Dire News

My first hint a bad result from my MRI was technician saying "Have you ever had a MRI before?"  I knew from her tone of voice, things had not gone well.  She said that they were trying to called my doctor and get an appointment tomorrow.

Out in my car, I started panicking.  An internal panic, as I always do.  Was it a brain tumor?  Was it some kind of hemorrhage?  Was is LUPUS??? (Seinfeld)  I drove home thinking all worried about of my result, knowing that I had to wait until tomorrow.  

The next day, my dad came with me, and thank God for that.  "You have a lesion approximately 6cm by 7cm in your head," the doctor sadly said.  "The next step is finding the hospital of your choice, and then get a hold of a neurosurgeon."  He then gave some examples; University of Chicago, Rush University, Loyola University.  Luckily, my dad was there, because I completely shut down. My life had changed, drastically, for the worse.  My dad finished the appointment for me, while I lamely said "okay" at a doctor's every word.

Then, I blanked out.  This was big lesion, about the size of a deck of playing cards.  A number of things became painfully obvious; my right-sided droop of my face, my repeated dropping of my coffee cup from my right hand, my right-hand "hesitance" of playing guitar.  I made excuses for everything.  The drooping of my face?  I had a case of Bell's Palsy.  My dropping of my coffee cup?  I need to hold on tighter.  The so called "hesitance" right-hand, the picking hand...I had fallen out of practice and needed my picking hand in shape.  I had been playing for close to 10 years.  Why did my picking hand fall out of shape?  I was stupid, and these are the lengths I would go to prove that I am okay.  Unfortunately, they were all signs of the brain tumor.

My first move is to talk with my parents.  My dad, always looking and the bright side, told me that whatever it was, I could get it cut out, then I'll be fine.  My mom put up a tough front, and agreed his assessment.  So together, we picked a hospital, which turned to be Loyola University.  I made an appointment doctor, who was Neurosurgery Department Chairman/kind of big deal guy, for sometime later in the week.

I should mention at some point, my friends are all supportive to me, especially one in particular, Bill.  He dropped everything for me.  He called up and asked what was my favorite kind of beer.  Killian's Red, I said. He said he would pick up a six-pack for me and be over soon.  It was early evening, he came over, and we talked for a couple hours.  I don't know what about, whatever stream of consciousness I had, but I remember thinking "what a guy!" (Red Dwarf)

A few days later I was at my appointment with the head surgeon (I'm sketchy on the details).   He confirmed it was a brain tumor (low grade, grade 2 or 3) and referred me to Dr. Vikram Prahbu.  He was the best awake craniotomy surgeons they had, and he specialized in these low-grade tumors.  "Don't drive," he said, since I was at risk for seizures.  It's a scary thing, knowing my brain could malfunction at any time, and get myself and other people killed.

I was worried about my insurance, so I held off a month.  It was March in 2005, I didn't want to be stuck with the bill in case something happened between my employer's insurance and Cobra.  Always cautionary, I waited until April 29, 2005 to have my first, awake, craniotomy.

That's it for now.  It is really exhausting, brain-wise, blogging on my memories.  Stay tuned for more.