The Best & The Worst Day of My Life

Memoir- The Best and Worst Day of my Life

The abundant sound of my alarm dragged me out of bed at 5 am, but I knew I was awake long before then. I was awake at 4 am when my mom peeked into my room before leaving for the hospital. I was awake at 3 am going over every little bit of research I did on kidney transplant surgery, and I was awake at 2 am when the recurring nightmare of surgery complications forced my eyes open to ensure that once again, it wasn’t real.

Except this time it was.

Maybe not the dream, but the surgery was happening. Tears I kept in from the day before threaten to spill over, but I kept them in once again. As I take my normal morning routine, eyelids shut, I feel the same warmth in my body that encompassed me the day before when I shared one last hug from my parents before the surgery. I feel the invisible wetness of my mom's tears on my shoulder and the trembling of my dad's hand on the small of my back.

“Emma hurry up we’re gonna have to leave soon!!” my sister hollers from outside the door.

An annoyed look spreads across my face as I am shook out of the memory, but I still quickly wrap a towel across my body, turn the lock on the door, and run into my room, head down, hoping my red eyes don’t fool her. I throw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie hearing my mom's words in the back of my head.

“Remember to pack something warm to wear, hospitals are cold! Don’t forget to pack things to keep you busy too, you’re going to be there for a long time!”

“I know mom it’s okay, we’ll be fine, just focus on yourself and the surgery!” my sister always answered.

I begin to pack my bag dropping summer work I purposefully procrastinated on in preparation for this day, and extra chargers for my phone and laptop.

I go downstairs and head straight to the prayer room, closing and locking the door behind me to ensure I won’t get disturbed.

When I’m finished with my prayer I head to the kitchen, head down, eyes still stained red, but my aunt knows better than to ask questions. The car ride to the hospital is quiet except for the faint sound of the radio and the ring of the morning train. Looking out the window is the only thing keeping me sane, but as the view of the hospital gets closer I feel the unsettling feeling envelope me once again.

The cold breeze of the hospital greets us as we walk in and are directed up the steps to the surgical transplant floor. We’re brought straight through another set of doors and are brought to a room that we’re told is called the O.R. waiting room. A smile spreads across my mom and dad's face as me, my sister, my aunt, and my cousin enter the room.

“The days finally here!” my mom says with a touch of uncertainty.

“I know, it’s crazy- I mean it just crept up on us.” my sister answers with confidence in her voice.

As the anesthesiologist comes in asking questions and giving information, I feel my brain working overload taking mental notes of everything that can go wrong and good. We are told to say goodbye until after surgery as my dad gets taken to get another wire put into him. We are also told that someone could go with him. I want to talk so bad, say “I’ll go with him”, but the word goodbye rings in my ears and keeps my mouth shut for me. His sister goes instead.

We make it into the regular waiting room and meet my dad’s sister who is bent over so we cannot see her face, but I can hear her sobs from where I’m standing. Everyone rushes over to her, but I stay put. The feeling of helplessness overcomes me and a sob escapes my mouth. My sister, knowing this would happen, catches me into a tight hug and caresses my hair providing me with the same warmth my mom has.

We first go downstairs and get breakfast from Starbucks, then me, my cousin, and my sister find three seats and get settled in.

As I begin to take out my work, I see a patient walk by with a dialysis machine bag, which was the only thing that kept my dad alive for so long. I remember getting calls from him as he was on his way back from a long day at work, the facetime propped up on his dashboard.

He would walk me through the steps of setting up his dialysis machine. First wash your hands, but only for 15 seconds, next get the bags of fluid, clean them, and check to make sure they look good. Next, turn on the dialysis machine, attach the drain line to the toilet, close the door, and turn off the thermostat. For the next part, I remember his words, “this is the hard part, be gentle.” I put on the mask, wash my hands, this time for 45 seconds, carry the bags over to the machine, and carefully attach the wires. Then I press go. As soon as he’d hear the beep he would say “good job, the hard parts over, I’ll be home in a bit.”

All I know is that was not the hard part of this.

Time seemed to be going slower than it ever had and my work was not providing a good enough distraction from everything. Trips to the O.R. board became pretty frequent and I just got more and more upset when there was no change.

Then, finally it happened.

“Are you Nish and Shejal’s daughters?” questioned the guy from the front desk.

“Yes- I mean are they okay, did the surgery go well?” I sputtered.

“Yes, your mom got out of surgery and your dad’s is almost finished, two of you can go see your mom now.” answered the guy with a smile on his face.

My aunt rushed over eager to get information and decided that it might be better if she went with me and my sister to go see my mom. As we made it down to the recovery room my excitement was working overload. We entered the room and after fully sanitizing were brought to her bed. I had never seen my mom like this. She was lying in the bed still, her eyes fluttering shut, a look of distress on her face. She kept asking if the surgery was over and we kept giving the same answer, “yes, it went well.” We were only able to stay for ten minutes, but I have never cherished time more. As we walked out, tears escaped me once again, but this time they were of joy. As weak as she may have looked, she was okay, she survived, and she helped save my dad, her husband, our family.

A couple hours later we were finally allowed to see my dad, but I found a part of me stopping myself. I had overheard that he was shaky from the amount of anesthesia that he had gotten and that he had a lot of wires coming out of him, still. I decided to stay back. I had never felt worse about anything. How do you let your fears stop you from seeing someone you love and giving them comfort?

Hours passed and my parents finally got rooms. They were both doing better and I flip flopped between their rooms wearing a bigger smile than I’ve had in a long time. That night, when we got home, I had never felt secure with my family's health. I went to sleep, no longer drowning in worry, but afloat with happiness for my mom, for my dad, for my family, and for the love we share.