From the Diary of a Brain Tumor Chick

Friday, November 27th 2009

One month. It's been one month since my personal D-Day (diagnosis day). I've been 'off' all day. Just not quite myself. Distant and Somber. Funny but I ended up doing the exact same thing I did on that day one month ago. I went and rented lots of movies and didn't leave my couch. I lost myself in entertainment and snuggling with the ones I love. It's kind of funny but I didn't realize that it was the anniversary of my D-Day until just now, long after I completed almost the exact same activities as I did one month prior.

I am the same in so many ways. Scared silly, withdrawn from the world, and again with the large knot in my stomach. I once again, like on that day one month ago, thought of my children and how hard I had to fight not only for myself but for them.

This time, unlike last month, I know what has to be done. I know what will be done, to rid my brain of this tumor named Egore. I don't know what's scarier knowing or the unknown. I sit here knowing that on Monday morning at 6.30am I will report to the Mayo Clinic Hospital for Brain Surgery. Words I never thought I would utter. But they are my new reality.

There are some things that have changed. I have an outlook. I have discovered in me not only the will to survive this but to live with this, and not only to live with it, but excel with it. Before D-Day I was happy with my life, I thought I had it good, and in all honesty I did. There's really not much I want to change, but there's a lot that has been changed for me. I am more determined now in all that I do. Things I knew I wanted out of life but had been too compliant to achieve them, too comfortable.

Comfort in my mind is a good thing, I love being comfortable, it is part of me. Now I must learn to step out of that box and be comfortable with change and the changes that occur in life. I so badly want this surgery over. I want to get on with life. Get on with what I want to accomplish. I want to go back to my wonderful safe world, full well knowing that I will never be able to, not in the same way. That world will forever be changed by this experience I will have to create a new safe world for myself and for my children.

I wonder if I'll ever forget that day...October 27th 2009. I doubt it. I wonder when I won't be drawn back to my couch for multiple movies to lose myself in my never ending thoughts. I wonder just how long it will be before this experience is a distant memory. A memory that got me motivated, awakened to all that the world had waiting for me. Although I do yearn for it to be a distant memory, I do not want to lose the lessons it has taught me along the way.

I hope that in time, long from now, my children will see my experience, read my words and gain strength from the fact that something so heartbreaking and earth shattering can be survived, can be overcome. That you don't have to be defined by these unfortunate circumstances, you need to rise above. You have to create your own normal, a new normal.

That is ultimately why I have written, why I have been so candid. My children are still so young to know the details of what I have been through, of what I will go through over these next few months. I want there to be record. A record of my trials. So that they might learn the strength needed in life to get through trials. Strength that it took a brain tumor for me to learn I had all this time.

Bray and Brock I love you dearly. You two boys are my world. You are what defines me. I am nothing without you. You will never fully comprehend the extent of my love for you as children rarely do until they have children of their own. I hope that through this experience I have displayed a sense of strength, a sense of courage, but also a sense of vulnerability that you will remember and take with through life.

I have a brain tumor and it will soon be gone and I will be thriving once more.