Sinking In
Friday December 14, 2007 | 2 comments
It is amazing how five words can change the color of your world. “You have a brain lesion.” It feels surreal and I have felt like I am in the middle of a dream ever since I heard those words. I keep thinking I am going to wake up, shake it off and go on but then I remember it’s not a dream. This is actually happening. To me.
None of us wake up and decide, “Seems like a good day to be diagnosed with a brain lesion.” It’s never a good day to receive this kind of a diagnosis but it sure puts things in perspective quite quickly and permanently. Today I can confidently say that any day you are not diagnosed with a brain lesion is a great day! Last Monday I didn’t think this way.
Ironically, I almost canceled my CAT scan appointment. I called the hospital on Monday looking for any excuse not to have this test done. It seems I was desperately searching for a way out mainly because I was sure there wasn’t anything wrong with me. Headaches are nothing new to me; they have been my steady companions for the past seven years or so, on and off.
So, when my doctor ordered the CAT scan, everyone, starting with me, thought it would be a waste of time and money. Had there been any kind of a co-pay to go with this procedure, I would have canceled or postponed it. Alas, there was no co-pay and here we are—diagnosed early, with plenty of time and options for treatment.
I asked Nathan to come along for the CAT scan, but I was half-joking, really. I thought it would be a waste of time anyway, so when he offered, I said, “Nah, there is nothing wrong with me, they won’t find anything and you’ll just waste your day.” Famous last words, right?
I remember I had plans for my Tuesday afternoon. A little bit of shopping, some Starbucks, a good house-cleaning, and then some financial errands. I was in a hurry to get out of the hospital and was quite annoyed with the technician who asked me to “please stay right there for a moment” after the machine got done scanning my brain. I thought that was really odd but I complied.
He came back and asked me to follow him into a waiting room and then he said something that left me a little puzzled. He said, “Make sure you do not leave the hospital until we talk to you.” Ok. I have never had this test done before, so I told myself this must be standard procedure, although something in my gut told me otherwise.
When he came back for me, I sensed something was different. The technician looked at me as though I was made out of glass and could easily break at any moment. I caught my reflection in his eyes and it looked strangely unfamiliar and fragile. I followed him to a small office with one-way windows overlooking the CAT scan room. A lady handed me the phone. “The radiologist who read your results told me there is a lesion in your brain, on the bottom-right side. Do you have any questions?”
I remember everything suddenly felt heavy. Reality peeled off like a candy wrapper. I heard the words, but I couldn’t understand them, like they were being spoken in a foreign language and didn’t really pertain to me. Do I have any questions? Sure, Will you please let me know when it’s time to wake up from this silly dream?
What I actually heard myself saying was, “Do I have any questions? I don’t even know what to say. What does this even mean?” And, in response I heard, “Well, basically, you have a tumor in your brain.” I was speechless. I remember thinking, no, this isn’t happening, NO, NO, NO, it’s not real. And then I reached for Nathan and he wasn’t there and I knew it wasn’t a dream.
Everything that happened after I hung up the phone was a blur. I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t see straight. Technicians kept explaining the same thing to me over and over but it wouldn’t register. Finally, they gave up and made arrangements for me, walked me out and said goodbye. Walking to my car took far too long and when I finally got there and slipped into the driver’s seat I only had one thought in my mind, “But I haven’t had babies yet.”
I drove straight to the Doctor’s office to make arrangements for MRI and MRA for later in the day. Before I got out of the car I called Nathan and all I could manage to say was, “I… have… a… tumor… in… my… brain… come… home.” There was a silence and then a key change in his tone, “I’ll leave in the next 30 minutes.”
My diagnosis changed to something more treatable and manageable after the MRI and MRA, but it is still just as unpalatable. It does not seem real at all. Even though I talk about this and write about it, I still feel a certain degree of separation from “it.” I am in shock and in denial. I have to remind myself that this girl that just found out she has AVM; this girl who is not going to be traveling for Christmas; this girl who will most likely have to have several surgeries on her brain, that this girl is ME. And every time I tell myself, “wait, this is actually me, I have that,” it sounds as new and surprising as it did on Tuesday morning.
I do want to make one thing clear—I am not angry about this. On the contrary, I am quite thankful to God and to my doctor. I am not fond of the idea of having surgery in my brain, but I am glad this is happening now. Honestly, the circumstances could not have been more perfect for all of this, so I know God has a plan and we will be fine no matter what. So, thank you for your prayers and for walking through this with us. I know that neither Nathan nor I will ever be the same, but that is a really good thing!
{ Speak Your Mind }
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Olga. Your sharing was beautiful and real just like you. You outlook is positive and you have a fantastic husband by your side. You are a treasure and well loved by people on this earth and by your heavenly father. Matt and I are standing with you. Let us know if we can do something…we are only 4 hours away!! A hop, skip, and a jump really. We’ll be traveling through Dallas next Friday on our way to Denver. We love you guys. Thank you for keeping us posted!
Olga, I am definitely praying for you (and Nathan). I am “loving you on my knees”...keep me posted. I love you!