On April 10, 1995, my 36-year-oldbrother, Jonathan, heretofore in good health, had a seizure while eating lunch at work. Fortuitously, the office manager heard a thump, went to my brother’s office, and found him collapsed on the floor. She immediately called 911. I babysat my two young nieces, Heather and Elizabeth, as my mother and Jonathan’s wife, Cindy, rushed to the hospital. We were told that he was conscious, and that tests would be performed to determine the cause of the seizure.
The first phone call confirmed that the usual tests had turned up negative, but that there was a gray area on the brain scan that they wanted to double-check. “Brain tumor,” I thought, as I watched his two young children play. When Cindy called again, she confirmed the unthinkable.
I told Heather that her daddy had to stay in the hospital overnight. She started to cry. I assured her that he would be okay. What else could I say? He had to be okay. He would be okay.
We packed up the girls and hurried them over to our house for the night. Brain tumor? It was hard to comprehend. Sitting in our kitchen, eating noodle soup, the oldest began crying again. I picked her up and she clung to me, her tears subsiding somewhat. The youngest, still at that age of sunny self-centeredness, didn’t com-prehend the enormity of the situation. Later, we ate popcorn and watched The Lion King. The oldest said she would feel better if I slept in the same room with her that night.
One day the week before his collapse, Jonathan had awakened feeling somewhat sick, disoriented and sore. He and Cindy attributed the symptoms to dehydration, and the back pain to carrying his oldest child on his shoulders at the zoo. “Brain tumor” is not something that comes to mind. How could he have known that he had a seizure in his sleep the night before? Within a few days, he had felt better.
The information we had on his condition so far was positive for a brain tumor. It was huge. The size of a large egg or a small orange, they said. The size and shape of it indicated that it was benign, non-cancerous. It must have been, as it grew inside my scientist brother’s brain for an estimated two to three years with no significant symptoms.
Surgery was scheduled for Thursday, with a surgeon held in high esteem. I visited my brother on Wednesday to bring presents and flowers and wishes for his recovery from myself and our sister, who was living in another state. He looked awful and seemed disoriented. He said that the tumor was attached to a membrane adjacent to the brain. At least it wasn’t attached to the brain itself, I thought.
On Thursday, our mom and dad, Cindy and I went to the hospital early to wish Jonathan well before he was prepared for surgery. It would take between two and five hours, they said. Two hours if the tumor was soft and could be more easily removed. Five hours if the tumor was hard and had to be removed more carefully and slowly. Once the surgeon began the operation, he discovered the tumor was hard and attached to the brain. A four-inch-by-four-inch portion of the skull had to be removed. The operation took the full five hours.
Afterward, within the hour, we were able to see him. Jonathan looked amazingly well for someone who just had brain surgery. Although his head was swathed in bandages, not even all his hair was removed.
By Saturday, he was ready to leave the hospital. On Easter Sunday, I went to his house for dinner. The house looked like a florist’s from all the flowers that had been sent. At least 20 guests were in attendance. Cindy planned a wonderful dinner, giving him a break from the cooking, which he usually does. Heather and Elizabeth returned from spending time with their other grandparents and were obviously happy to have their daddy home again. I made a joke that he was a rarity - a rocket scientist who had brain surgery.
I sometimes get tired of hearing about the “good old days” when so many things are better now. But these are the best days there are, and my brother is living proof of that.
- Joanne P. Freeman