Alive!
I walk among the living. In 1993 I was tested for systemic lupus
erythmatosis, a really long word for immune system malfunction. That really big word means a really grand
malfunction that simply translated is an almost the complete antithesis of
AIDS. Pregnancy brought out the best in a disease that loves hormone changes,
afflicts predominantly women, mostly of childbearing years. Guess I walked right into that one.
1996
I am
alive. My thoughts described feelings
of terror after the diagnosis of brain involvement and a tumor growing alien
near the pituitary gland. Brain swelling
had forced me into the hospital until the menu had begun to rehash green jello
and repeated mush. Crisp white sheets and cheerful nurses were
stained by reality. Being friends with the radiologist afforded me a different
level of care above and beyond what my insurance would pay. He strolled with
the mannerism that being a lifelong hippie and Grateful Dead head ingrained,
laid back, loose, slightly long haired gentle soul and a doctor. Who would have thought . . .
In his matter of fact tone he pointed to the
grayer mass on the grayish x-ray tucked into the gleaming metal frame that hung
on the wall. This meant nothing to me, but the MRI image next to the regular
familiar image highlighted in living color the distinctly different spot of
malfunction hidden in the gray matter.
“You need to see a
neurologist. Soon. These types of things
are usually not malignant; however there is no way of knowing what this is other
than how it appears based on the symptoms it is presenting. The surgery for this is not that big of a
deal. They go in and remove things like
this all of the time. Up through the
nose, into the brain.”
He pantomimed some kind of insertion of an instrument
into the nasal cavity like picking his nose with the nostrils pulled back and
open like some weird clown hippy wearing a stethoscope.
“Thanks for the extra
explanation Ken.”
You
are talking about my brain like you can remove a piece of ham from a sandwich! My hippy doctor friend
turned and pulled the x-ray film off of the monitor with a snap. He smiled at me and with a nod of his head,
left the room. My brightly dressed nurse
whisked into the room, pulled purple sterile gloves out on the wall. Is that Scooby-Doo slinking around her smock
with Shaggy, Fred, Daphne, and Velma? Where is the Mystery Mobile to solve this
mystery? What the hell! Not-Daphne checked
my vital signs and IV site. There was something in Ken’s smile as he walked out
of the room. It could be fear, but I
have not seen that expression from him either so how the hell would I know? Stunned and stranded with my friend the IV
pole and monitor; it ticked and tocked my life to a mechanized beat. I contemplated the concept of now. Now I am told I am possibly dying but who
isn’t? Am I dying any more now than I
was two weeks ago? The day something is
born it begins to die, and only in that certainty does someone truly begin to
live. No matter what “they” say and in spite of all the medical evidence, experts,
or pamphlets introducing me to my new nemesis that suggested I should be otherwise
I am alive.
