In Over My Head Part 3 (final)

It’s funny what thoughts go through your mind when you are faced with an uncertain situation.  The “what ifs” quickly take over and bounce around your mind like a pinball dancing around inside the machine.   One fear leads to a barrage of unanswerable questions and the fears multiply and can take over quickly. 

And yet, I was worried about my hair. 

Days before my first doctor’s appointment, I had a haircut and I really liked my new style.  Here I was faced with a situation that was already very serious and I was worried about my hair.  In retrospect, I believe it’s some type of defense mechanism, a way of protecting ourselves or a way to help us survive and cope.  These situations are so overwhelming and difficult to process that it becomes natural to focus on something, anything that you can control.  For me, it was my hair. 

I went back to work to help me pass the time before my next appointment with Dr. Mickey.  I clutched my purse as I rode up in the elevator to the fifth floor of the office building I was working in at the time.  I was riding with three colleagues that first morning back to work and prepared myself for the blitzkrieg of questions.  “I heard about your health issues, is everything okay?” “I hope so, thanks for asking,” I responded realizing that work wouldn’t be an escape for me after all.  I would have to relive the events of the last three days a thousand times that day.  It’s nice to know people are concerned and want the best for you, but I was really hungry to just feel like I was living my normal life.  I wanted everything to go back to how it was just a week before when my biggest decision in a day was deciding where to go to lunch with my co-workers.

But time did pass.

Seconds turned into minutes; minutes to hours; hours to days.  My friend since fifth grade, Sara, flew down from Nebraska to Dallas after the tumor hit the fan.  She called and asked if she could visit me for the weekend.  I was very touched by her gesture of support, as Sara was married with a little girl and pregnant with her second child at the time.  I welcomed the distraction and Sara was relieved as she had already booked her plane ticket.

This is bad if people are coming to visit. 

I had convinced my parents that they didn’t need to make the trip just yet.  One of the scenarios that I was contemplating was surgery (which lead to the concerns about my hair) and if that was the case, I would need my parents at that time.  Yes, it would be good to see Sara and try to feel normal. 

Sara, Jay and I had a good weekend.  We went to dinner, shopping and went to a downtown arts festival.  The weather in Dallas in April is usually cool enough to wear jeans or shorts and a long sleeve shirt.  The sun is bright and you tell yourself that you better appreciate the beautiful weather now because that wicked Texas summer heat is just around the corner.

The weekend passed relatively quickly.  We dropped Sara off at the airport, it was so great to see her and be able to catch up and feel like there wasn’t anything wrong.  But there was, or there could be, I still didn’t know.  The elephant in the room stayed close to my side and wouldn’t let me forget about it for too long.  Most days, the uninvited brain tumor was the first thing I thought of in the morning and the last thing I thought about at night during my prayers to God. 

Please, please, please, please, no, don’t let this be the worst-case scenario. 

I begged.  I won’t ever ask for help to find a lost contact again…I will not miss church…I will appreciate my life and the gifts you have given me.   I promised.

Monday passed.  Tuesday was now.  Wednesday is my appointment with Dr. Mickey.  One more day.  I had a flashback of being flat on the table before that first MRI.  A cool sensation started at my toes and moved up my legs. As the feeling hit my arms, I felt goose bumps explode on my skin and causing me to shiver until it reached my head.   The cold wave was a product of the realization that this one test could change everything.

Gulp.

Wednesday.  Jay drove me to the doctor’s office for my sequel appointment.  Armed with my hospital check-in card and two oversized and awkward envelopes full of pictures of my brain, we walked toward the entrance.  The automatic doors opened quickly as we approached the door.  As we entered, the smell of latex gloves and Clorox bleach filled my nose.  Phones ringing, elevators dinging, wheelchairs piled up on the side of the room next to the windows.  Definitely in a hospital, I thought.  I squeezed Jay’s hand too hard, but he didn’t say a word. 

