Memories of that whole time are either crisp and clear or fuzzy and fading. I remember talking on the phone to my doctor and hearing the words "we see a small mass." I remember the feeling of terror, not knowing what that meant for me and my family and what would happen next, and I remember starting to shake as she told me to go home, pack a bag, and go to the emergency room, where she had a neurosurgeon already expecting me. I almost want to cry right now remembering it. I went out to my car, started crying, and called home - but I had to get off the phone before driving home, since my double vision + crying = holy unsafe driving conditions, Batman.
I remember pizza being ordered and my parents being home with the boys while Scott took me to the hospital. I remember being admitted into the ER and Scott staying with me in the room while nurses came and went. The nurses had spoken with my doctor and seemed to know what was going on with me, but I didn't. All I knew still was what I'd heard on the phone from my primary care doctor. Oh, and this whole time we were listening to someone, somewhere else in the ER, vomit loudly and seemingly painfully. It was finally later that the neuro doc came in and talked to us. I remember trusting him right away, which was a big relief. I didn't know what was happening now and what would happen next, but I trusted that this man would take care of me. I think I just had to.
I was finally admitted to a room upstairs on the 4th floor. I think it was maybe around midnight? That kind of stuff is fuzzy. I know that on Saturday I wasn't allowed to eat until after I had a procedure, and that sucked. Afterwards I had to lay completely flat, and I tried to eat a sandwich (a BLT?) and because the bread was toasted I was *covered* in breadcrumbs. All in my neck. Very uncomfortable!
The thing that's sticking out for me, as I take my trip down memory lane, is how I felt as I was going into surgery. I'd not really thought about "I can do this" or "I can't do this" because I *had to* do this. There was never any discussion about "Do we want this? What are our options?" It was just understood that, with a tumor the size of a tangerine in my brain, it had to come out. I remember getting wheeled down to surgery on the wheelie bed. I remember Scott and my mom sitting with me pre-op, and I remember being terrified but resigned as they inserted something in my IV. Then I remember blinking and thinking (and saying) "I can't do this." And Scott told me, "babe, it's done, you're out of surgery." And I don't know if I cried right then. But I think I did. I remember bursting into tears and being held while I cried, but if that happened directly after I woke I know I was super duper totally stoned on medications and I can't be perfectly sure how it all went down. I know I didn't cry for long, but it had to come out, and it did. Then it was on to getting stronger and better.
And I am.
