My Brain Tumor

I had been getting these mind-splitting headaches for a few days already. The thoughts ran through my mind because, of course, I am a worrier. Maybe there was something wrong with my eyes. I was having sensitivity issues. It could have been severe tension, though I was not feeling tense.

I had just gotten married and returned from our honeymoon. Things were rosy, and then this.

What Could It Be?

I tried acetaminophen and ibuprofen, but neither worked. They didn’t even take the edge off. I had never had a migraine, so I thought maybe that was what I was experiencing. But no light sensitivity, no vomiting, and no other migraine symptoms.

So I ran down a list of what I could have and looked up the few I knew little about.

I was not dehydrated.

I have never had sinus issues.

These headaches were not cluster headaches.

I had ruled out tension and migraines.

I did not have high blood pressure, so that was a no as well.

There was no sign of a head injury; I think I would have remembered it.

So, I did what anyone would do in this situation. I started imagining worst-case scenarios. And don’t you know, the most frightening diagnosis popped right into my head.

Brain tumor.

I was crying and thinking about my family, my new husband, and what I would leave behind if I kicked it. Ah yes, the morbid thoughts were flowing freely. The waterfall of a spigot then took over. I might be in big trouble.

My deepest sadness was the thought of having just married the man I loved, only to subject him to a dying wife. What the heck, Alex! I was even scaring myself. It’s funny how some of us go there. But my life had never been a cakewalk, so why not? One more insult to the injury of a lifetime of trauma and the consequences of bad decisions I had made.

I scheduled an appointment with the doctor. I had told my husband about my headaches but not about my morbid diagnoses. He took me to the appointment because of the headaches and light issues. My symptoms did not make me feel safe driving.

I didn’t know how I was going to tell him how bad my condition was. So when they called me in, I asked my husband to stay in the waiting room for a bit. They would bring him back once the examination was done.

The Exam

In the exam room, while wearing sunglasses because, yes, the light, I recounted the details of the headaches and the length of time I was suffering them.

The doctor told me he would start with the standard blood tests to see if there were any simple reasons for my condition. I told him my fears. He didn’t laugh, so you know, and now I was thinking my assumptions might hold water.

The nurse drew my blood and gave me a cup, and I went to do my business. I handed the sample to her, and then I was returned to the exam room alone.

I sat there for a long time. Doc said he would run the tests, stat. Gee, another reason for heightened concern; after all, doctors do not usually run something stat unless there is cause for worry.

I didn’t want to know. I was in a panic and wondered why I had even come. I’d rather whatever it was take me quickly and in silence.

I know, I know, I am uber dramatic. Maybe this is why I am suited to writing. I can fashion an idea and run with it.

The Diagnosis

A gentle tap on the door. Did that mean something? Was it a tap of bad news?

I see these words and wonder what they must look like to you all. Since I am still here writing, unless it’s my alternate self in an alternate reality, it was not a lethal situation. But what did I know then? Nothing.

The doctor came in alone. He said he had the results of the blood work and urinalysis in a somber, serious tone.

He looked me in the eyes, all soulful.

“Here it comes: the bad news,” I thought.

He looked at me and said, “It’s not a tumor.” — Yes, I went there, and so did some of you.

I thought to myself, “Did I just hear that right?” We had not done a CAT scan or any other probative testing, so what on earth could it be? The laundry list was scrolling through my mind, of all the cancers a blood test would reveal. And I was falling down a rabbit hole, without a tea party to look forward to.

“Mrs. Grant, you do not have a brain tumor,” he said. My eyes filled with what would be a deluge of tears as I waited for the worst word in the English language.

Then he looked at me and said, “You don’t have a tumor, but you may experience these symptoms, and worse, for a long time.”

“Huh?” Oh no, my worst fears were true. Then the inevitable words spilled out.

“You are pregnant.”

This guy had a strange sense of humor. The lead-in was brilliant, don’t get me wrong, but at the time I didn’t process it.

The Big Reveal

The doctor told the nurse, who had by then come in, to collect my husband. A minute or so later, he came in and looked at me. Seeing me cry, his countenance dropped.

The doctor introduced himself and shook my husband’s hand. Then he asked me whether I wanted to tell him or whether he should.

At that point, I was full-on waterworks. I shook my head, saying I couldn’t do it, and then he shared the news with my husband.

He chuckled.

Which he? Take your pick. I can’t even remember who, and it was probably both.

This was the start of what would become a five-year journey toward the ultimate success of having our only son.

The doctor was right. I would be experiencing symptoms for a long time. It’s been 20 years so far.

I have loved every moment.

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(Published on Medium)