I was just going through old Facebook posts and this one deserves more back story while I'm still youthful enough to remember it. Here's the video, followed by an explanation.
In May of last year, my best friend and sister went into septic shock from a toxic and fast-moving virus that took pure advantage of her weakened immune system. She was put into a coma, and loaded so heavily with antibiotic fluids her hands swelled up like inflated examining gloves and her facial features nearly disappeared under all the added water weight -- and this is the way she stayed for several weeks.
While she lay comatose, myself, all my family, and many varying friends, waited in the ICU family area day in and day out, anxiously awaiting updates. Some days there was a little glimmer of improvement, other days, no sign of change at all, but the most memorable news update was the one we received from her renal transplant doctor -- he came to the waiting area to tell us Susan's only hope for survival was to take her off all her immuno-suppressives and hope that her own immune system would jump into action to fight off the toxic infection. The risk, of course, was the potential to lose the kidney transplant our cousin had given her just three short months prior. Without the medicines suppressing her immune system, she may begin to fight her transplanted kidney -- it may become a casualty of war between her body and this infection. And that, as scary of a pill it was to swallow, was a chance we had to take in order to have any hope of saving her life.
It only took a matter of a few short days off the immuno-suppressives for her body to fight back and that was enough to to spike her into recovery. After many weeks in ICU, she was moved to trauma care where she continued to struggle with the effects of all the medicine and procedures done, and eventually transplant care where she was able to focus on recovery. She continued to recover slowly, but struggled to get the excess fluid off her body. After being comatose for weeks, the atrophy in her muscles made it difficult to exercise, which made it difficult to bring down the excess fluids. But with each passing day and all the energy, love, and light our friends and family continued to bring, Susan refound her strength and fought back against all odds.
The video above is of a remarkable woman named Danielle DeCosmo. I will never forget than name as long as I live. She is a profound and humbling woman and she spent her afternoons visiting patients in the hospital and brightening their days with music.
The very first day we sat waiting outside ICU, by happenstance, she came through. Maybe it was the sadness or uncertainty on our faces, or the maybe the closeness of our bodies, but she felt compelled to stop. With no questions asked, she captivated us all with an Allison Krauss song, one that my mom and I both knew the words to, and she sang it most beautifully. I didn't think to video that performance, but it resonated with me to powerfully, I shared the story of it repeated over the course of the next several days. I only hoped Susan would get to share a similar experience with her.
After Susan was moved to a different unit, Danielle crossed paths with us once more. I wanted to so badly for Susan to share the moment with us, but she was in no shape to have a visitor. Once again, we were waiting in the family area when Danielle rounded a corner, connected with us, and pulled up a chair. This time she asked briefly about Susan's progress and expressed her hope that she continue to recover. "What would you like to hear?"
I looked at Jeff and he looked at me (I had told him all about the first time we saw her but clearly couldn't put her energy and her calming presence into words). We didn't know what to ask for, but it only took seconds for her to follow up with, "how about Somewhere Over the Rainbow?"
Perfect choice.
Jeff, Mom, Dad and myself sat there, in awe of her performance and her energy, and I'm not at all kidding when I tell you I cried after she left, and I cry just about any time I see that video. Of all the moments I spent in that hospital, of all the memories I have of those weeks, I am most grateful for this one. Danielle moved me in ways I cannot even describe. She brought a peacefulness -- nay, a contentment-- into my heart I hadn't felt yet. She made me feel okay with things. She made me feel that everything would be okay. And it all was. And I think in some cosmic way, she had something to do with that.
I don't think I ever got to properly thank her for impact she made on our lives. I didn't realize it at the time, but I think I needed her spirit, voice, and energy more than Susan did. Danielle DeCosmo, if you do ever read this, please know I will never forget what you did for me, for my sister, and for my family.
(Just to give a fair update, it has been over a year now. And while Susan is not fully recovered, she is back at home, back to work doing what she was put her to do -- take care of people, and is more in love with life than she ever has been. Each day she gets a little closer to a complete recovery; I know she cannot wait for the day when she can say, "remember when ...")
