really. and truly.

Anonymous asked: do you not like questions anymore?

Yes I do! I just haven’t had a chance to get online other than when I use my phone… and I don’t think the tumblr app for iphone lets you view messages.

Anonymous asked: such a talented writer you are chels! so happy for your family.

Thank you, anon

My brother has a pretty invasive surgery tomorrow, but hopefully after that he will get his voice back.

Anonymous asked: miss you updating everyday :/

I am getting my internet back tomorrow so I will more often!

Anonymous asked: what did you lie about? who did you lose? i'm so sorry but nobody is perfect and everyone makes mistakes.. that person you lost should learn forgiveness.

I lied about sleeping with someone.

I lost someone I loved, and got him back.

And then it became abusive, and i had to stop it.

I guess working in a nut-house, literally, I shouldn’t expect to have a typical day in the office, because there is no such thing. Today I witnessed my first overdose, that was just a joyous experience. The funny thing is, he wasn’t the patient.

A girl and a guy walk in to the hospital and the guy tells the receptionist he needs to check his girlfriend in because she’s suicidal. They fill out paperwork, and as they sit there we all realize they’re BOTH previous patients. Ah, such a romantic place for a first date. Instead of having cocktails they can talk over what meds they’ve had today. Anyway, so this guy is wearing sun glasses, which is weird but definitely not the strangest thing i’ve seen, and the girl is teary-eyed. He comes into our care center, which is where assessments are done, and he sits on the couch by the TV while his girlfriend is seen by a crisis worker. Mid-assessment, the girl freaks out because she had told her boyfriend where all her drugs were. She seemed psychotic, and she was involuntary committed to the hospital by a blue sheet. Next thing we know, the dude is passed out on the couch. The fire alarm was being tested at the time, and he didn’t even flinch. The nurse checked his vitals, and we called 911. Needless to say, they each took a trip to the ER together, but in separate ambulances.

At least today I didn’t have an umbrella thrown at my window. At least today no one mugged me in the parking lot. At least today no one shot themselves outside our hospital.

Work was fine, the usual.

It’s almost been one year that one man’s life was taken so another could be saved. On August 31, 2010 Justin Patrick Vehar was put to rest and my brother could finally stop resting. It’s a twisted and bittersweet feeling to know that someone died to save someone you love, but words could never express how grateful I am.

Sometimes I wonder if it was fate, if it was God’s way of saying, “Damn Christopher, you’ve made it this far, you deserve it.” Or was it just a coincidence? I don’t really know, but I like to think that things happen for a reason.

Exactly one week before Christopher went in for surgery, he asked me to come outside to watch him skateboard. He had his helmet, skate shoes, and board and went up and down the street for all of about two minutes. I took a picture of him and the smile across his face will never leave my mind. He was so happy just to be alive, but he was tired. Too tired to continue playing. A week later, on August 30th we received a call that there was a potential donor in place and we needed to get to the hospital. I don’t think I ever ran so fast in my life to my car and headed up to Primary Children’s Medical Center.

As they checked his vitals and drew his blood I stood next to his bed and held his hand. He finally got it. We made it. And no one thought this day would come.

The next morning we got the news that his donor was taken off life support and that surgery would start as soon as the organ was transported. They couldn’t tell us the donor’s name, but they did tell us how he died. He was a twenty-one year old male who had fallen off of his skateboard and hit his head. The impact from the fall caused his brain to bleed and swell so profusely that he would not recover. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. I found irony in the fact that a week previous Christopher was doing the exact same thing.

After a greuling and nerve-wrecking 12 hours of waiting for the surgery to end, he went to the ICU. And he made a full recovery.

Everyday I am reminded by the tattoo on my wrist of the day that Justin gave his life to save my brother’s. VIII-XXXI-MMX is a day I can never forget, and I’m sure Justin’s family won’t either.

At the end of this month we plan on writing a letter as a family to Justin’s parents. We want to show them pictures, tell them stories, let them know of the amazing impact this has had on all of our lives. I know they will be happy, but at the same time, they will once again mourn the death of their child. No one can bring him back, but a piece of him is still alive. My brother, for the rest of his life, will have Justin’s heart within him. I don’t think there is a greater gift you could give. 

This is almost as bad as having children.