All my life, I’ve had what I normally describe as a brain tumor. It’s a short way to explain what I really have, which is an arachnoid cyst. See the difference? Brain tumor. Simple. Widely known. Arachnoid cyst. What? What is that? Please, tell us more. Well, that’s what this story is about, so here you go.
One of my earliest memories is of riding in my Dad’s burgundy Honda Civic, trying not to scream and focus on something else. I was two years old. My father, who is probably panicking, is driving as fast as he can without placing us both in danger. We ride though every stop sign on the way to the hospital, speeding around anyone not going at least 10 miles over the speed limit. I can’t remember if we ran through stop lights, but I doubt we did because that’s just asking for a car collision. I’m surprised we never got pulled by a police officer, as many driving laws we broke that day.
We finally arrive at the hospital, my father terrified that we’re out of time, my headache getting worse by the minute, to discover that we still have to wait for the neurosurgeon to prepare for surgery. I’m taken to a room and given a shot to knock me out. At this point the pain is so unbearable I can’t stop fighting. It takes three nurses and a doctor to restrain me so the shot can be given properly. I’m told to watch Sesame Street and count to 100, as the drug given to me is so strong I’m already sedated enough to not feel anything. I get as far as 16 before I lose consciousness.
16 hours worth of surgery later, I wake up completely normal; plus a few stitches and a vein I wasn’t born with connected to the inside of my skull. I spend the next few weeks in and out of consciousness, mostly from the physical exhaustion of having my brain push against the inside of my skull for two hours. Or it could be from the constant Sesame Street being shown on the hospital network. I may never know for certain.
4 comments:
My, what a tragic story. For a while my mother thought I had a heart murmur. For those who don't know, that would be a small hole in one's heart. I don't know if that compares to a cyst on the brain, but hey, I'm not much of an invalid.
Are you insinuating that I'm an invalid? I will choke you.
Sometimes when I'm feeling exceptionally scattered or forgetful, I tell people that I have “brain spiders”. That really is the first thing that was called to mind when I read that you had an arachnoid cyst. I know that you're no stranger to pain as well. It really is amazing what you can find out about people even in the beginnings of an assignment. Oh, and I'm not insinuating anything. Please don't choke me.
I can't say that I can relate to your story, but I did read it in a state of horrified entrancement. I would probably have had a heart attack if it were my child getting brain surgery. So, kudos to your dad! And Tyler, you would have to catch me before you could choke me!
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