If you’re wondering what day it is, it’s Monday, and it’s the day that the
“fact looming over my head, that I chose to ignore day after day, that I avoided in dreams by avoiding in sleep, that I would have to take 5 months away from school for, that I really couldn’t believe was a big deal because it didn’t seem like one to me; the simple and very scary fact that at any time during these next two or three months, a young neurosurgeon who’s name I couldn’t pronounce, or his secretary perhaps, would be calling to ask for me and to say they had an opening and to tell me on what day I would be coming in to be placed on a bed and anaesthetized and have needles and scalpels and drills and devices to “shave” down the bone used, to cut into my skull, underneath my brain, to reach my first two vertabrae, and take parts of them away, to “make more room” so that my brain wouldn’t fall through my skull” becomes a reality. If that even makes sense.
So like a annoying television drama I’m re-playing parts of my old blog to explain the current one, saving me time but not you from boredom. I apologize. I thought it would be effective.
The doctor’s assistant called last last Friday. I had several appointments this past Monday. Then the doctor said my surgery might not be Monday the 17th. Then he said someone would call either Thursday or Friday to say for sure. Then someone called Friday and “said for sure” that it would be Monday.
Now it is Monday. I have 9 hours and 51 minutes before my appointment. I have a 3 to 4 to 6 hour surgery ahead of me. I have 1 to 2 days to “who knows how long?” in the hospital. I have weeks of recovery. I have the potential for an interesting scar on the lower part of my skull.
This is my life.
I didn’t know it would wind up being so interesting and complicated.
I figured when I was 8 and found out that I had a potentially harmful but mostly boring bone disease that that would be it, and I’d be a normal kid (of course, my definition of “normal” in today’s world included being the youngest of 8 from a super Roman Catholic family). My tonsil removal the following year was so normal it was boring. As was the discovery of the blood disease trait that made my blood look funny but did not much else. High school toe breaking, and play-acting, taking an art 1 class my senior year with all the freshmen and sophomores, that was normal too. It was fun, but it was normal.
Traveling to Ohio for school. Meeting other crazy Catholics I loved. Getting my own ukulele. Going to Europe an entire semester. Meeting my German Uncle and Aunt and Cousin. Living in my own apartment.
Normal normal normal.
I guess that’s what the new normal is for me now.
[Know what’s not normal? Licorice. That stuff is disgusting. Also beer. You crazy people keep your licorice and beer. I’m getting brain surgery.]