In May of last year, my best friend and sister went into septic shock from a toxic and fast-moving virus that took pure advantage of her weakened immune system. She was put into a coma, and loaded so heavily with antibiotic fluids her hands swelled up like inflated examining gloves and her facial features nearly disappeared under all the added water weight -- and this is the way she stayed for several weeks.
While she lay comatose, myself, all my family, and many varying friends, waited in the ICU family area day in and day out, anxiously awaiting updates. Some days there was a little glimmer of improvement, other days, no sign of change at all, but the most memorable news update was the one we received from her renal transplant doctor -- he came to the waiting area to tell us Susan's only hope for survival was to take her off all her immuno-suppressives and hope that her own immune system would jump into action to fight off the toxic infection. The risk, of course, was the potential to lose the kidney transplant our cousin had given her just three short months prior. Without the medicines suppressing her immune system, she may begin to fight her transplanted kidney -- it may become a casualty of war between her body and this infection. And that, as scary of a pill it was to swallow, was a chance we had to take in order to have any hope of saving her life.
It only took a matter of a few short days off the immuno-suppressives for her body to fight back and that was enough to to spike her into recovery. After many weeks in ICU, she was moved to trauma care where she continued to struggle with the effects of all the medicine and procedures done, and eventually transplant care where she was able to focus on recovery. She continued to recover slowly, but struggled to get the excess fluid off her body. After being comatose for weeks, the atrophy in her muscles made it difficult to exercise, which made it difficult to bring down the excess fluids. But with each passing day and all the energy, love, and light our friends and family continued to bring, Susan refound her strength and fought back against all odds.
The video above is of a remarkable woman named Danielle DeCosmo. I will never forget than name as long as I live. She is a profound and humbling woman and she spent her afternoons visiting patients in the hospital and brightening their days with music.
The very first day we sat waiting outside ICU, by happenstance, she came through. Maybe it was the sadness or uncertainty on our faces, or the maybe the closeness of our bodies, but she felt compelled to stop. With no questions asked, she captivated us all with an Allison Krauss song, one that my mom and I both knew the words to, and she sang it most beautifully. I didn't think to video that performance, but it resonated with me to powerfully, I shared the story of it repeated over the course of the next several days. I only hoped Susan would get to share a similar experience with her.
After Susan was moved to a different unit, Danielle crossed paths with us once more. I wanted to so badly for Susan to share the moment with us, but she was in no shape to have a visitor. Once again, we were waiting in the family area when Danielle rounded a corner, connected with us, and pulled up a chair. This time she asked briefly about Susan's progress and expressed her hope that she continue to recover. "What would you like to hear?"
I looked at Jeff and he looked at me (I had told him all about the first time we saw her but clearly couldn't put her energy and her calming presence into words). We didn't know what to ask for, but it only took seconds for her to follow up with, "how about Somewhere Over the Rainbow?"
Perfect choice.
Jeff, Mom, Dad and myself sat there, in awe of her performance and her energy, and I'm not at all kidding when I tell you I cried after she left, and I cry just about any time I see that video. Of all the moments I spent in that hospital, of all the memories I have of those weeks, I am most grateful for this one. Danielle moved me in ways I cannot even describe. She brought a peacefulness -- nay, a contentment-- into my heart I hadn't felt yet. She made me feel okay with things. She made me feel that everything would be okay. And it all was. And I think in some cosmic way, she had something to do with that.
I don't think I ever got to properly thank her for impact she made on our lives. I didn't realize it at the time, but I think I needed her spirit, voice, and energy more than Susan did. Danielle DeCosmo, if you do ever read this, please know I will never forget what you did for me, for my sister, and for my family.
(Just to give a fair update, it has been over a year now. And while Susan is not fully recovered, she is back at home, back to work doing what she was put her to do -- take care of people, and is more in love with life than she ever has been. Each day she gets a little closer to a complete recovery; I know she cannot wait for the day when she can say, "remember when ...")
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