When I had my stroke, there was one person who was more supportive than any other person. My older brother. Eleven years separate us. Growing up, we weren’t close. But, as we got older, we got closer. He took me to my first NHL game, and he got us tickets to the MLB all-star game. These are two of my favorite memories.

My brother is a firefighter and EMT. He is always helping others and is the guy you want around when a crisis occurs.

When I had my stroke, he missed me in the ER. He got to the hospital as the helicopter was taking off. He watched it from the parking lot.

He made it downtown with the rest of my family for my surgeries. He stayed with me overnight. He stayed up and made sure they stayed on top of my fentanyl doses.

He took pictures. Pictures, that, at first I loathed. But now, I am grateful I have them. Pictures of the aneurysm itself. Pictures of me post-op. And pictures as I recovered.

He kept all my family and friends in the loop on how I was doing. He checked on me all of the time as I recovered. He left his fire station in the middle of the day to come see me more often than I can count.

He even had a friend who owns a non-profit organization donate money to our GoFundMe.

I have always been grateful for everything he did for me.

Sigh.

Today, my brother was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I am beside myself. It’s too early to know a treatment plan, or a prognosis. Logically, I know prostate cancer is usually slow growing. Logically, I know I can’t panic yet. Logically, I know that the outlook is good with early treatment.

But I’m not logical right now. I’m emotional. I’m upset. And I’m scared shitless.

The only thing I can do is remember how he was there for me, and now, to be there for him. So, that’s what I’m going to do.

If you’re the praying type, please say a prayer for my brother. He’s one of the good ones.