Monday, August 6
I don't really know where to begin...I suppose with the "facts." Before Kenny was discharged on Friday afternoon, the on-call neurologist told us that the MRI didn't offer any further information than the CT scan performed earlier; the tumor didn't absorb the dye used for contrast- which, according to them, is a good sign. They also said they *thought* it was a low grade tumor (which means non-aggressive and slow growing). Later on Friday, we saw a neurosurgeon who was very nice, but a bit vague. He didn't offer up much more information, but also suspected it was a low grade tumor; and when he called on Saturday with the radiologist's analysis, he additionally felt it was a low grade tumor. Not that this was fabulous news, but if you're going to have a brain tumor, low grade is what you want to have.
Since it was late on Friday by the time we were done there, we knew nothing else could be done until Monday. Having the weekend to simmer on the information was a blessing and a curse. On one hand, we got to absorb some of the shock and start planning our attack. On the other, we had a bit of extra time on our hands to let our minds get away with us. We were fortunate enough to have some wonderful people come to visit and bring some yummy food! I think sometimes when these things arise, a lot of people are scared to contact you or scared to come by, when really the distraction is more than welcome.
On Friday afternoon, someone made some calls for us to get in to see another neurologist out of a great hospital nearby; we saw him first thing today, and he was absolutely terrific. Not only was he more than thorough (he explained every little detail from the angle of the MRI pictures to very lengthy details on our options and the pro's and con's of each), he gave us hope. He said he felt he could adequately remove the tumor, and that he felt Kenny could make a full recovery- music to our ears! While we know this doesn't mean anything for sure, we spent the day feeling a little bit lighter.
Now for the rest...
I'm flippin' beat. I'd wanted to update Friday night but having been up for 40 hours and had the amount of information thrown at us, we crashed pretty hard. Getting to sleep was a bit tough that first night, in spite of the exhaustion; every time I closed my eyes I couldn't see anything but Kenny seizing. The last few days have felt really long...it seems like ages ago it was Thursday morning and we were having those light conversations over morning coffee. I'm just 2 weeks postpartum, so I'm still "recovering" from having a baby and trying to get used to having a newborn in the midst of all this. We've all but moved into Kenny's parent's house, which we're grateful for. Having had a seizure, he has a lot of restrictions that would make it really hard to be home without help (can't drive, be alone with the kids, or alone at all actually, can't hold the baby unless he's sitting on the couch, etc). I miss my bed, I miss my house, I miss having my own space...I think I just keep thinking I'll feel better if we can go home, but I think I'm failing to realize that even if we go home (whenever we go home), life isn't going to be "normal" for a while.
I spent a lot of time this weekend fluctuating between resolve and feeling angry and "mourning" the life we had just a few days ago. Seeing people's happy, normal, every day statuses on Facebook made me irate. I know it's not rational to be mad about people living their normal lives...going on their summer vacations or hanging out with their friends or going to the beach, but it did. I was just posting those things...going to the pool club or eating breakfast with our toes in the sand...but there I was instead, looking at the white blurb on my husband's MRI that was threatening to take him away from us. The doctor on Friday said that he'd suspected it had been there a long time- although he couldn't say for sure. But what does that mean??? Has it been a year? Five years? Longer? Was it there when he proposed to me? When we got married? When Cameron was born??? Maybe it shouldn't really matter, but I just want to know how long this thing was creeping up in there, threatening our lives before we knew it.
By the end of the weekend, we'd realized all the many, MANY small blessings that had been bestowed upon us in spite of discovering something awful. Kenny and I had a lot of plans for Thursday...we were going to go out for a nice lunch not all that close to home, run some errands, maybe do some work on the house; yet somehow, instead, he insisted we nap on the couch. A place, I might add, that he never sits. We have a chair on the other side of the room that he usually decides to sit in when hanging in our living room; but that day, he sat squarely on the big fluffy couch. Let's add in that he was on paternity leave and not at work in Manhattan where he would have been otherwise, and that Cameron happened to not be home. Had we been running errands he would have been the driver (he always is); had we been doing work on the house I may not have been next to him to call 911, or he may have been near the stairs, or in any place where he could have injured himself during the seizure. Had he been at work, he very well could have been walking down a crowded city street. If Cam had been home...I just can't even imagine had she seen that. Or worse...he may have been alone with her (as he often takes her down to the basement to play when I'm doing something else in the house). Lastly, Friday was my actual due date with Ben. Could you imagine if I'd been in labor? Or gone into labor after all this happened? But none of those things happened...thanks to someone...God, those we love who've gone before us, someone...
Today we also realized another blessing...
Kenny's "panic attacks"(aka, the focal seizures), began about 6 weeks before I got pregnant with Benjamin. Through all of this, I've gone back and forth about being mad that it wasn't diagnosed properly immediately, that I didn't force him to see a doctor sooner, and maybe grateful we didn't know so quickly...because obviously had we known, we wouldn't have tried for him. Today, for the second time, a doctor hinted that the focal seizures may have escalated into a grand mal seizure because he was so tired...because we had a new baby. That's when we realized that if it weren't for Benjamin being here, these focal seizures could have gone on for months, years even, without us knowing it was much more than some anxiety giving him grief. The weird part (although I'm not sure weird is the right word), is that (TMI WARNING!), Benjamin is a first try baby. Since it took quite a few months and a couple of early losses to get Cameron, I'd assumed that was how it would happen again. When it happened so quickly, it made me scared. Knowing my history, that's not surprising. I thought because it happened so fast I was bound to lose the pregnancy...except I didn't. 9 months later our little man arrived, and less than two weeks later, his presence may just be the thing that saves my husband's life.
And now? Now we get a few more opinions. We say a few more prayers. We cross our fingers and knock on wood, and ask those around us for positive thoughts. We lean on each other, on our families, and we hope that things turn out okay.
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