Tag Archive | brain tumor

4 Months…

So I saw my oncologist today for my 6-week check-up.  I was expecting it to be a nice little ‘here’s what’s happening’ and ‘goodbye & congrats’ session.  It pretty much was. I went through a rundown of my symptoms and she asked me questions and updated my profile in her computer.

Then she told me she had seen my abnormal EEG results and asked what my neurologist was doing as a ‘next step’.  I told her about the MRI I had at the end of last week and said that I had an appointment with the neurologist tomorrow and that I expected to discuss the results with her then.  Since my oncologist and neurologist share a hospital and a computer system, she was able to pull up a 1 sentence blurb taken from the full report.

It mentioned a brain lesion.  But I guess that could mean a few different things — and that it doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s a brain met (metastasis).  But thinking of this in the context of the abnormal EEG, my mind can’t help but “go there.”  For more detail, I’ll have to wait for tomorrow’s appointment.  I kind of wish she hadn’t brought it up.  But I’m sure she wanted to see what the preliminary report had to say at least.  You see, she was headed out on maternity leave after my appointment today and I won’t see her again until February.

So we finished the appointment with a quick exam and a discussion of who will be covering me and what her plans are for me during her leave.

I hugged her, told her (honestly) how happy I was for her, and handed her a card and a wrapped box containing a lovely little pink dress, a dress I had actually purchased for the baby girl I was hoping to have before all of this began.  Of course I did not share this last bit of information with her.  Nor did I not mention that she had become a part of my routine and that I am grateful for her role in killing my cancer.  And I certainly did not tell her that I will miss her while she was away.

And I did not mention the “what if” that crept into my consciousness as we hugged and I realized that I would not be seeing her for 1/3 of a year.  But I knew it was there.

I thought about a couple of women I had come to “know” through their posts about breast cancer.  They both learned that their cancers had returned a couple of months ago.  But they were still hopeful.

And now they are gone.  They died.  A few months ago they thought they were doing fine.  And mere weeks later, they are gone.

I wish I could say these lovely women were the first people I had heard of this happening to.  The first people who have had their cancers return or progress this quickly or aggressively.  But, sadly, I cannot.  Not at all.  You just never know with this disease.

I try not to think about the possibility of this happening in the context of my own life/death.  And most of the time I don’t.

But I am only human.  And at times like these, at times when I hear of sudden losses and the fragility of life hits me like a slap in the face, or when I can’t help but wonder if maybe that nagging pain or that headache that won’t go away is “something,” it is difficult not to let these thoughts creep in in the quiet space of a dark night.

As I walked out to schedule my next appointment, not with the oncologist I had come to trust and rely upon, but with one of her colleagues, I thought about how much could change in the 4 months she would be gone.

Of course a great deal will be changing for her.  She will be bringing a new life into this world, expanding her family, and doing and experiencing all of the things that are associated with that.

And I… Well, I will be trying not to die.

Cancer and Cockroaches

So I have been having these dizzy/fainting spells and an episode or two that looked like seizures.  My neurologist wanted to do an MRI when I saw her last week, but I told her I didn’t think it was necessary.  So she opted for an EEG.

I had the EEG early Thursday morning.  It was pretty simple.  They scrubbed areas of my scalp and affixed leads.  Then they wrapped my head up with a gauze bandage to ensure that the leads wouldn’t move during the test.

I lay down in a hospital bed while they tested me with a strobe light, had me do a hyperventilation test, and then waited as I tried to fall asleep.

When I was finished, one of the technicians tried to wipe the blue gel out of my hair.  She told me that I could go to clean it out in the bathroom since my husband and son (home from school because he had a stomach bug) were coming to pick me up and we were going on to other appointments.  I opted to just skip the freshening up and walked out to the car to find my hair sticking up in places, with a visible sticky blue gel helping to create a familiar look for me–“the disheveled patient”.

The person conducting the EEG wished me good luck with everything and said the results would be forwarded to my neurologist next week and that she would likely call me after that.

I assumed the test results would be fine–and that I wouldn’t hear from my doctor until my next appointment with her in a couple of weeks.

But when I saw the hospital’s number in the Caller ID and then heard her message on Friday, I wondered how she had gotten the results so quickly.  She said that she had my results and that she would try to call again.  So I called her office, let her know that I would be home for the next hour (before heading to the cardiologist).  They didn’t expect her to get back to me that day since it was already late in the afternoon, so when she called back 10 minutes later, I was a bit concerned–though the bigger part of me still thought she would say everything was fine.

When the neurologist told me they found an abnormality on my EEG, it didn’t sink in right away.  She didn’t go into too much detail, but she said that they found “something” in my left temporal lobe.  Especially given my cancer history, it is troubling.  The concern is that the cancer has spread to my brain.  She said that she would order an MRI with contrast–and that I couldn’t object this time.

If this is metastasis to the brain, I will be so ticked off.  I made a deal with the cancer in the beginning.  Stay away from the brain and… well, I forget what the cancer was supposed to get out of the deal.  This arrangement reminded me of when I moved into my dorm room during my first semester at the University.  It was a school filled with many well-off kids (though I was there solely because of scholarships and students loans), so you can imagine my shock when I saw a couple of cockroaches emerge from my roommate’s television during that first week.  It wasn’t long before they took hold in the room.  I was dismayed, but made a “deal” with them.  “You can have the rest of the room, but stay off my bed and my desk,” I pleaded with them.

Things were going okay as I waited out the days until the exterminator was supposed to come to our dorm room.  Everything changed when I came home after a late night at the chemistry lab.  There they were on my desk, even on the phone, and darting through my photo frames.  It was ridiculous, but I was angry because the roaches had violated our agreement.  I called and requested that the exterminator come sooner and when that didn’t work, I actually moved to a new room where I never saw another roach.

I wish it were that simple with cancer…  That I could just move down the hall and never have to worry about it again…  Alas, it is not that simple.

Spread to the brain has been one of my biggest fears since my diagnosis 2 1/2 years ago.  I watched my grandmother die a painful death from brain cancer when I was a little girl and the experience scarred me for life.  She was one of the most special people in the world to me and she died when I was just 9 — a year older than my twin boys.

One of my biggest fears since that traumatic period in my youth was that I, too, would develop brain cancer and suffer the same fate as my grandmother.  Of course, if this is actually a tumor, it is likely a spread of my breast cancer and not a tumor that originated in the brain like my grandmother’s was presumed to be.  But the effects would be essentially the same, especially given it’s location in the left temporal lobe.  If my children have to watch me suffer in the way that my grandmother did, I think I would have to rethink my plan of fighting until the end.  I don’t think I could leave them with with the same images and experiences that have haunted me my entire life–because I know how it will end.

I hope it’s just a mistake and I hope I won’t have to worry about that…

 

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