Checked in with the desk staff.  Turned to sit in the waiting room.  I glanced around the room as I tried to get comfortable in the chenille-covered chair.  Old people, young people, children and family members waited all around us.  No words were spoken, but the eyes told the same story.  Stress.  Fear.  Anxiety.  Sleep deprivation.  One man sat remarkably still as he looked up at the television tuned to CNN.  His head was wrapped in white gauze and bandages.  I slowly closed my eyes and tried to think of something else.  Anything else.

Sue opened the door leading into the waiting room from the exam rooms.  She called my name and Jay and I slowly marched behind her after a quick smile, nod and “fine thank you.”

“Dr. Mickey will be with you in a moment.”  Big sigh.  I stared at the poster of a human brain on the wall for two minutes or maybe twenty, I can’t be sure.   Tap, tap, tap on the door.  Dr. Mickey entered looking a little more tan and somehow taller than I remembered. 

Hello.  Hello.  Good to see you again.  Yes, you too, thank you.

Dr. Mickey flipped through my chart, grabbed my MRI and CT Scans and was having what was for him, a completely average day.  He was the only one in the room who could say such a thing.  He threw the scans up on the illuminated light box.  One scan from the first MRI was on the far left.  The other scans were only from the CT that was done the week before.

He plucked his glasses out of his white coat pocket and carefully placed them on his face.  Jay and I watched Dr. Mickey scour the films.  We didn’t know it at the time, but Dr. Mickey had already reviewed my CT scans with his colleagues earlier that morning; the radiologist gave me a copy and Dr. Mickey a set of his tests.  He was checking his work one more time before speaking to us during my appointment.  He moved his eyes from one side to the other and back again.  Repeat.  My heart was beating out of my chest.

He turned to face us.  Removed his glasses and reached toward the plastic brain on the counter to use as a visual aid.

“Your tumor is right here,” he pointed with his index finger to a space that to me was on the back and base of my brain.  “It’s the size of a quarter, roughly.   What we can see from your CT Scans that you had taken last week with the contrast fluid is that the fluid moved around the mass rather than in or toward it which is what we want to see.”

Good news.

My stomach jumped, I shifted in my seat, and glanced over to Jay to check his reaction.  Did Jay hear what I heard?  A cautious smile filled his face.  Yes, he did.  Okay, focus on the doctor.

“It’s impossible to say why you have this cyst.  It’s not supposed to be there, and it’s definitely not what we would say is normal, but it isn’t impacting your brain, vision or speech.   It very well could be that this is how you came from ‘the factory’.  You have a vey healthy brain.  My recommendation is that you return in one year, then in two years and again three years from now.  We will want to keep on an eye on your benign cyst to make sure it doesn’t change in size or position.”

Wait.  Did he say cyst?  I heard the word tumor a hundred times before each time any of the doctors referred to what was on my brain.  Now in just two minutes, everything changed, but this time for the better.  He said mass, but then cyst.  I had never heard a prettier combination of words in all of my life—benign cyst.

Then we discussed my excessive headaches and double-vision.  From Dr. Mickey’s point-of-view, there wasn’t anything on my scans that told him why either symptom was occurring.  He recommended I go to a Neuro Opthamologist for my vision and to continue watching my headaches.  After my additional appointments and tests, the consensus was that my headaches were related to swinging hormone issues so we adjusted some medications and eventually, the headaches cleared.  Once the headaches were history, so was the double-vision.

I didn’t know Christmas could come in April.  I felt like I woke up that morning and got everything that I had asked for on my list including a winning lottery ticket.  Dr. Mickey answered some additional questions politely and we were soon on our way.  Passing the waiting room full of people who didn’t have answers or hope tempered my excitement for the moment.

We walked out of the hospital.  For the first time in over two weeks, my stomach growled.  My appetite had been missing in action since my follow-up visit at my regular doctor’s office.  Were things going to be normal again?

No.

Nothing would ever be the same.  I looked at everything differently.  Those two weeks of uncertainty, fear and anxiety changed me, opened my eyes to the fact that life really is as fragile as you fear it can be.  The flowers were prettier, the birds sang the most beautiful melodies, and I laughed as I ran my fingers through my hair.

Thank you, God.  Thank you.