Shanti's Battle A/G Brain Aneurysm
Donation protected
The name "Shanti" means peace and tranquillity. This is my wish for my beautiful aunt as she battles the aftermath of two brain aneurysms.
Novembers are synonymous with cold, brisk, chill. Not in 2015. It was as if Mother Nature was in our favor, as we celebrated birthday after birthday in perfect weather. On November 6th, I hurried home from work to help Shanti decorate. She was throwing a party for her baby girl Kimberley, who just turned 21. By that evening I joined all of Shanti's other little elves as we decorated her backyard. It was also a special night for me, because it would be the first time I would see her face to face after getting engaged less than a week before. When we were face to face, we had an in depth conversation without words. "I am so happy for you," were her words to me. I became a little girl again, buried in her arms and soothed by her soft smell and loving hug as I cried. "She's not marrying you off," she said to me while looking at my mom. "WE are marrying you off." I didn't know it would be the last special moment I would have with her before all of our lives changed.
Calling Shanti an aunt is nearly an understatement. She is my friend who gives me advice; she is my coworker because we worked for the same company; she is my sister because she held my deepest secrets; she is my mom because she never gave me anything less than unconditional love. And she is my aunt who would give me anything even if it meant leaving her with nothing. She is the life of any party. The light when she walks into any room. The glue to our family. The most selfless person in our lives. No one loves life more than she does.
Saturday, November 7th was the big day. Cooking, last minute decorations, shiny things everywhere. That's the kind of girl she is-- shiny, elegant, beautiful. We went home and told her we would be back. It was time to get dolled up, which happens to be one of Shanti's favorite things to do. We were just about ready to go back to the party when we received a heart shattering call from Kim. She said her mom was not waking up. The five minute car ride to Shanti's home felt like five million years. We arrived to find the paramedics removing her evening gown and bringing her down the staircase on a stretcher. Her eyes were closed and she was barely breathing. Shortly after, neurosurgeons attempted to perform an endovascular coiling procedure but were unsuccessful. Our only and last resort was going through her skull. This would allow them to perform surgery on one ruptured aneurysm and clip the other. When Shanti came out of surgery, we could barely recognize her. Weeks went on and she slowly healed. We would soon learn that Shanti would have to start life all over. This meant regaining functionality, mobility, and every day things that we sometimes take for granted. There were some things she could remember, and most things, not so much. After a little more than a month, Shanti received various aggressive therapies. Any tiny progress was a huge one in our eyes. Soon she could walk with supervision, eat puréed foods, carry on short conversations. A month later, we were thrilled to bring her home. She could dance a little, make us laugh, kiss us. We were on the road to recovery, together.
In March, Shanti experienced a relapse. We took her back to the hospital. A series of events would take place, causing Shanti to deteriorate. From pneumonia, to ulcers, mass blood transfusions, trachea tubes, feeding tubes, subacute strokes, just to name a few. But Shanti was not letting anything take her down. In every way possible, she fought for her life and still continues to do so. That's why she is my hero.
Fast forward, Shanti is now a patient in a Nursing/Rehab facility. After having gone through so much, she has become weak. Her progress has slowed down. She's unable to find the strength to stand on her feet, and experiences muscle contractions that have prevented her from even straightening her legs. She receives little therapy, and minimum medication. With insurance companies being as gracious as they could be, we are being told that insurance will no longer accommodate her stay. With a feeding peg in her stomach, we have been asked to take her home. Taking her home would require rebuilding parts of her home, from railings to bathrooms, to an operable bed. We don't believe this is her fate. We don't believe this is the end of the road for her. We fear that the longer we wait, the harder it will become for her. It breaks my heart to know that saving your loved one is not only an emotional struggle, but a financial one too. Anyone with a sick loved one can surely relate. We are thankful for any contributions to help Shanti move on to a more effective facility, or even receive the proper care she needs if we have no choice but to take her home. Even if it isn't possible, another great contribution in my eyes is to help raise awareness to brain aneurysms. Thank you from the bottom, middle and top of my heart, either way.
