After finishing an aerobics class at the YMCA, I saw that I’d missed a call from my brother Don.
When I called back, I barely recognized his voice.
“Slow down, Bro. I can’t understand what you’re saying.”
“David, it’s my heart. It’s beating like a wildly galloping horse. I clocked in at almost 200.” He gulped air but didn’t wait for my answer.
“That’s just part of it. My head is fuzzy, and I can’t catch my breath. My chest hurts. I must have pulled a muscle when I was hiking yesterday.”
I was the doctor-brother, the family medical consultant. Don was my only sibling, a seventy-one-year-old retired attorney. We had remained close, even though we’d lived in different states for a quarter century.
“Is anybody with you?”
“No.”
“I’m calling 911 right now and notifying the hospital that you’re on your way to the ER.”
“You’re kidding, right, David? That seems a little much. I just want to know what anti-inflammatories to take. Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
“Listen to yourself. You just said your heart’s beating out of control, your breathing is difficult, and you feel like you might pass out. That’s serious. Next stop, ER.”
I had never considered that my brother might get sick. He was always there for me. I was always there for him. That’s just how it was. But I remembered a time when Don was in the hospital years ago. In grade school, he was a wiry tree climber. One afternoon he was perched high in an oak tree when the branch snapped, and he fell. I wasn’t there, Mom was. She called the ambulance. Amazingly, he had no serious injuries, but they kept him overnight for observation. When we went to see him in the hospital, he was sitting up in bed with a big grin, surrounded by treats.
“How about sharing some of your candy, Don?”
“Nope. You have to fall out of a tree first. When we get home, I’ll push you.”
We returned home without him that night, and his empty room haunted me. I didn’t sleep in my own bed. I sat in his chair for a long time thinking of adventures we had together, bike riding to the end of Long Island, sailing across Long Island Sound to New London in our dinghy, riding the NYC subway all day on Saturdays. Then I fell asleep in his bed, certain that my presence in his room would assure his return.
On my land line, I called 911 and arranged the ambulance, keeping Don talking on the cell phone. I called the cardiologist and notified him to Don’s impending arrival. I tried distracting my brother with questions about a dock he was building on Long Pond, Mt. Desert Island, Maine. Surprisingly, he took the bait.
“First, I have to secure the piles. I’m using PVC pipes, driving them into the lakebed. I’ll fill those with concrete, then secure pressure-treated lumber in the cement.”
“Have you got everything you need?”
“I’m working on it. Finding the pressure-treated lumber is a problem up there.”
I couldn’t focus on the discussion. I kept thinking of our father and his first heart attack at age 62. The possibility of another heart attack had worried me every day for the next 32 years, until he died at 94.
Years before, Dad once told Don and me, “Someday, there will be no mom and no dad, just two brothers. You will need to support each other. Your brother is the person you can depend on most.”
At the time, that remark got lost in a waterfall of teasing, childhood scuffles and general denial that our lives would ever break out of the cocoon protecting us. My father created an atmosphere of unconditional love and acceptance. By the time he passed, we had internalized his code and lived by it every day.
I received a text that the ambulance had been dispatched.
“You hanging on, Don?”
“Yeah.”
“The ambulance is on its way. Listen to the paramedics, they’re the experts. No fooling around.”
My brother was always ready for a practical joke. This was not the time.
“But I’ll see a specialist, right?”
“I alerted the hospital already. When you hit the ER door, a cardiology team will be waiting for you.”
“Thanks, David.”
“Once the cardiologist calls me, Kathleen and I will drive up from Asheville. We’ll be at the hospital tonight.”
“You don’t have to do that. You can visit me when I get home.”
“Let me be the doctor, okay? For once in your life, just follow my advice without backtalk. You’re going to live for a long time. But we want to see you tonight. Besides, I need to collect the Legos you ‘borrowed’ from me almost seventy years ago.”
“Very funny. This still seems like a lot of fuss.”
For the first time, I considered the idea that Don might die. I was blessed with a wonderful wife but with only one brother. The only one who knew me from the very beginning, my first and most steadfast friend.
It was different with a brother. Different from a parent, a friend, or even a spouse. We had a long history together. We were like a New England fisherman’s net from the 1800’s, each knot tied by hand and pulled tight with the exact right tension. Don and I had tied the knots in each other’s nets – that defined us and provided our zone of safety. I couldn’t imagine losing him. It would be like losing a piece of myself.
“Do you remember watching the Stooges on TV?” I asked.
“Sure. Remember that pie fight? After we watched them, we went out to the backyard and tried it ourselves.”
“Remember how mad Ma got? We filled her pie tins with whipped cream and threw them at each other? The whole back yard was covered with the stuff.”
My mind lined up the many times Don had pulled me out of the fire. The politics of academic medicine were vicious, but Don turned each situation as much to my advantage as possible. Sometimes, he advised me to cut my losses and get out, even helping pack my bags. Having an able and willing lawyer who would step in at the last minute was critical.
There is an undefinable bond between brothers, forged by grief, disappointment, happiness, and celebration over many years. We are blessed knowing that our safety nets are secure.
Don received expert care and is back hiking and sailing, testing his physical stamina to the limit. That’s who he is.
I am watching over him, as he has done for me so many years. Because it is what brothers do for each other.
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