“It’s a result of obstructed cerebrospinal fluid. It causes headaches, fatigue, muscle weakness in the head and face, difficulty swallowing, dizziness, nausea, impaired coordination, and in severe cases it can even paralyze.” But the words that had been harder for my sister to hear were, “You may never get to ride a horse again.”
The doctor kept a blank expression and a mono tone voice throughout the whole conversation as my sister’s eyes started to fill up with tears. This was the first time I’d ever seen my sister break down and cry.
How could a doctor do that? Just walk into a room give a few brief sentences that could change someone’s life without getting emotional. Were they callused or just good at acting like they didn’t care? .......................................................................................................................................................
“I’ll get you a seeing-eye pony if you lose your sight,” My brother had told Laura, after he heard my parents’ concerns of signing the papers to go through with the surgery.
“That would be great, Josh” Laura responded. Her face screamed fear and panic.
“How cool would that be? What would we name it? Could it sleep in my room? What color would you want? Brown? Black? Grey?”
Could he be any more oblivious?
“That would be pretty neat. But I don’t think the color matters since I wouldn’t be able to see it anyway.”
“Oh.” Josh took gulp of air as his eyes shot to the floor. “I.. didn’t… I’m.. sorry” he mumbled as his little white face turned bright red.

“Don’t worry about it. I was just kidding. We won’t need one anyway, the doctors will fix me. I’ll be fine.”
That conversation still to this day brings tears to my eyes.
Had she been trying to convince Josh or herself?
My brother’s words had been sweet and innocent but when I was six years old it was hard for me to fully understand a very complex, outlandish, rare brain problem called Chiari. The only thing I knew, my older, beautiful sister; Laura had not been the same since she started getting constant headaches, blurred vision, and dizziness. The Chiari was taking over her body. The only thing it had left to do was conquer her will.
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The memory of Laura riding her horse, Buck, around those red and white barrels at the county rodeo last summer filled my mind as I sat in the waiting room of the Children’s Hospital. She sat tall and poised in that worn out leather saddle. Her long blonde hair pulled back into a loose braid falling over her blue and white plaid shirt. Her scuffed up black boots remained in the stirrups and she wore her white cowboy hat with black around the brim. There had been a light breeze as she stirred up the dusty sand making the sharp turns. A scent of horses, dirt and hay filled the sticky July air. It had been one of many times seeing Laura ride. Laura in that saddle was such a symbol of her independence, freedom and strength.
I took a deep breath, grateful for the gift of remembering as I sat there staring down at my American Girl paper dolls changing the flimsy paper dresses, hairstyles, and shoes. My mom had gotten them for me to keep me busy in the hospital waiting room where we spent countless hours, waiting and praying. On the right side of my blue plastic kid-sized chair sat the teddy bear my sister, Sarah and I had found while shopping at the mall just a week ago. Had that only been a week ago? It was giant tan colored teddy bear with glass eyes dressed in a hot pink robe, pink plush slippers, and a headband to match. As I looked up I pushed my dark brown hair behind my ear and caught a glimpse of my brother, Josh. He sat across from me with his blue eyes, and freckled nose buried in his bright and colorful I Spy book, his favorite pass time.
My heart started to race. I wanted to burst through the various ICU rooms looking for Laura. What was happening to her just a few doors and walls away?
Would she ever be able to ride a horse again? Would she make it out of this and live a “Normal life.” Or be able visit the world like she always went on about? If the surgery went wrong would she lose her sight? Become paralyzed?
Before I could sit in that plastic chair another second, my mom came into the waiting room saying we got the ‘OK’ to go see her. Her face was emotionless. I quickly put my paper dolls away into my large Ziploc bag and grabbed the teddy bear and clutched it against my blue fuzzy sweatshirt. I held my mom’s cold hand as we took a left out of the colorfully decorated waiting room full of fun pillows, a red and green carpet, and a short table where I had been previously sitting. A strong stench of antiseptic crinkled my nose as we made our way down the traditional white hallway full of artwork done by patients at the Children’s Hospital. Most of the pictures were of landscapes with shining suns, happy stick people, and flowers. I found it interesting that at a place with so much depression, loss, and pain there could be so much happiness, love, and most of all hope.
My mouth became dry and my palms started to sweat as we got closer to Room 20. A rush of nerves went up my spine as I released from my mom’s grip and turned the handle.
What would she look like? Would she be in pain?
Inside it was gloomy, dark, and disheartening. Only a crack of light coming through the green blinds on the far wall lit up the room. The Doctors had warned that Laura would have a massive headache for days after the surgery making her very sensitive to even the smallest amount of light.
On the left side laid Laura in a way I never though nor wished I would see her in. Laura looked lifeless, weak, and miserable. I stood there staring; her long blonde hair lay limp around her tired looking pale face. Part of her hair had to be shaved off for the surgery but the worst of it, her blue eyes that had held so much delight and love remained gone. Her neck choked in a giant white brace propped uncomfortably. Her green hospital gown covered her bathrobe she brought from home and her beloved old, raggedy blanket on her lap.
This wasn’t Laura.
I stood silent there for a while not sure what to say. I wanted to hug her so bad and tell her “everything would be okay.”
Hold back the tears, be strong. But I didn’t want to hurt her anymore that she looked at this moment.
I let out a simple “Hi, Laura.”
She gave me a weak smile and asked “How are you doing.” I could clearly see the pain in her eyes.
“Fine,” I handed her the teddy bear. “I hope this makes you feel better.”
“Thanks.
So much I wanted to tell her, but all words just felt so meaningless and hollow.
What was I supposed to do?
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I can’t believe that surgery happened 10 years ago, and today I am witness to a walking miracle.
The autumn leaves crunched ever so slightly as Laura made her way to the front linked with the arms of my dad. The weather was impeccable,’’ 70 degrees with the sun barely peeking out of the clouds.
No one could keep their eyes off the beaming bride. Laura’s long blonde hair was curled around her tan face and her veil flowed over her bare shoulders. Ever step was graceful in her floor length white lace dress. My dad gazed down, as tears streamed down his face.
When they came to a stop he gave her one last hug. He may be giving away his little girl but today it seemed like a life time ago that we might have lost her.