How tough can it be?

Without a doubt the toughest moment, and it was a moment, in my life was those few seconds when the realization of what the doctor was saying to us actually penetrated my brain and became our reality. Our daughter has a brain tumor. Before even the implications of that had set in... the tests, the surgeries, treatments... was just the moment of understanding and knowing that I understood nothing. She has a tumor in her brain. I thought that was pretty damn tough.

Until tonight.

Telling my daughter that she has tumor in her brain was worse. We didn't go into details but we didn't lie. We told her the doctor had to go in to try to help her get better. "Make a hole in my head?" she asked. "Why can't he go into my leg and go up that way?" Well, sounded reasonable to me as well. Even for a 5 year-old the idea of someone going into your head is just a yucky concept. Lena cried and wanted to know how much it would hurt. Would they poke her hand again? Would they make her go to sleep again? Where would the hole in her head be? Would she sleep at the hospital? Is the bed white? "I don't want it to be white. I want a pink bed."

Britt and I reassured her that we would be with her the entire time before and after the surgery. I think this helped and it wasn't too long before she claimed she didn't have any more questions and wanted to go watch Dragon Tales. Guess the short attention span actually does come in handy sometimes. :) A few more minutes and Mommy might have had a nervous breakdown!

Kira and Naia seemed to take the news easily with little understanding. Of course, it isn't their brain and they found out they get to spend several days and nights at Aunt Alli's house. Their biggest question, "Do we get to swim?" Ahhhh, yes, we'd love for them to understnad a little bit and lovingly pull Lena into their arms and hug and love on her but the reality for them is they have no clue what we're talking about. They haven't been at the dozen doctor appointments in the past few weeks. They haven't been poked, prodded, knocked out and x-rayed. I'd like to think they will develop some empathy through this experience but right now I'm mostly relieved that both conversations, with Lena and then with her sisters, took all of 10 minutes.

10 minutes and I'm completely wiped out and emotionally drained. So, this morning it seemed the toughest moment was the realization that my daughter has a brain tumor. That moment now seems insignificant compared to actually telling my daughter she has one.