A year ago today, I found out that the cyst around my tumor had nearly doubled in size and that I would have to have brain surgery. I simultaneously can't believe it's been a year, and can't believe it's only been a year.
Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm a worrier, a catastrophizer, a worst-case-scenario-er. While I was certainly anxious about that appointment with my neurosurgeon last year, it was more that I was eager for it to be over and to move on. I was so sure - so sure - that I would have the MRI and then be in and out of the appointment with my surgeon in less than 10 minutes. He was going to tell me it was stable, we were going to agree to monitor it every six months, and I was going to be on my way. I had a cardiology appointment two weeks later and was already (no joke) thinking about the update emails I would write and the facebook status I would post saying that I was done with doctors for the foreseeable future. For someone who plays out every terrible awful thing that could possibly happen, there was just no part of me that expected anything other than good news last November 21st.
That appointment last year had been made, in part, because I had gone in complaining of an increase in symptoms about six weeks earlier. My headaches had been worse, my muscles had been weaker than usual, and my nausea and fatigue had been more prominent. Still, I closed my eyes and asked for Regina Spektor during my MRI, goofed off in the hospital Starbucks with my best friend between the MRI and the follow-up appointment, and then she and I sat in the exam room laughing riotously about nothing at all.
When my neurosurgeon came in to look at the scans, the primary thing I remember thinking about was how awesome it was going to feel to see a stable scan. He spent a long time sitting silently next to me, flipping between MRI scans on the computer. Much longer than usual. His brow was furrowed, his hand was on his face, and he was staring intently at these images, clicking from one to the next. He finally looked at me and simply said, incredulous, "It's bigger." I actually thought he was kidding at first and I think I may have smiled, waiting for him to smile back and admit that he just made the most inappropriate joke ever. I looked at him and he stared back. I think I finally said, "okay..." and he asked if we wanted to see it. Em and I got up so we could see the computer and the cyst was noticeably, obviously bigger -- even to me. I remember him very calmly (per usual) saying that we needed to get it out and we needed to do it soon. I asked about going back to Michigan for Christmas and he said that that should be fine and asked when I would be back. I said "January 4th" and he said "let's schedule surgery for the week after you get back." That just wasn't registering for me, and I remember asking him when I should have another MRI to check it. He said that we wouldn't be doing any more MRIs... the next step was surgery.
I don't cry in front of other humans, so I stayed stoic throughout the appointment, and for the majority of the day. Emilie and I drove back to campus separately... and then went to class. I can definitely NOT tell you what happened in class that day, needless to say! I think everyone has some moment in their life when they would describe themselves as "numb," but this was a more intense version of that than I've ever experienced before. I didn't feel real. I didn't understand the reality of the situation. It was fake and it was bullshit.
The fact that this all happened the Monday before Thanksgiving just seemed even more asinine. Thanksgiving itself felt cruel. I went back and forth between feeling numb, feeling okay about everything, pretending none of it was happening, and sobbing uncontrollably. It was such a fucking awful week.
A year later, I am completely overwhelmed with how different my life is and just the sheer ridiculousness of how much has happened in the past 365 days. I'm healthy, I'm active, I'm happy, and I'm in awe. This doesn't feel like it could possibly be my life. Needless to say, gratitude abounds.
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