This is not an easy day for me. Today is my Dad's birthday. Last year on this day, my Dad was in the cancer ward at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston. His neurologist sent a bottle of sparkling grape juice and cake to his room, but the nurses wouldn't let him eat. He was scheduled for a series of tests that required an empty stomach. I still have the bottle of sparkling juice. I don't know what to do with it.
Dad never stood up again. The long weeks that followed his emergency room admittance were nothing less than agonizing and humiliating. My mother and I took shifts that overlapped for several hours, begging Dad to eat, to take his medications, literally watching him wither away. Every second of every day was consumed with taking care of Dad, and even that wasn't enough.
This is how I know that the woman that Barack is most in debt to has barely been mentioned. It's not Michelle. Not his Grandmother. Not even his mother.
It's Maya. Barack's younger sister.
On the night my dad was rushed from a rehab facility to the emergency room, my mother and I were there. My mother was a wreck. I explained to the new team doctors and nurses in excruciating detail, repeatedly, my father's intricate medical history. I stopped each new medical employee from touching my dad's foot when they greeted him, because Dad had an ingrown toenail and it hurt like hell.
I provided the schedule I'd made of his drugs, the list of recent scans and tests, and contact information for all my Dad's doctors. He'd been fighting cancer for almost two years. More than once his "official" medical chart had proven an unreliable source, and I took it upon myself to make sure no more mistakes were made. Sadly, there were several painful mistakes made in my dad's care in this world-renowned hospital.
This horrible night, the doctors said Dad's appendix burst and he needed emergency surgery. But, since he was on blood thinners, the surgery would be delayed, and even then, there was a good chance the surgery would kill him. I called my brother in Manhattan at 11pm.
"Should I call in to work tomorrow?" he asked.
"Get your ass up here immediately." I replied.
My brother was not callous. He just wasn't there. He didn't know the intensity of the situation. It's just too hard to explain when you're submerged in living it. I didn't resent him. My brother has a very busy life in NYC, and the truth is, I couldn't imagine being anywhere else than taking care of my dad. But man, it sure would have been nice to have my only sibling there, too, if only to fetch more chocolate when needed.
So, I'd be personally grateful to anyone who sent a card (or chocolate) to Maya, Barack's sister, who has been taking care of Tut all along. She's the unsung hero in Barack's family.
Ms. Maya Setoro-Ng
In care of: Obama for America
Honolulu Headquarters
1050 Ala Moana Blvd Ste D2690
Honolulu, HI 96814
This is a photo of flowers from my father's funeral.
Please feel free to print this postcard to send to Maya.