Neall and I got up early to head to Little Rock but missed the neurosurgeon by minutes. Daddy told us that the tumor was such that it could not all be removed surgically. Neall and I went to get cokes at a nearby service station and I literally thought I might faint walking into the store. After we got back to the hospital, Neall and Daddy went to get some breakfast for us all at the cafeteria. You were so confused and kept saying that you didn't want to have any treatment--please just take you home. You also kept saying you didn't want to die at Christmas--we would always hate the holidays after that. Always thinking of us, you were.
One of my fondest, most precious memories of my life was that morning. You were so terrified and crying so I finally just got into the hospital bed with you and held you. It was the most horrifying moment of my life and so very touching at the same time. For the next several hours, all four of our cell phones rang as friends heard what was going on and called to tell us to call them if they could help in any way. We started calling people that needed to hear the news from us and not through the grapevine. It was heart wrenching. Finally, at 6 the doctor came back, told us the tumor was the size of an orange and if we didn't have surgery you would die in 3 months. We agreed to come back on Friday morning for surgery, I had the doctor write down the name of the tumor so that I would remember it and now glioblastoma multiforme astrocytoma is forever in my vocabulary and we lost you 40 days later.
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