I'll be blunt with you since the following has been common knowledge to me and most people that know me for quite some time now. After all, I predict that writing this out in its entirety (up to this point, anyway) will prove cathartic since although most people know of this situation, nobody knows the full extent of it. Respond if you so choose, but by no means feel obligated to forge a bond with me where one did not exist prior to this post. As well-intentioned as your kind words may be, there is little even those closest to me have been able to do to calm my nerves. I am looking for no sympathy, only the calming feeling that I personally derive from starting at the beginning of something and methodically tracing it to the present. So, here goes:

My younger brother (17) has a benign tumor situated directly beneath his brain. It was discovered just over two months ago. Since approximately February he had suffered from sinus problems, frequent nose bleeds and labored breathing. My parents' search for a cure led them first to prescriptions for several allergy medicines, then antibiotics to kill a supposed bacterial infection and a medicated nose spray, and finally a diagnosis from an ENT doctor that limited the problem to two possibilities — in my brothers nose was either a polyp or a tumor. Several x-rays, cat-scans and MRI's later it was finally determined that there was a tumor in my brother's head. At the time it was believed that it was only a very small tumor in his nose, but further analysis proved otherwise.

I was notified of the tumor via an email from my mother. I know now that this was a sign of just how reluctant she'd be to talk about the situation in the future. Although she had notified me of the tumor, it was still unknown whether it was benign or malignant. The biopsy was scheduled for a week after the news was delivered to my Inbox. The next afternoon I hitched a ride home from school with a friend in a desperate effort to cope with the uncertainty surrounding my brother's health. I did little more than arrive home in time for dinner and give my brother a hug early the next morning before he left for school. Early that afternoon I headed back to school no less anxious than I had been the day before.

When the day finally came for the biopsy, it was revealed that although the tumor (at this point believed to be confined to his nasal passage) was benign but actually a small part of a significantly larger tumor located beneathe his brain. The doctor who had examined my brother assured my parents that it could be removed via a surgical procedure and an appointment was made for a return trip to the hospital, located in New York City, to have a consultation with the two surgeons and doctor it would take to complete the procedure — a neurosurgeon (due to the proximity of the tumor to his brain), an anesthesiologist (due to the complicated and often unheard of method they will be using to "color" the tumor tissue) and a regular surgeon.

Although I am sure the procedure was described to my parents and brother in a manner that was far more vivid, I was told enough to provide a basic outline of what will happen. My brother will need to be at the hospital at least two days prior to the actual surgery to have a small tube inserted just below his abdomen and threaded through his torso to the location of the tumor. Through the tube will travel small particles that will, for lack of a better word, colorize the tumor. This, as I have been told, is to make the jobs of the surgeon and neurosurgeon easier. For this surgery to be a success, no tissue from the tumor can be left behind. On the day off the surgery, incisions will be made both on the inside of his upper lip and an inch below his hairline from his forehead to just before his right ear. This, I am told, is being done to minimize facial scarring and disfiguration. From this point on I can only assume that the next step in the surgical process is to physically remove the tumor itself without damaging any brain tissue.

The most severe risk that my brother faces during surgery is a stroke. Outside of the OR, the doctors have told us that if left undiscovered the tumor could have caused facial disfiguration and, at worst, eventually made him blind and/or deaf. Outside of these predictions, the doctors were hardpressed to specifically identify what other neurological damage he would have potentially suffered. My mother, though it is hard to judge the accuracy of her claim, believes it may have been present since he was in 1st grade and began to suffer from very severe migraines.

The entire procedure is scheduled for approximately a month from now. The surgery itself will take an estimated six hours and my brother will have to remain in the ICU for a week. Besides the tests that will need to be done to ensure that the surgery was a complete success, he will not be able to move from the waist down. The aforementioned tube that will be used to "colorize" the tumor will be inserted where the risk of the sutures tearing and the resulting wound reopening is very high and can only be taken care off by keeping him in a bed for a week. Should the wound reopen, the worst case scenario is that my brother bleeds to death.

Needless to say, this has been the cause of much anxiety and concern among our family. Although my brother seems to view his surgery optimistically and even jokes about having to shave his head to hide the bald patch that'll be left over because of the incision, he has noticeably lost weight. He has also dealt with nausea, loss of appetite, dizziness and uncharacteristic fatigue. Although just the thought causes me to panic, it is hard to postulate that these are not related to the presence of the tumor.

The strain most recently swelled last weekend. It was last week that my brother had begun to deal with the aforementioned symptoms, but they had yet to be brought to my attention. Either because I had been asleep when he felt nauseous and dizzy early in the morning before school, or at work on the nights when he felt fatigued and had no appetite, I had no knowledge of what had been happening. My mother witnessed most of this firsthand but did not bring it to my attention. Unawares of these new developments I proposed plans for me to take a trip (approx. 2 hours away) to visit my former roommate and another college friend for the weekend. My parents refused my request and accused me of being selfish but did not explain further. On Saturday I was invited to attend a bbq at a friend's house 45 minutes away and received consent from my father to attend on the condition that I be home by noon on Sunday. On my way out of the house I noticed my mother seemed deeply upset and gently asked why. The situation quickly escalated and she eventually screamed that my brother could die in July and that it was selfish of me to make her worry any more than she already was. Clearly, my bbq plans had to be cancelled.

With both of us now crying hysterically, it was finally revealed what kind of week my brother had had. I told my mother that if she had let me know of the new developments earlier I would have taken it upon myself to deem it inappropriate for me to leave for a weekend and would have understood her accusations that I was being selfish. I encouraged her to call the hospital, but unfortunately I'm almost certain she hasn't. As of right now, she is very reluctant to talk about my brother or the surgery and quite frankly I'm terrified of the torrent of morbid and crippling thoughts that could wind up being screamed in my face once again.

I understand that as much as I love my brother, it is impossible for me to feel the kind of anxiety and concern that my parents must feel. I do not, however, see their morbid fixation on the possibility of him dying as anything that will make the situation any more bearable for them, my brother, or myself and my youngest brother. Unless they have made it a point to keep some details of their consultation with the surgeons from me, there is a very small chance that he will suffer a stroke during surgery. Even then, the stroke would not necessarily be fatal. Based on the information that has been revealed to me, I feel we can all realistically expect my brother to survive the surgery.

However, the anxiety surrounding the situation is monumental. I fear that my parents' reluctance to communicate with the rest of the family and their unrealistic fear that my brother will die has already placed unnecessary strain on all of us. I have resolved to take it upon myself to do everything in my power to force open the lines of communication that I have been raised to cherish and rely on. While I am concerned about my ability to cope with this situation without the ability to communicate with my parents, my primary concern is the eventual affect poor inter-family communication could have upon my brother. He does not need to enter that operating room with any unrealistic notions about his chances of not surviving the procedure, or even worse that despite the reassuring words of the surgeons that my parents do not expect him to. I feel I owe it to my parents to instill within them with the same optimism that we should all — and realistically so — have. I am scared of the degree of responsibility that this means I must take upon myself, but I am exponentially more terrified and horrified of what could happen to my entire family if I do not.