning with hope and trepidation. Family, friends, church folk, and strangers were all praying for him. The surgery lasted about 4 hours, and then he was released into the ICU. He was, understandably, groggy and agitated, but the doctors and nurses raved about how well he did. My brother and his fiance were overjoyed that everything was going so well, and they were finally able to relax a little bit.
The next morning, my nephew was doing well. He was doing SO well that they were able to remove enough of his machines and tubing that he was able to GET UP AND PLAY. I kid you not, this two year old, who just had his chest ripped open in open-heart-reconstructive surgery, was up and playing THE NEXT DAY.
This leads me to my main point here. IF I HAD HAD OPEN HEART SURGERY I WOULD BE FLAT ON MY ASS. I mean SERIOUSLY. I would expect to be put into a light coma (for at least the first few days). THEN, I would expect to be waited on hand and foot, not moving, laying on my back, watching movies,and eating shit food. I certainly would not be getting out of bed and walking around. I just wouldn’t. Does that mean that I’m lazy? Maybe. Or maybe I just have realistic expectations as to what my mind and body can and cannot do. I mean really, who am I to judge hypothetical me?
Now, instead of focusing on my HYPOTHETICAL shortcomings, lets focus on the excellence that is my nephews strength and character. I can’t even imagine the pain and the ‘WTF WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME’ thoughts that he had. This kid has got to be the strongest person I have ever met (besides his mother).
Moral of my musings: I am weak compared to my (basically a superhero) sweet ass nephew.
An actual picture of me lifting weights: