SibTears
It was the summer before my senior year of high school, during my first golf match of the season, when Jean-Widler Étienne arrived to stay with our family. The date was August 18, 2009. There aren’t many complete dates I can remember, but this is one of them. We came in contact with a medical mission’s team which brings children from a Haitian orphanage to the United States for pro-bono medical care, and were placed with this bundle of hope. When he came to live with us he was seventeen months old and weighed seventeen pounds. He could not sit up, walk, talk, or even hold his head up. Jean-Widler swam in his size three month shirts and pants. I was at first skeptical about fostering a child. I was preparing to leave for college and I felt as if I was being replaced by another child. I also thought it made zero sense for my parents to start this child-raising cycle again. But within seconds of meeting Jean-Widler, I knew this fostering needed to manifest into a permanent adoption.
It was so stressful to watch my future brother go through so much pain. We weren’t aware of how much sickness his little body held. The amount of school I missed during my senior year threatened visits from social workers and child services to determine why my absences were so outrageously high. One particular surgery that took place in our Fort Wayne hospital has left me scarred to this day. It was supposed to be a simple procedure to place tubes in his ears. His little body couldn’t handle this minute surgery, and he went into congestive heart failure right in my arms. The feeling was awful. Seeing his Oxygen levels go down, pressing the mask onto his face, seeing no increase in numbers, watching him go limp, seeing the nurses hover around you, and the blurring wheelchair ride from the recovery room to PICU. I was in such a state of shock that my body ran off pure adrenaline. About an hour after he stabilized, I left the room and broke down in a panic attack. My body was out of whack for three months, and panic attacks were frequent occurrences during that time. I carried a brown paper bag with me during school, and spent my nights sweating over nightmares. The trauma I faced from this one surgery actually pushed me into severe depression and anxiety, and I needed to seek medical treatment. I truly believe I hit rock bottom during this time. I felt I had to be eternally strong for my entire family and not show what a mess I had become. I dealt with my feelings in harmful and skewed ways, and developed an intense fear of Jean-Widler dying. To this day I am still on medications for depression, OCD, and anxiety and regularly speak to a therapist. In fact, months were spent just dealing with the feelings surrounding that surgery and my concerns for Jean-Widler.
After the complications from his first surgery, there was no question about his next surgery. His surgery that would correct his crossed eye and connect the neurons in hopes of creating sight would be done at Riley. The staff was amazing. I was allowed to hold my brother after surgery. He didn’t wake up on a starched bed, he woke up in my arms. That meant so much to me, because at that point I was still not in a good mental place. The care given by the staff at Riley meant so much to me, and the great thing is they know that already. Riley knows what they’re doing, and they work so hard to make the entire family feel secure about the child’s care. Riley helped to put me at ease, as much as possible, during this time.
Jean-Widler became André Jean-Étienne Stanley. I cannot imagine my life without him. I was put through the emotional ringer because of him, but he will never know how much he helped me. Through so many low points I faced during my freshman year of college, I looked to André to put a smile on my face. His crib was a room away, always available for cuddling and comforting. I will never be able to thank him and let him know how much he helped me in my time of need. He will never know how much I love him. I truly believe I love him as a son, and have a maternal relationship with my brother. It is the most amazing feeling. The trauma was worth it, because out of this I have matured beyond my nineteen years and taken on a new role within my family that I greatly enjoy.
- Submitted January 2012