When I first heard of cancer, I thought it could never happen to me, and true to that, it never did. Instead, it attacked a person of even more significance in my life, and at that moment, I wished more than ever that it was me and not him, a person I loved unquestionably. My big brother's diagnosis was a life-changing point in my existence. How could someone that I have always looked up to, be diagnosed with a terminal illness? The diagnosis catapulted a total shift in my life and that of my family.
The earliest symptom that my brother had of a brain tumor was the loss of feeling in his fingers. The numbness began on a cold July morning. Three fingers on his right fingers lost their sense of touch. My family and I booked an appointment with the doctor after realizing the numbness was not fading. By the time we reached the hospital, Judah's sense of touch had already restored itself. The doctor insisted on Judah having an X-ray to see if the spine exhibited any signs of damage that could have explained his fingers' numbness. When several suspicious spots appeared in the film, the doctor requested an MRI scan. The scan set off several alarm bells concerning my brother's health. Several lesions were found in his brain and a huge mass at the front. After a couple of tests, Judah was sent to meet with the neurologist. It was the first time in my life that I was ever scared of losing someone I cared about
Judah's chestnut hair shock, brow-furrowed face, and deep-set eyes made him seem older than his 24 years. He was such a familiar and friendly person to everyone in our neighborhood. He was a ray of sunshine that shone always. His dark blue eyes always gave the impression that he could see right through you. Even the children loved him. For me, my brother was my knight and shining armor. Judah had taken it upon himself to care and look out for me. Back in school, he would protect me from bullies and ensure I was always safe. Judah was the life of the party and was considerably liked by his teachers, friends, and everyone. My brother was kind and selfless in all his deeds such that he always handed out help to anyone who needed it.
Standing outside the doctor's office for what felt like forever, we finally went in to get the results. My palms were sweaty, and I could only take short breaths. I fidgeted nervously, desperately trying to ignore the gloominess of the situation. I was overcome with fear, not knowing what the tests from the neurologists would reveal. On the other hand, my other was riddled with grief like a grey cloud was swarming around her. My father and Judah were the only two people who seemed calm as if they were ready for whatever the outcome.
The neurologist's opinion was that Judah had multiple sclerosis, which looked like cancer. The results came as a slight relief because we were expecting worse. At only 24, Judah had a chance to live; multiple sclerosis was treatable. As tears rolled down my cheeks, the feeling of emptiness that had filled me earlier disappeared, and I was focused now more than ever on ensuring he got better. We put Judah on treatment immediately, and I ensured that he strictly followed his medication. After a week of taking the prescribed medication, his earlier symptoms began getting worse. He had continuous migraines, and the numbness on his fingers returned with even more vigor, he also became a tad bit too forgetful, even forgetting where the kitchen was.
The wake-up call came when he collapsed while at college. He was immediately admitted at the A and E. After coming round; he had no recollection of what had happened. According to his classmates, Judah had experienced a seizure. Another MRI scan was immediately ordered. The MRI scan was performed at 6 p.m. that evening, and after some time, the radiographer took us to his office and notified us that Judah had a primary malignant brain tumor. My initial reaction was sheer disbelief. I was beside myself with worry. "There must be a mistake," I shouted, hoping that the radiologist was wrong. I had never seen my brother so forlorn. He gazed into nothingness, not uttering a word; steady tear could be seen flowing down his cheeks. My mother was a jumbled mess who fidgeted uncontrollably. Unable to control herself, my mother began gently tapping him on the back, consoling him, "do not cry, you are going to be just fine." My father sat next to my brother, quietly pondering on the information we had just gotten. His quiet strength resonated throughout the room, building some hope for the rest of us. As the radiographer left the room, my family and I were left speechless. What now? Terrible thoughts replayed in my mind. I had often read about cancer, and often not, malignant brain tumors tended to be the worst.
My brother was taken in for emergency brain surgery since his condition was becoming dire. We anxiously waited for hours on end. I fidgeted nervously, twisting my finger and occasionally biting my lip, my eyes darting from side to side, impatiently waiting for any news about Judah. The doctors were able to remove the tumor, but things did not go as planned. Towards the end of the surgery, my brother experienced a hypovolemic shock, which ultimately resulted in his death. When the nurse informed us of his death, I was filled with a sudden coldness that hit at the core. I had a firm conviction of hopelessness and euphoria. I could not believe that Judah was gone.
On the other hand, my mother was beside herself with grief; her beloved son was now gone. My father dropped his eyes towards the floor, and his face burned red. His shoulders hunched over, and he pursed his lips, clearly attempting to fight back the tears. His death had taken us by surprise.
In the end, life must go on. As sad as it may be, I am sure he would have wanted us to move on with our lives. The gap he left may never be filled in our family. I chose not to dwell on his death but rather focus on the life he lived and the memories we made together, the lessons he taught me, and how to be kind and selfless in everything. I also learned to value the time I share with loved ones more so with him. Love comes in all shapes, and for me, it came through a goofy older brother. All in all, I am fortunate. It is not everyone who gets to have lived with an angel.
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