Five minutes ago, I received this email from Heather:
I’m not even sure where to begin…
I’m sitting in a hospital room where my hubby is asleep on the fold out chair and my son is resting after undergoing surgery to remove a tumor from his brain last Wednesday. We’ve been at the hospital for over a week and I can’t even begin to tell you how much my heart hurts for Brandon.
I’m wavering on the point of a complete breakdown between undergoing chemo treatments for breast cancer (I was diagnosed in June) and watching helplessly as my son tries to cope and heal. We brought Brandon in for an MRI last Friday and we were told that day that we would be admitted to the PICU immediately…they found a tumor the size of a lemon in my poor, sweet boys head. The hard part is that he felt fine. He had a couple issues with headaches but otherwise you would have never known anything was wrong. He’s been hooked up to monitors 24 hours a day and I’m sure he will forever be angry at me for saying we are just getting some pictures taken! In fact i can pretty much guarantee he will never want to get pictures taken, go to the doctor or even the dentist (whenever the nurses suck stuff out of his mouth they always make mention “its like going to the dentist!”…not such a good tactic). He may, however, request that he be taken to Disneyland because that seems to be the tool the nurses use to try and get him to go to”his happy place” when they are poking or prodding him.
When I received my breast cancer diagnosis it felt like a ton of bricks being dropped on me. I’m only 33. I have no family history. Statistically it wasn’t supposed to be me. But I cannot even begin to describe the feeling of having a neurosurgeon come to you in the waiting room so you can “go somewhere and talk.” Complete devastation comes to mind. To hear that our sweet, energetic, baseball-loving boy has a brain tumor was almost unfathomable.
I’m thankful that we did “get pictures” taken. I’m thankful that the surgery was deemed successful. I’m thankful that my sweet girl who is only 2 1/2 is enjoying time with grandparents. I’m thankful that my husband is strong and supportive because this is way more then he should have to endure.
I ask that you please keep Brandon in your prayers. Maybe encourage some Monkees to send positive thoughts for healing our way.
“LET’S GO BRANDON”
Would work he loves to do that at baseball games!
Thank you for “listening”.
Here is what our family did – and all we ask is that everyone else in the whole world says a silent, loud, or recorded cheer for Brandon and Heather. Post it here, post it on the Momastery Facebook page, shout it to the heavens or just smile or cry. Prayers, prayers, prayers, all of it, everything is a prayer. Even that feeling you got in your gut when you read Heather’s email. A prayer.
Also, it is about to become clear to all, including me (for the first time) why it is that I didn’t make the cheer leading squad thrice.
I LOVE YOU.
HEATHER- WE ARE IN THAT ROOM WITH YOU. Right now. We love your boy. OUR BOY. BRANDON. BRANDON. BRANDON.