What To Do When You Find Out Your Brother Has Cancer (and other ways of coping)

In the fall of 2013, my brother was diagnosed with an Anaplastic Astrocytoma Grade III brain tumour. The kind you really don’t want. So, I bet you’re dying to know - what happens when you find out your 29 year old brother has been diagnosed with brain cancer?

You’re stunned. Of all the possible things that could happen, you never thought this would be one of them.

You’re shocked. Wasn’t he only just having headaches? 

But most of all, you’re angry.

One of the first things you do is call your best friend. After, he offers to take you anywhere you want. The first place you think of is Walmart. He doesn’t know why, but he takes you there so you can buy the cheapest set of plates you can find. Then, you go to a secluded parking lot. You start to throw the plates as hard as you can and you scream at the top of your lungs. Of course, this is while your best friend looks at you like you’ve just gone crazy. Which you probably have. 

This actually makes you feel a little bit better. 

My siblings and I - Thanksgiving 2014

My family is very close. I have two older (34 and 32) brothers and an older (29) sister. My parents are still married and we’re together every holiday. We were also all together when my brother told us more about his brain tumour. He told us that it was about the size of a CD and it was siting on top of his brain, and that he was having surgery in one week to try and remove it entirely.

That week flew by. Every moment I wasn’t in class (not concentrating), I was spending it with my brother and the rest of my family. We were together, everyday, boosting him up, getting him ready to take down the Big T (Big Tumour).

My brother was amazing. He was so strong and brilliant. He even said he was going to illustrate and write a comic book about his battle. When I asked him what he’d call it, he said, “I don’t know... Tumour Boy?”.

I realized, throughout all of this, I didn’t cry. I was so wrapped up in my brother I didn’t have the time to really act on my emotions. It wasn’t until I saw my brother on a gurney being wheeled back in his room of the Neurosurgery 7.3 Unit of the QEII Hospital did I actually cry. I cried, and cried, and cried. My father cried, my mother cried, and I cried.

He was in the hospital for only a few days. My brother became somewhat of a stud of the seventh floor. I remember one night, one of his last nights there, my siblings and I were all visiting him. It was way past visiting hours, but since all the nurses adored my brother, we were allowed to stay. We went out and brought him McDonalds and took orders for the nurses as well. We stayed in his room until midnight, eating McDonalds, talking, laughing and telling him how proud we were of him. 

 

                                   

                                                October 8, 2013. The day after my brother's surgery.

After his surgery, we waited. We waited to see if the tumour had been removed in it’s entirety. About a week later, the results came back - he was clean. Every inch of his malignant, malicious brain tumour had been removed. This was the best news possible.

My brother still had to undergo chemotherapy and radiation. This lasted about one year. Throughout the whole thing what I realized is that, while you can read all the material you want on how to deal with a family member having cancer or how to help that person, the best thing you can do is be there for them. In any capacity they require. Whether this is eating McDonalds with them in the hospital, or staying up until 2am playing PS3, or sitting in the waiting room of the chemotherapy unit - just be there.

They always tell you what to say, or what not to say. In my experience, ask them what they need or want you to say or do.

With every day that passes, my brother gets better and better. After the surgery, chemo and radiation, when everything was said and done, they told him he was cancer free. Just this Thanksgiving, he told us that he got bumped to a 6-month MRI schedule, instead of the 3 month one he’s been living with.

What I guess I’m trying to say is, there are stories like my brother’s. 

Find the good and don’t give up hope. 

My brother and I at Peggy's Cove the day before his surgery

If you’d like to learn more about my brother’s type of tumour, check it out here: http:// www.braintumour.ca/4872/anaplastic-astrocytoma

More about brain tumours in general and how you can help? Check out the National Brain Tumour Society http://www.braintumour.org

If you’d like to read my brother’s blogpost about his own journey, check it out here: http:// www.sickboypodcast.com/blog/2015/9/19/episode-2-guest-matthew-amyotte