45 days. To you, 45 days could mean a plethora of things or nothing at all. But, for me, it's a time in my life when everything seemed to move so fast, yet so slow. For 45 days, my parents stayed in Boston Children's Hospital, staying with my recovering brother. Meanwhile, back home, I spent those days in a daze. I didn’t want to admit what was occurring, not to anyone else, especially myself. For context, my brother was to have open heart surgery on November 6, 2023. But, my family did not return until the 21st of December. The surgery itself went fantastic. However, during extubation, disaster struck. The careless staff had further damaged my brother's trachea, one that was already scared from previous mistakes. His trachea closed, stopping his breathing in an instant. He was declared dead for 4 minutes. 

Now in emergency mode, doctors scrambled to bring him back. They performed a tracheostomy and saved his life. At least, this is what they told my parents. What truly happened was shrouded in lies. During his extubation, his trachea did close up but he didn't just die from lack of oxygen. The doctor had sliced his jugular vein in the process of inserting the trach. He lost deadly amounts of blood, requiring many blood transfusions, but eventually revived too many minutes later. We learned soon after that this had caused severe brain damage, changing his life forever. 

I don't like sharing this story often but, when people ask, I swallow my sorrow and tell them. It's hard, but people are curious, and I have difficulty saying no. Today, my brother is on the long road to recovery. He's improved so much compared to where he was, and I couldn’t be more proud of him. I mean, we went from being told he was going to be a vegetable for the rest of his life to him flipping off those who told him otherwise, literally and figuratively. But, with his experience, I gained a story of my own. During those 45 days when he was physically fighting, I was mentally fighting. I was not only alone, but I was fifteen. I had a small group of friends and family to guide me through such a time of suffering, but it still wasn't easy. To be honest, I struggled so much. Many days I awoke to a quiet home, once filled with the sound of morning news, the smell of coffee and eggs, and the feeling of home. Now, it felt like an empty shell, just memories lingering. 

Though the circumstances weren’t ideal, fending for myself felt new and fresh. I felt free in a way. Yet, there was still a dark side to living solo so young. Being alone all that time pushed me into a limbo between adolescence and adulthood. I was a child burdened with the responsibilities of an adult. I had to shop for food, take care of my pets, frequently do laundry, occasionally clean and organize, and find a way to get everywhere I needed. It was even more difficult because I couldn't drive, and it was in the middle of winter. This meant I needed to ask for rides, and once I exacerbated that resource, everywhere had to be within a quick walking distance. Whenever a problem would arise, I couldn't just run to my parents. 

I remember the moment it first really hit me. Within the first few days they had been gone, I was preparing dinner. As I was mindlessly cutting away, the knife slipped, nicking my finger. That was the first time I’d ever cut myself, and I was scared. I called out for my mom, and to no surprise, silence. I couldn't help but break down. I knew I was alone, but the reality of it hit me like a truck. I curled up into the fetal position and cried myself to sleep that night. 

I feel as if I did gain an advantage. Not many people my age can say they went through what I experienced and I believe it’s what allowed me to mature faster than most. Maturity granted me the ability to realize how strong I am. I took a moment to accept that what I was going through wasn't typical, that it was okay to not be okay. Before my family left, I never liked to bother others, I didn't want to weigh them down with my pain. But once I “grew up”  I saw people’s true intentions. They did want to support me and make sure I knew I wasn't alone. Maybe I was physically, but emotionally and mentally, I knew I had others to lean on. I’m grateful for all of the people I have in my life. Not only did they hold me up, but they also offered their time and kindness. Overall, it may seem as if I had gotten through it on my own, but without certain people, I don’t think I’d be where I am today. So maybe I was “alone” for those 45 days, but I gained aspects of myself that I thought I’d never before.