I miss the old her every day, but I am thankful that I have that one last memory to replay in my head. I am thankful that I can still hold her and kiss her. All of my life I've pictured her being a part of my wedding. It hurts to even think of planning one. Now, all I can ask is for her to be healthy and to be there, whenever it will be. I just wish with all of my heart that Shanti can get all of the help she needs and deserves. xoxo, Ana
Novembers are synonymous with cold, brisk, chill. Not in 2015. It was as if Mother Nature was in our favor, as we celebrated birthday after birthday in perfect weather. On November 6th, I hurried home from work to help Shanti decorate. She was throwing a party for her baby girl Kimberley, who just turned 21. By that evening I joined all of Shanti's other little elves as we decorated her backyard. It was also a special night for me, because it would be the first time I would see her face to face after getting engaged less than a week before. When we were face to face, we had an in depth conversation without words. "I am so happy for you," were her words to me. I became a little girl again, buried in her arms and soothed by her soft smell and loving hug as I cried. "She's not marrying you off," she said to me while looking at my mom. "WE are marrying you off." I didn't know it would be the last special moment I would have with her before all of our lives changed.
Calling Shanti an aunt is nearly an understatement. She is my friend who gives me advice; she is my coworker because we worked for the same company; she is my sister because she held my deepest secrets; she is my mom because she never gave me anything less than unconditional love. And she is my aunt who would give me anything even if it meant leaving her with nothing. She is the life of any party. The light when she walks into any room. The glue to our family. The most selfless person in our lives. No one loves life more than she does.
Saturday, November 7th was the big day. Cooking, last minute decorations, shiny things everywhere. That's the kind of girl she is-- shiny, elegant, beautiful. We went home and told her we would be back. It was time to get dolled up, which happens to be one of Shanti's favorite things to do. We were just about ready to go back to the party when we received a heart shattering call from Kim. She said her mom was not waking up. The five minute car ride to Shanti's home felt like five million years. We arrived to find the paramedics removing her evening gown and bringing her down the staircase on a stretcher. Her eyes were closed and she was barely breathing. Shortly after, neurosurgeons attempted to perform an endovascular coiling procedure but were unsuccessful. Our only and last resort was going through her skull. This would allow them to perform surgery on one ruptured aneurysm and clip the other. When Shanti came out of surgery, we could barely recognize her. Weeks went on and she slowly healed. We would soon learn that Shanti would have to start life all over. This meant regaining functionality, mobility, and every day things that we sometimes take for granted. There were some things she could remember, and most things, not so much. After a little more than a month, Shanti received various aggressive therapies. Any tiny progress was a huge one in our eyes. Soon she could walk with supervision, eat puréed foods, carry on short conversations. A month later, we were thrilled to bring her home. She could dance a little, make us laugh, kiss us. We were on the road to recovery, together.
In March, Shanti experienced a relapse. We took her back to the hospital. A series of events would take place, causing Shanti to deteriorate. From pneumonia, to ulcers, mass blood transfusions, trachea tubes, feeding tubes, subacute strokes, just to name a few. But Shanti was not letting anything take her down. In every way possible, she fought for her life and still continues to do so. That's why she is my hero.
Fast forward, Shanti is now a patient in a Nursing/Rehab facility. After having gone through so much, she has become weak. Her progress has slowed down. She's unable to find the strength to stand on her feet, and experiences muscle contractions that have prevented her from even straightening her legs. She receives little therapy, and minimum medication. With insurance companies being as gracious as they could be, we are being told that insurance will no longer accommodate her stay. With a feeding peg in her stomach, we have been asked to take her home. Taking her home would require rebuilding parts of her home, from railings to bathrooms, to an operable bed. We don't believe this is her fate. We don't believe this is the end of the road for her. We fear that the longer we wait, the harder it will become for her. It breaks my heart to know that saving your loved one is not only an emotional struggle, but a financial one too. Anyone with a sick loved one can surely relate. We are thankful for any contributions to help Shanti move on to a more effective facility, or even receive the proper care she needs if we have no choice but to take her home. Even if it isn't possible, another great contribution in my eyes is to help raise awareness to brain aneurysms. Thank you from the bottom, middle and top of my heart, either way.
I miss the old her every day, but I am thankful that I have that one last memory to replay in my head. I am thankful that I can still hold her and kiss her. All of my life I've pictured her being a part of my wedding. It hurts to even think of planning one. Now, all I can ask is for her to be healthy and to be there, whenever it will be. I just wish with all of my heart that Shanti can get all of the help she needs and deserves. xoxo, Ana
Organizer and beneficiary
Ana Ram
Organizer
New York, NY
Kim T
Beneficiary