My Brudda My Brudda and His Shoulder
I'm very concerned about MBMB. (For those who don't know, that stands for My Brudda My Brudda which I insist on calling my younger brother, Alan.) I concerned for him both now, and for his future. By the time I'm done, it will all make sense.
On Tuesday evening, I was in the gym with Erica. She was on a bike, and I was on one of those killer stepper thingers. I think they call them "elliptical machines" but anyway, we were not close enough to talk, but close enough to see each other. My father called, and I could tell he wanted to say something. Finally, I just asked what was up. He said, "Your brother messed up his arm again." If I was on a treadmill, I would have fallen off. I got off of the machine to have the conversation. I got as much information as I could out of him. Apparently, during PE that morning, he was playing (some ball game - most likely basketball) and the damn shoulder dislocated AGAIN. I was shocked because I thought we were done with this. It happened alot last school year, and he sat out of ALOT of games, and nearly DIED because of it (b/c he wanted to play so bad), but he still suited up for every game, and insisted that he attended, although he couldn't play. He sat out for almost the entire season to allow his arm to kinda connect back with the shoulder joint or whatever. I can actually remember nights when I would wake up in a panic, because he woke up screaming, "Aaaagh! Aaaaagh! Aaaagh!" from pain. I guess his movement in his sleep aggravated it. He would go right back to sleep, but I would still be disturb, after yelling back, "Oh, God, Alan! Your arm! Your arm! You alright?" and hearing him say, "Yeah." Anyway, this time around, it was pretty bad. Usually, he would hold his arm in the least painful position until he got to someone he trusted enough to put it back in place for him. This time, no one could help him. One of his friends helped him to hold it as he walked to the nurse's office, but the nurse couldn't help. He ended up having to call Alan Daddy (this is what I call our father), which he didn't want to do, for whatever reason. Alan Daddy got the call around 10:45am. Jill (our mother) got there shortly after, along with Alan Daddy and Auntie (my grandaunt on my father's side who MBMB and I grew up with). The three of them went there to make sure he was alright, and Jill drove him straight to the hospital, with Alan Daddy following. My aunt went back home to man the phones and sit my grandfather (her brother who had 1,000 strokes and didn't know it until Ma, his mother and my great-grandmother noticed his slurred speech, etc. Anyway, now he's completely effed.). They went to the emergency where he refused to let anyone touch him. He continuously yelled, "NO! NO! I don't do drug! I'm an ATHLETE! I DON'T PUT THAT STUFF IN MY BODY! Don't touch me. I'm NOT letting you TOUCH ME. I wanna see EVERYTHING you doin' and I ga REMEMBER everything you do to me. NO! NO!" and such things. He didn't want to be sedated. All he wanted was food, but they told him no, because it would make him sick. Then, he was thirsty, and they wouldn't give him any water. At one point, he went into shock. He turned WHITE (which isn't THAT far from his complexion anyway, but you get the point) and started hyperventilating, etc. They had to give him oxygen and calm him down.They kept telling him to relax, and put his head on the pillow, but he wouldn't. All he would do is rest his head in his hand, still sitting straight. They kept giving him the stuff to sedate him, but "he got some damn strong nerves" (says my mother) because it just wasn't working. It should only take one shot, but they had to keep giving him more. Finally, they gave him enough. While he was "under the influence" he entertain them well. He went on and on about some "dumb teacher" and how she told another student that he would be a pastor, etc. He talked about movies, including Castaway. He went on and on with details. Luckily, the doctor knew what he was talking about, and was able to engage him in conversation. This is when my father realized, "He must really be paying attention when he goes to the movies, huh?" They also talked about basketball. The doctor asked him who he plays for and he said KA. The doctor said, "Oh, that's a DEAD team." BAD MOVE. MBMB said, "NO! NO! NO!" and the doctor said, "Yes, that's a DEAD team, man." This set MBMB over the edge. He started getting VERY LOUD. "NO! NO! NO! NO!" Eventually, a head doctor came around and said, "What you doin' to dis boy?" The doctor said, "Nothing. I just talkin' to him about basketball." The head doctor said, "No. Not today. Not in here. That's enough." MBMB was getting out of control. Then, as he was coming around, he told doc he was coming right back, right now. Alan Daddy asked him where he was coming from. "Afghanistan." WTF?! LOL. Then, when he came to completely, Alan Daddy asked him how Afg was, and he looked at him like he was a damn idiot.
