Brain Surgery Sucks

This is my big brother Aaron.

We used to play Ninja Turtles in the washer and dryer, pretend we were Brenda and Brendan from 90210, and throw dirty socks at each other.

Four days ago he was recovering from his out of this world Annual Halloween party.

Five minutes ago he was taken back to have a tumor removed from his brain.

He was at work Monday and had a seizure out of nowhere.  The seizure lead to an MRI and the MRI lead to finding a tumor on his brain and that brings us to today.

Brain surgery.

It was sudden, unexpected, and totally out of the blue.

And those who know me will tell you, I don't do sudden, unexpected freaks me out, and out of the blue makes my stomach turn.

I live my life two days ahead of where I actually am.  So this kind of surprise knocks me down.

I'm coping the best as can be expected when the only person on this entire planet that shares my DNA is laying on a table while a stranger pokes inside his head.

I'm mad.  Frustrated.

Pissed off that tumors exist.

Especially the one taking up residence in my brother's head.

The doctors have told us that, while all brain tumors suck, the one Aaron has is the very best kind to have.  

It's slow growing (he's probably had it for years) and, from what they can see, not intertwined with anything that would make it more risky.

He's taking it with the insane amount of humor and positivity that he has always handled everything in life.

Making everyone laugh, posting funny pictures.

Between myself, his lady friend, and Aaron countless jokes about tumors and scrapbooks and lava lamps have been made.

It's how we cope.

His Facebook has exploded with support from the millions of friends he has always been able to make so effortlessly.

Prayers from around the globe are surrounding him in the OR.

While he is knocked out, oblivious and dreaming of who knows what, the rest of us are facing a rough four hours.

I have tried to stay busy today to negate the guilt I feel at being 1200 miles away instead of sitting there holding his hand but have come to terms with sitting in a ball of mush on the couch while repeating, "please wake up, please wake up" for the next four hours is my likely plan of attack.

I'm asking all of you, my online supporters who have gotten me through two foster care adoptions, to cover my hero in prayer.

Steady hands for the doctors.

Calm hearts for my parents.

Peaceful sleep for my brother.

That God Himself would hold Aaron's hand for the next 4 hours.

A fast recovery.

And that a day from now, I can laugh at his newly bald head and then punch him for nearly giving me a heart attack.

Speedy, Speedy Brother.  Talk to you in exactly 3 hours and 56 minutes.