Falling off the Tracks

I shouldn't blog.

I'm not good at it. Some people just have that flare for blogging that makes reading their writing enjoyable, and I lack that particular requirement. On top of that factoid, I'm never consistant with my updates. I think "oh, yeah, I'll start blogging more," but it never happens, and (let's face it) my life isn't very interesting. You can't really blog if you don't have any readers - it's more like a private journal.

So then, why do I keep coming back to update?

I'm not even sure I know the answer to that. It's been months since my last update (previous one not withstanding since I just now published it... it was written months ago), and I've skipped uploading all of my Sherry clinics since October.

But something happened between now and then.

I was diagnosed with a confirmed brain tumor. For a while after the diagnosis I didn't quite know what to think. I'd be fine one minute and flying off the handle the next. In public and among family I appeared to be perfectly fine. I put in a lot of effort to handle it with grace in light of my boss' melanoma and the sheer amount of complaining she's been doing. But when I was by myself I would break out into tears and then laugh at the irony of it all.

The tumor is most likely a low-grade glioma. It's located in my right frontal lobe, right between the two hemispheres, and right in the middle of my forehead, which is where the Superior Frontal Gyrus is located.

"Another essential function of the superior frontal gyrus seems to be its role in working memory. This refers to pieces of information that are held for short lengths of time, allowing for the completion of complex mental tasks. Research performed on individuals with lesions or damage to the superior frontal gyrus found that they had difficulties performing tasks requiring the use of this form of memory. Larger lesions corresponded to greater deficits in working memory, along with damage that was specific to the part of the cerebrum just behind the eyes. Specifically, this seemed to play a role in reviewing the items in working memory, as well as manipulating these items to accomplish cognitive tasks." - www.wisegeek.com

I have to admit, this explains a lot. The Frontal Lobe of your brain controls your cognitive functions... things like decision making, problem solving, social behavior, and motor function.

I'm not sure when it began; it all seems like a blur. I started to have more and more difficulty just living. Little things would wear me out - I would read a few paragraphs from one of my text books and suddenly be exhausted. Carrying a water bucket left me breathless. I would ride my horse and feel like I'd run just run a marathon... my legs would feel like jello and I was just so tired. My memory became poor and linking facts together became more and more difficult. With all of this came mood swings and anxiety. I would get nauseous for no reason for weeks at a time, and then suddenly feel good again, only for it to happen again a few months later. I would feel unreasonably guilty. My eyes started to play tricks on me - "objects" would flash in my field of vision, especially in the dark, making me believe I was about to run into something. I dropped things all the time: Pens, coins, papers... things had to be held firmly in my fist in order to be kept in my grip.

The entire time, a span of four to six years, I never would have suspected that I had a tumor. I struggled with the thought that it was just the way I am. That I was so tired because I was out of shape or lazy. That I was failing classes because I just wasn't smart enough, or because I was too lazy and lacking the work ethic to study. But I didn't want to be that person. I was so angry at myself all of the time for being the way I was. But I couldn't change it. No matter what I did, I was always that same person: Failing classes, pulling away from friends and family because I didn't want to be around them, and always tired.

When Grimsey tossed me and the doctor found a dark spot on my CT scan, it was salvation. I was desperate for it to be something; to have a reason for the way I was. I wanted there to be something wrong with me. The relief I felt when my neurologist diagnosed me (first with MS and then with the tumor) was indescribable.

Now, my neurosurgeon (heretofore known as Dr. Hotshot) thinks he can remove the tumor via a craniotomy.

It seems that things really do happen for a reason. Maybe there was some cosmic god out there who led me to Grimsey. Who knows. But I am fortunate. And whether or not I get the surgery, and whether or not the entire tumor can be removed, I will keep moving forward.