Anyway, since then, he went to see Dr. Gibson, some sort of specialist. Obviously, now he needs to have the surgery that they've been talking about since last year, around this time. They were hoping it would heal itself if he stopped playing. Obviously not. He needs the surgery. They were looking at Easter weekend for him to have the surgery, but now he's been referred to a specialist in Miami. He's an NBA sport specialist or something. They're going there for a second opinion or whatever. They're trying to arrange it for Easter weekend. This SUCKS because that's my exam time. My first exam is on Easter Monday (which isn't a holiday here). Hopefully, I can focus, and not worry too much about what's going on in Miami while I'm exam-taking. I asked Jill today when she thinks he'll be having the surgery. I'd rather be there, than here at the time. She couldn't even estimate. She pointed out that the Miami doctor may say that they should do it right away, and they may end up staying over so that he could have it done. At the same time, he could say that it's not that big a deal, and Dr. Gibson can do it in Nassau. To be honest, I hope the doc says he'll do it. I don't trust doctors in Nassau too much. I don't know why. I just don't. Anyway, I'm hoping it'll be after exams so that I can meet them in Miami. Still, there's the issue of residence, and not being able to travel between the semester and the time that they move you into summer res. They should be able to understand a family emergency though, right? I don't know...
Anyway, MBMB really likes basketball. He LOVES it. It's pretty much his life, and probably the only reason he goes to school everyday. It's the only reason he's improved his grades by miles in the past two years. He wants to be drafted into the NBA. He even refused to attend university here (with me) because he feels he has much better chances of being drafted from the USA, so he's looking at Florida. I don't know where the money for it is gonna come from. He wants to go to FIU. I looked at FIU for a while myself, but I knew that it was out of the question, so I moved on from it. The only way he'll be able to get there is by scholarship. How is he gonna get an athletic scholarship with a screwed up arm? I'm actually kinda pissed about this b/c my whole reason for going home last summer (in the second session) was so that money would be available for his surgery, and they STILL didn't give it to him. Pretty frickin frustrating. Now look at it. He's going into 12th grade. It's pretty much his last chance, and he'll be recovering. Apparently, it takes 6 months for full recovery. If he has the surgery in April, six months would be october. The season starts in November. Who is to say that he'll be good to go? This SUCKS. I'm upset. Ugh.
I'm trying to be positive, and hope that all things work out... but... What if it doesn't? I wanna tell him to pull up his grades big time, b/c basketball won't be enough anymore... but I don't wanna seem like I'm raining on his parade, or dashing his dreams or whatever. I'm going to have to think about this before I talk to him.
On Tuesday evening, I was in the gym with Erica. She was on a bike, and I was on one of those killer stepper thingers. I think they call them "elliptical machines" but anyway, we were not close enough to talk, but close enough to see each other. My father called, and I could tell he wanted to say something. Finally, I just asked what was up. He said, "Your brother messed up his arm again." If I was on a treadmill, I would have fallen off. I got off of the machine to have the conversation. I got as much information as I could out of him. Apparently, during PE that morning, he was playing (some ball game - most likely basketball) and the damn shoulder dislocated AGAIN. I was shocked because I thought we were done with this. It happened alot last school year, and he sat out of ALOT of games, and nearly DIED because of it (b/c he wanted to play so bad), but he still suited up for every game, and insisted that he attended, although he couldn't play. He sat out for almost the entire season to allow his arm to kinda connect back with the shoulder joint or whatever. I can actually remember nights when I would wake up in a panic, because he woke up screaming, "Aaaagh! Aaaaagh! Aaaagh!" from pain. I guess his movement in his sleep aggravated it. He would go right back to sleep, but I would still be disturb, after yelling back, "Oh, God, Alan! Your arm! Your arm! You alright?" and hearing him say, "Yeah." Anyway, this time around, it was pretty bad. Usually, he would hold his arm in the least painful position until he got to someone he trusted enough to put it back in place for him. This time, no one could help him. One of his friends helped him to hold it as he walked to the nurse's office, but the nurse couldn't help. He ended up having to call Alan Daddy (this is what I call our father), which he didn't want to do, for whatever reason. Alan Daddy got the call around 10:45am. Jill (our mother) got there shortly after, along with Alan Daddy and Auntie (my grandaunt on my father's side who MBMB and I grew up with). The three of them went there to make sure he was alright, and Jill drove him straight to the hospital, with Alan Daddy following. My aunt went back home to man the phones and sit my grandfather (her brother who had 1,000 strokes and didn't know it until Ma, his mother and my great-grandmother noticed his slurred