My story in a nutshell

My story is looong. I could write a book. I've decided to save the mass torture for another time and just write a short blog instead.

When I was 22, my husband and I were blessed with a beautiful baby boy. Gabriel. Weighing in at 8 lbs 4.8 ozs; 21 inches long; born in about 7 hours. He is my angel. I don't know if I would have had the strength to get through what would follow what I had thought to be the worst pain in my life without him.

I delivered in April. The headaches started coming. Migraines. They kept coming more often at longer intervals. The hearing in my left ear quickly phased out to pretty much non-existent. My balance started leaving me in it's dust around November. I fell twice while holding my baby. I had no signs of losing balance. I just tried to take a step and it just didn't work. I got many bruises. I was able to turn us to where I was his landing pillow both times, thank God.

I remember Christmas. I felt horrible. I wanted so bad to be active in my son's first Christmas. I did as much as I could. I just remember the naseua and pain.

By this point I had lost my job. My frequent migraines had me calling in a lot. My bad hearing issues were severley hindering my customer service abilities. My balance...That made it just about impossible for me to do the usual running around I did. Unable to effectivley perform the job I had worked so hard for, I stepped down. I decided maybe I was over-tired and over-stressed. I was going to take some time off with Gabe. Give myself a chance to rest.

One day in January I was out running errands with my baby boy. I wasn't feeling to hot so I stopped at the McDonald's near our apartment. Gabriel very happily chewed on his french fries. We got up to leave and the scariest thing happened. I got crazy dizzy and felt sick. It took every bit of strength I had and all of my will to get my baby into his car seat safely. I got into the driver's seat and cried. I was so scared. We didn't have health insurance. Plus, I couldn't work. Now I can't take care of my baby. I didn't know what was going on.

It went downhill from there. Fast. A friend of mine was out of college for winter break. When my husband wasn't home, she was there to watch my son while I slept. All I could do was sleep. My appetite kept going down. Yet I still didn't lose that stinkin' baby weight! It got to the point where I couldn't even keep liquids down. My friend finally drug me to the charity hospital where I waited for hours to be told I was dehydrated, pumped full of fluids and sent back home. Guess who saw me again 3 days later? You guessed it.

This time I was smart enough to write down all my symptoms for the doctors. Every. Last. One. Took a page and a half. Don't worry, I only used one sheet. Front and back. The doctors ordered an MRI for me a week from then suspecting MS. Two weeks later I saw their neurologist. He kept making me touch my nose, his finger, follow his finger, etc. He talked to his med students a lot. They all nodded and he was talking about things I was doing. My eyes were following his finger funny. They all nodded and scribbled. I sat there thinking 'What's going on?!' Then every one left. Including the doctor. Hey Doc, I really understand this is a teaching hospital. I don't mind helping mold young minds. As long as they do not have sharp objects near my person, we're cool. Really. But can we clue the scared, sick momma in? A couple of med students walked in. They saw me and looked like deers in headlights. My heart stopped and stomach sank. I hear the last words I wanted to hear. "You have a brain tumor." My mind froze. My whole body went numb from shock. They tell me the type they are sure I have is almost never cancerous. It's the type of brain tumor to have. It's tiny. It's not even on my brain stem.

They sent me home saying they were going to send my files to a hospital 1.5 hours away for a neurosurgeon to review. 2 weeks max. 1 week later, I could not even move on my own. I had to have help to do anything and everything. I ate 2 Oreos and was full. I lived on Oreos, by the way. I was taking migraine medicine after medicine. Just trying to keep it down to a dull throbbing ache.

My dad finally called the hospital 1.5 hours away. A nurse told him she'd talk to the neurosurgeon and call back. She called back within ten minutes. That terrified me. Next thing I know, I'm being driven to the hospital 1.5 hours away from home. From my family. From my angel. I was admitted that night. There were wires and tests. EKGs, X-rays, more MRIs, CAT scans...That was Friday March 13, 2009. Ironic date, yes? I was still unsure of everything. Nurses kept trying to assure me it was all okay. This scared me more. I was put in a room. Saturday evening after all my family and I had left and it was just me and my room mate, who was a wonderufl older lady, the neurosurgeon came in. He pulled a chair up next to my bed and sat down. Uh-oh. He looked really upset. He looked like he was trying to figure out a way to tell me something. "Am I going to die?" came my quiet plea for an answer. "Not if I can help it." He went on to explain that the type of tumor I had was an Accoustic Neuroma. Usually a very harmless tumor. Radiation and sometimes a little surgery. Mine had gone unnoticed for too long. It was huge. 1.5x2 inches of mass was growing on the left side of my head. On my brain. In my ear canal (That's why I couldn't hear from that ear anymore!). On my brain stem. This was going to be a risky operation. He didn't think he could do it. He had to consult with another neurosurgeon at another hospital. A cranial specialist. I asked him what my odds were. He assured me he wouldn't opporate unless I had at least a 50% chance. It was then explained to me that I was going to need extensive time for recovery and rehab. Also, my hearing in my left ear had packed it's bags and left...permanently.

The doctors left and I took a minute to process this. Then I burst into hysterics. There was no family or friend withing 1.5 hours from me in any direction. I couldn't calm down enough to pick up a phone. Then the woman who shared my room, a young kidney dialysis patient and grandmother came over. She sat on my bed and hugged me. She called my husband. She sat up all night talking to me. I still wish I knew how to contact this woman. She was one of the many angels I met on my journey. I will forever be grateful to her and hold a place for her in my heart.

The next day I was transfered to another hospital. No closure to home. It was my first time in an ambulance. I kept watching the black truck behind the ambulance, following way to close. I remember telling the medic riding in the back with me "I swear, if this jerk hits us and kills me after everything I have gone through with this tumor. So close to surgery...I will come back as a zombie and eat his brains. Oh crud. I'd probably starve." It was my new way of dealing with things. I tried to make everyone laugh. If I heard people laugh, it was all going to be okay.

On the morning of the 17th at 7am I was prepped and brought back for surgery. I remember saying some crazy things before I finally went under. I will never repeat these things. What was supposed to be an 8 hour surgery turned into a 10 hour surgery.

I woke up the day after the next with a tube down my throat. I could barely make a noise. I remember thinking the tube was choking me and frantically trying to get the nurse to understand I needed it out. I felt such relief. Oh crud. There was a feeding tube down my nose, too. There were tubes and wires everywhere. I couldn't feel my right arm. What the heck, the surgery was on the left and I can't feel the right side of my body?!? I was cranky for a couple of days and drove the nurses in ICU nuts. I lived on the call button.

A few tests later I was moved to the rehab floor. I am still sure the ICU area threw a party. I was more agreeable in rehab. I began getting feeling back. A speech therapist worked with me so I could eat again. They took the feeding tube out. The nurse warned me if I didn't eat enough, they'd put it back...and this time I'd be awake. I ate.

After a month of physical, occupational and speech therapy. I went home. the Wednesday before Easter. 1 week before my little angel's first birthday. I have missed about two months of his life since I've been sick.

I completed speech therapy a few weeks after leaving the hospital. I always was a chatterbox...occupational wasn't far behind. I'm still in physical. I also stay at home full time and care for our 2 bedroom apartment and toddler while my husband is at work.

This was the nutshell. Kinda. I said I'm a chatter box, didn't I?