I started with a really good idea. It was so super. Then I sat down and forgot about it. I am sitting here with a really good idea and possibly even two, but the whole thing is being held hostage by a bad alien. Stupid tumor. I can call it that because the tumor has no intelligence.
No, it’s my BRAIN that has that part covered. And that brain is smart. I didn’t really give my beautiful brain the credit it deserved until recently when I started losing the skill to plan my day, carry it out and plan for the next day. I got so much done. Oh how on earth did I keep track of it all and carry it all out?
Stupid tumor. I am totally kicking this thing to the curb.
I wasn’t all that concerned about the areas where the tumor is sending it’s alien tentacles to until I started mixing my words up this week. More than ever. The average person mixes up words and says silly stuff all the time and you don’t have to worry about it. But my tumor is spitting out stupid words. Words that don’t even make sense.
In fact, it’s making my figures (that was supposed to be fingers) think that the letters on my keyboard have changed, places where the letters have been since the invention of the typewriter. It’s messing with me. My brain is trying to decipher what I actually mean while the words are busy trying to move around the alien and get lost on the way around. Out come the words, scrambled, grunts and somewhat inappropriate word swaps that are surprising. That part is funny. I can still laugh at a good “I meant breads not breasts”.
A little less stupid tumor and a little more space for my awesome brain to move and then some radiation and chemo that will hopefully make the awesome brain more amazing without killing it. I hope when this is all said and done, I can write, I can talk and I can think of the right word, dangit!
I am hopeful. I may not be around for a while after surgery, when they start digging for alien next Monday. Maybe, as my friend Maria and I sit around the hospital room waiting for me to become a walking miracle, we can record some thoughts on the blog. I’ll be highly medicated so we’ll see what happens. She can edit before we hit publish, I promise.
Guess I should give her my password before I forget it. Oh, what was it again? Dang. There are key pieces of my fabulous brain, the imperative info I do need to get on paper, before we do this thing.
But there is a certain anticipation to get dealing with this alien. I want it out, or at least as much as they can. I want to deal with why I am having a hard time getting my thoughts out. I want to head it straight on. See God do his amazing thing, and be here to blog on a whole new level. I know there is a long road ahead but I am betting that the Dr’s are going to take care. That I will awake and speak. Maybe even crack a good joke.
My prayer this week is that God radically protects the areas of language, meaning, complex tasks and speaking. Pray that he will restore any motor loss of control and memory loss. I pray that he protects my funny bone (so not in the brain but in the elbow) but you know what I mean.
I am at peace and feeling confident that the One who made me will be in the operating room at the very time where they are messing about in my “grey matter” and will guide the surgeons. I am confident not only in him, but in my surgeons themselves. They are experienced and will do the best for me that they can. Then I will wake up and be motivated to recover. I’ll have family by my side, friends sitting/standing with me. I won’t be alone on the journey to rid the alien out of my cranium once and for all. I’m counting on Jesus to be in charge of it all. And he loves me…I am his girl.
I am super excited to see God at work through it all. He’s not done here. The people we see everyday, they are being prayed for. The friends in our town, they are helping us through our journey.
My kids have grown and matured in ways never imagined before this stupid tumor. I have seen my girl come to my aide even when she doesn’t want to. She makes me tea, fixes lunches, comes and visits while I lay in bed. My son, he comes up with all sorts of deep and profound thoughts on the whole thing and is thankfully on a healthy path away from depression and looking at freedom from it instead. My two youngest have been giving me unasked for hugs and time. I count it all as blessings.
We’ll see where we stand next week at this very time. Next Tues. I’ll be post op by that day. Who knows maybe I’ll be coherent and able to skype my precious kiddos. Maybe I’ll have an incredibly gruesome scar to impress them with. I know they will do well with my parents and my brother and his wife this week. So good to know they are where they are safe and loved while I can’t tuck them in.
Maybe my next Tuesday I’ll make less sense but that’s the drugs. I plan on using good drugs for pain.
My goal is to write again, and to joke around again, and finish my book or two. Gives me something to dream about. Maybe by then I won’t mix up quite so many things.
Cheers to the day I can write a blog post by myself completely again. It will happen again!!