Real Life Spoilers

I hate spoilers. Whether it is a book or a movie, I hate spoilers. Years ago, I was on my way to see a movie called “Taps” and my brother said, “You won’t like it, the hero dies at the end.” I was so mad at him for spoiling the ending! He was right though, I hated it. Looking back, I think he was really just trying to help. I should have listened to him and avoided that movie.

When it comes to real life though, I have decided that spoilers can be good. In fact, I would love some spoilers! (read: clues, ideas about the future). The reason I am thinking about spoilers today is because May has been a hard month for me. I used writing to help me along the way, and now I am ready to share some of that with you. I really debated whether or not to share, I mean what is it that people read blogs for anyway? Certainly not for depressing stories, right? And yet, we are all suckers for a movie like “Steel Magnolias” now and then. I have asked myself a lot lately why we like those kinds of movies. Possibly because seeing other people deal with their pain, helps us in a way to deal with our own? That is my best guess. . .leave me a comment if you have a better idea, I would love to hear it.In the spirit of helping you deal with the hard things in your life, I will share some of mine. Besides after all what is a blog, if not a journal?

Which brings me back to the point about spoilers. In the beginning of May, I started having olfactory hallucinations, or in other words smelling things that were not real. Apparently that can be an indication of a brain tumor. The spoiler is that I do NOT have a brain tumor. The mystery is that we still don’t know for sure what is causing it, but idiopathic is better than brain tumor any day.

So with that “spoiler” as a buffer, I would like to share some of what I wrote to help me cope and process during that frightful period.

May 7, 2009 Not too long ago, I wrote a post joking about how I felt like my life was a version of Rip Van Winkle. Today, I feel like a badly written version of Steel Magnolias, or Friday Night Knitting Club.

My doctor called. I’m always nervous when I answer the phone and hear the voice of one of my doctors. You know they are not calling to talk about the weather. Sure enough, Dr. Chapman was calling to tell me that the Neurologist wants to see me. He said the uncinate fits (that’s doctor lingo for my fake smells) may be caused by something electrical, so I need an EEG. The “fits” could also be caused by a mass (read: tumor), so an MRI was recommended as well. Would I mind doing that, he asked. I wanted to say, NO! All I really want to do is turn back the clock and somehow make all this go away. But as you know, turning back the clock only happens in fiction, and my only possible way through this is forward. So I agreed to the tests. What choice did I have? He said when he put in the referal he asked them to expedite it so I wouldn’t have to wait. I appreciate that.

I haven’t even told my husband yet (I will before I publish this blog post…so if you are reading this he knows). I thought about telling him when I got home, but he was in such a happy mood. I didn’t want to take that away from him.

I was on my way to a Staff Meeting when I got the call. As they were talking about work-related issues, I couldn’t help but think how possibly soon none of that stuff would matter to me any more. Amazing how your life can change so quickly. It was also fascinating to me how I could sit there and ponder such things as brain tumors with people all around me who have no idea that today is any different than any other day. It makes me wonder what “secret pain” other people hide.

Young girls in love often doodle their name with the last name of the boy they love, thrilling in seeing it on paper. In similar fashion, I try to imagine myself saying, “I have a brain tumor.” I try to imagine the doctor saying, “You have a brain tumor.” I type it here in my blog, all trying to come to grips with it. None of it helps.I wonder how my husband and I will tell the children. That is the worst part, even worse than telling my husband. I wish I didn’t have to tell them, but I have never been one of those parents to take them to Nursery (at church) get them distracted and then slip out. I’ve always believed it is better to say good-bye, and let them cry rather than let them wonder when I am going to “disappear” next. This is no different. Better to say good-bye and cry, together.

I pondered briefly NOT telling my friends and co-workers. I don’t want a lot of sympathy and people feeling awkward around me, but I can’t keep this to myself. I am an open person and I have to be open about this. We’ll all just deal with it the best way we can, I guess. I can’t do the ‘strong, suffer-silently’ role. It’s just not me. Drama queen is more my style. I’ll try not to over do the drama on this one.

Perhaps it is time for another meeting of Worrier’s Anonymous.

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