speech, etc. Anyway, now he's completely effed.). They went to the emergency where he refused to let anyone touch him. He continuously yelled, "NO! NO! I don't do drug! I'm an ATHLETE! I DON'T PUT THAT STUFF IN MY BODY! Don't touch me. I'm NOT letting you TOUCH ME. I wanna see EVERYTHING you doin' and I ga REMEMBER everything you do to me. NO! NO!" and such things. He didn't want to be sedated. All he wanted was food, but they told him no, because it would make him sick. Then, he was thirsty, and they wouldn't give him any water. At one point, he went into shock. He turned WHITE (which isn't THAT far from his complexion anyway, but you get the point) and started hyperventilating, etc. They had to give him oxygen and calm him down.They kept telling him to relax, and put his head on the pillow, but he wouldn't. All he would do is rest his head in his hand, still sitting straight. They kept giving him the stuff to sedate him, but "he got some damn strong nerves" (says my mother) because it just wasn't working. It should only take one shot, but they had to keep giving him more. Finally, they gave him enough. While he was "under the influence" he entertain them well. He went on and on about some "dumb teacher" and how she told another student that he would be a pastor, etc. He talked about movies, including Castaway. He went on and on with details. Luckily, the doctor knew what he was talking about, and was able to engage him in conversation. This is when my father realized, "He must really be paying attention when he goes to the movies, huh?" They also talked about basketball. The doctor asked him who he plays for and he said KA. The doctor said, "Oh, that's a DEAD team." BAD MOVE. MBMB said, "NO! NO! NO!" and the doctor said, "Yes, that's a DEAD team, man." This set MBMB over the edge. He started getting VERY LOUD. "NO! NO! NO! NO!" Eventually, a head doctor came around and said, "What you doin' to dis boy?" The doctor said, "Nothing. I just talkin' to him about basketball." The head doctor said, "No. Not today. Not in here. That's enough." MBMB was getting out of control. Then, as he was coming around, he told doc he was coming right back, right now. Alan Daddy asked him where he was coming from. "Afghanistan." WTF?! LOL. Then, when he came to completely, Alan Daddy asked him how Afg was, and he looked at him like he was a damn idiot.
Anyway, since then, he went to see Dr. Gibson, some sort of specialist. Obviously, now he needs to have the surgery that they've been talking about since last year, around this time. They were hoping it would heal itself if he stopped playing. Obviously not. He needs the surgery. They were looking at Easter weekend for him to have the surgery, but now he's been referred to a specialist in Miami. He's an NBA sport specialist or something. They're going there for a second opinion or whatever. They're trying to arrange it for Easter weekend. This SUCKS because that's my exam time. My first exam is on Easter Monday (which isn't a holiday here). Hopefully, I can focus, and not worry too much about what's going on in Miami while I'm exam-taking. I asked Jill today when she thinks he'll be having the surgery. I'd rather be there, than here at the time. She couldn't even estimate. She pointed out that the Miami doctor may say that they should do it right away, and they may end up staying over so that he could have it done. At the same time, he could say that it's not that big a deal, and Dr. Gibson can do it in Nassau. To be honest, I hope the doc says he'll do it. I don't trust doctors in Nassau too much. I don't know why. I just don't. Anyway, I'm hoping it'll be after exams so that I can meet them in Miami. Still, there's the issue of residence, and not being able to travel between the semester and the time that they move you into summer res. They should be able to understand a family emergency though, right? I don't know...
Anyway, MBMB really likes basketball. He LOVES it. It's pretty much his life, and probably the only reason he goes to school everyday. It's the only reason he's improved his grades by miles in the past two years. He wants to be drafted into the NBA. He even refused to attend university here (with me) because he feels he has much better chances of being drafted from the USA, so he's looking at Florida. I don't know where the money for it is gonna come from. He wants to go to FIU. I looked at FIU for a while myself, but I knew that it was out of the question, so I moved on from it. The only way he'll be able to get there is by scholarship. How is he gonna get an athletic scholarship with a screwed up arm? I'm actually kinda pissed about this b/c my whole reason for going home last summer (in the second session) was so that money would be available for his surgery, and they STILL didn't give it to him. Pretty frickin frustrating. Now look at it. He's going into 12th grade. It's pretty much his last chance, and he'll be recovering. Apparently, it takes 6 months for full recovery. If he has the surgery in April, six months would be october. The season starts in November. Who is to say that he'll be good to go? This SUCKS. I'm upset. Ugh.
I'm trying to be positive, and hope that all things work out... but... What if it doesn't? I wanna tell him to pull up his grades big time, b/c basketball won't be enough anymore... but I don't wanna seem like I'm raining on his parade, or dashing his dreams or whatever. I'm going to have to think about this before I talk to him.