Sisters

I have a sister. Just one. No brothers. When I was 3 my dad brought me to the hospital to pick up my mom and my new baby sister, Lisa. She had a shock of black hair that stood straight up, the envy of punk rockers, had they existed in 1969. Despite a couple of unfortunate incidences that were taken out of context (I was found hovering over her bassinet with an open diaper pin pointed at her belly, hey, I was trying to help her with an embarrassing diaper issue, and another time she was crying so I thought I'd help my mom by retrieving her from her bassinet. Was it my fault I was a small 3 year old and so could only grab her by the neck to carry her to mom? I did my best.) anyway, I liked having her around.

When we were little girls we played together all the time. We played baby dolls, and barbies and acted out scenes from Little House on the Prairie. I bossed her around. She bugged me. We had fights that included hair pulling and nail scratching. Once she made me so mad that I swiped at her, catching the tip of her nose with my fingernail. In her school photo from that year the focal point is a big scab. I lied and said I was just swinging my arms around and that it was an accident. It wasn't, but deep down I was still happy to have her around.

When we were teenagers we shared clothes, a car, sisterly secrets. I helped get her drunk for the first time and walked her in the snow (her adamant request) to help her feel better. Before she got her license I drove her and her friends to and fro which was a pain. But despite the bickering and eye rolling there was no question that it was good to have her around.

I went away to college but our relationship remained tight. We started funny rituals like giving each other corn-themed presents (don't ask), making/decorating ugly cookies at Christmas, and doing the limbo to "Feliz Navidad." She went to college, too, and while we lived in different countries, we wrote letters and sent each other funny packages. We saw each other at holidays and during the summer. Being away at school had given her the confidence to be opinionated. I no longer dominated, it didn't matter anymore that I was older. She wasn't fond of any of my boyfriends and it really frustrated me. But it was because she had my back and while I didn't want her to be right, I was glad to have her around.

I moved to L.A. to marry my now ex-husband (who she may have been at least partly right about) and she moved home to take care of my mom who was undergoing treatment for breast cancer. She lived with our parents for several years during some very difficult times, doing her best to offer support as they struggled with financial and health problems. I lived far away, had a baby and a different life. This sometimes created friction between us, but I was thankful that she was around.

I moved back to the Northwest and she fell in love and got married. My boys were at that prone-to-injury age and their father was constantly traveling for work. The kids' emergency room visits seldom corresponded to times my husband was home. But my sister was always at the ready to meet me at the hospital and take care of the well/uninjured child while I stayed bedside for the stitches and/or bone setting. When my oldest son seriously broke his arm Lisa stayed with me because I was really freaked out. The doctor wouldn't let me stay in the room while they anesthetized my son and set his bones. I was terrified. I stood outside the treatment room door which had a window with a blind, closed from the inside. My sister craned her neck and told me she could sort of see inside. She ran color commentary on the procedure, telling me that the doctor had given a thumbs up to the nurse and that all my kid's monitors were blipping away just fine. When everything was over and my son was pain free and happy with his new purple cast, Lisa admitted she never saw a thing. She didn't want me to be afraid. I tried to be mad that she lied to me but I was truly grateful she was around.

My sister has a daughter. She was born last year, 6 weeks premature and gravely ill. The complications could have also killed my sister. My niece was in the NICU unit for 6 weeks, defying all odds by recovering completely. She is a gorgeous, thriving toddler, a vision of health. Throughout the ordeal I marveled at Lisa's bravery and unwavering belief that things would work out. I'd been a mom for a lot longer than she had, but she was an inspiration to be around.

My sister, as I type this, is lying on an operating table having a double mastectomy. She, at 39, has breast cancer. One breast was affected and the doctors felt it best to remove it. Given her young age and motivated by her baby girl, she decided to have the healthy breast removed, too. Why worry about the disease striking again? She will need to undergo chemotherapy and radiation. She has a long, difficult journey ahead of her. It doesn't feel real. Each day at 7:12 the school bus picks up my boys. Each day the paper is on the doorstep. Each day the normal daily things happen. And I can almost forget that my sister is facing this battle. But the painful reality is there, jabbing and daring me to sink to thoughts of the worst case scenario. Of not having her around.

Her prognosis is excellent. She is feisty in the best of times. I have dealt with her when I've pissed her off and right now I SO would not want to be that cancer. Bring it on. It doesn't stand a chance. Because her daughter, her husband, her mom, her dad, her extended family, her friends and her big sister, who by the way is ready and poised and not afraid to use an open diaper pin if I have to, need her to be around.