Continuing on from this post about the flashback I had a few days ago…

After getting the MRI done on Tuesday night, the scans were sent to my doctors office (the same one I talked about two days ago). We were previously scheduled to come in Thursday to talk to the doctor about the scans and what to do next. We were expecting to be told to try a new medicine. Worst case scenario seemed to be a pinched nerve in my neck.

Wednesday morning we got the call to come in as soon as possible.

Obviously, something major was wrong if they had to see us asap. If they couldn’t wait one more day to tell me the results, I knew it had to be something serious.

I had been planning to go to our pastors house that morning. A few of the seniors from my church were going over there to help paint and babysit the kids. But when I woke up Wednesday morning, I felt really sick. So sick that I sent out a quick text to someone saying I couldn’t make it. I planned to stay home and try not to spend the day over the toilet, as had been the case almost every other time, but then we had to head to the doctors office.

Once there, mom and I were told to wait in this room. Not the waiting room, but the Here’s Where We Say Bad News Room. Ya know? Definitely not a medical room because there was just a couch and a computer. Some file cabinets. A table. A desk. It was sort of like a living room.

A nurse came in, asked if we wanted anything to drink, and then our doctor came in. Mom and I were sitting on the couch and he put his hand on my knee and said, “I’m not sure how to say this, so I’m just going to say it. We don’t have good news. We got the results from your MRI that you had last night, and we can see from the scans that you have a brain tumor.”

Some people say that after hearing news like that, they tune the person out and it just sounds like they’re hearing someone mumble. They’re too focused on staying right-side-up. Or maybe they’re lost in their own world of What Happens Now?

That’s where my mom went. What Happens Now? World.

I know because I kept listening to the doctor the whole time. I was there. In the moment. A few minutes later my mom said, “I’m really sorry. I’m having a hard time. I didn’t hear what all you said. Can you repeat everything?”

I felt bad for her. I know that’s just how moms react. She was crying and probably trying to wrap her mind around it.

I…well, I wasn’t.

Wasn’t crying.

Wasn’t sad.

Wasn’t worried.

Wasn’t scared.

Nothing. I just felt peace. My very first thought after hearing about the tumor was: Okay God. I trust You.

And then came these thoughts: Maybe that will fix everything. That’s got to be the answer. Now I won’t be so sick anymore. Oh! This is what I thought it was earlier! Huh…wow.

Let me explain real quickly. :) Another time we had been in that office (one of the times I was so sick), I literally turned to my mom and said these words, “I wonder if something is up there besides my brain. Something that’s not supposed to be there.”

I meant a tumor, but didn’t want to say the word. My mom quickly responded, “That’s not possble.”

But the thought was planted in my mind. I firmly believe that was part of God’s way of preparing me. The tumor thought didn’t come back into my mind, that I can remember. But in that moment of telling my mom, He prepared me. I saw His signs all over.

If you had asked me (or anyone who knows me) a few weeks or months before finding out about the tumor if I would be scared or worried…the answer would be yes. For sure.

I would have told you that I wouldn’t know what to do. That I would cry, be scared, have a hard time sleeping, and just be all around nervous.

But that never happened. I felt such peace, I can’t even explain it to you. Some how God just took over in that moment. He had been preparing me (in many different ways) for that news, and He gave me peace to calmly get through hearing about surgery and what was to come, along with the days in the hospital and having to tell everyone.

My mom and the doctor kept looking at me…I guess they were thinking I was experiencing the calm before the storm. Maybe they thought I would start bawling any moment. But I didn’t. I just sat there listening to his news. Finally when he stopped, he asked me, “Do you have any questions?”

The only thing I could think of was, “Can I see the scans?”

Not kidding. That’s what I asked. I didn’t care about the hospital or surgery. None of it. I wanted to see the scans and I wanted to see them right then. Not to make sure there was a tumor, but because, heck, I’ve seen Grey’s Anatomy so many times and I wanted to see Real In My Hands Scans. I just thought it would be so cool.

When my mom left the room to get kleenex or whatever, the doctor asked if I wanted to tell my dad. At that moment, the emotions hit me. I felt a tear or two slide down my cheeck and I quickly told him, “No. You do it. I can’t.” Those were the only tears I cried in that office. I just couldn’t imagine telling my dad. Someone called him; he came to the office. We were all still sitting there with mom crying when he walked in. The doctor went over everything again, and then mom and I went home.

When we got home, mom called the boys inside to tell them the news. But when they got inside and saw something was wrong (they knew where we had been), they started asking questions. Mom started to explain, but then she began to cry and couldn’t get the words out. So I said this: ‘I have a brain tumor and they said I need to have surgery as soon as possible.’

Then I left the room, went to my room, and just sat there letting it all soak in. I think I listened to music or went online, I’m not sure. Basically I just tried to go back to normal after a few minutes of thinking.

That’s my story of the day I found it. Long, I know. But I’m glad it’s all written out so I won’t forget it.