The One in Which I Talk About my "Cancerversary", Part 1

Warning: Even though you can't see it, I'm probably going to cry like a little baby at points as I reflect on this challenging year.

A year ago today, I was admitted to Good Samaritan Hospital in San Jose with another focal seizure. I had a grand mal seizure (sometimes called a "tonic-clonic" - but that sounds too much like a combination of a gin & tonic - pleasant on a hot summer day -  with something unpleasant that celebrities do to cleanse their digestive tract. So, I'll stick with "grand mal", k?) in August 2014.

Then I had two focal or partial seizures within two weeks of each other in September. It's called a "focal seizure" because it's focused on one part of the body. For me, that was the left side of my face/jaw. Both times, I was alone, and I was terrified, but I put my big girl panties on and did what I could to stay calm. The second time, I was brushing my teeth when it started, so I was most scared that I was going to choke. I desperately tried to spit in the sink - even though I was quickly losing control of my facial muscles. and then, instead of lying on my side, I coughed and coughed as I got on all fours and tried to get the excess toothpaste and saliva out of my mouth.

The things that come into our minds at the oddest times: I was thinking of the movie "Defending Your Life" (if you haven't seen this movie yet, find it and watch it! It's beautiful and funny and touching all at the same time. If you have a macho-man that doesn't watch "chick-flicks", tell him that you have watched plenty of action/adventure movies with him and try not to call attention when he starts crying, too. P.S. Have tissues ready.)

Helpful Hint: I just checked, and it's available for streaming on Amazon Prime right now! Come on! Meryl Streep and Albert Brooks? What's not to like? Anyway... #freepass

As I was I crouched  there, on all fours...I was thinking about a scene in that movie. Meryl Streep's character is explaining how she died and how she felt when she died. He asks if she was scared. She says, "No. I was pissed." I was thinking that as I hung my head forward and let the toothpaste drip out of my mouth. I didn't want die like that. How undignified! I would be pissed, too!

Meryl Streep & Albert Brooks in "Defending Your Life"

But as you can see, I didn't die. In fact, when the seizure subsided, I didn't even call 9-1-1. I asked my daughter to drive me to the E.R. What was the point? I knew it was a seizure. I didn't need an EMT to put through the same neurological tests that they would do AGAIN in the hospital. "Put out your arms. Close your eyes. Follow my finger with your eyes. Smile for me. What a beautiful smile!" (which is clearly bullshit that they are trained to say in this situation. We're on to you!)

So, I skipped that, and we went right to Good Sams. My daughter, Katherine, must have been freaked out, but she stayed calm and drove through the morning traffic like a champ.

They called me in to the triage nurse - and guess what! They did the neurological rigmarole (see above) and sent me to a curtained area in the back. Meanwhile Steven was rushing from Livermore, splattered with grape detritus, because he was in the middle of 2014 harvest.  This time felt different for me though. I felt like I was not through with seizures for the day. And sure enough, not long after Steven arrived, I had another, stronger one, although not a grand mal. (Can I have a gin & tonic instead, please? Thanks!) An MRI scan was ordered.

That's when I was introduced to Ativan, to prevent another seizure. Ativan is pretty cool stuff. I recommend it in times like this. I would be willing to do a commercial for it if anyone is interested. (Hit me up with a text or email!) It's gotten me through several MRI's since then with the help of Ativan, and I'm REALLY claustrophobic. That's how cool it is.

We need a catchy motto, though. "Ativan. When an Advil just won't cut it." What do you think?

The news was not good. My MRI confirmed that there was a lesion on my brain. Doesn't that sound pretty innocuous? like skinning your knee. I can assure you that it is not. In fact, I bet dollars to donuts (Google that shit if you've never heard it. GAWD, aren't millennials silly sometimes? ) that if you had a choice between a lesion on your brain or skinning your knee, you would let your knee take the fall every time.

Especially if you get rad Scooby doo band-aids to go with it!

Surgery was scheduled for the next day. While I remained in my Ativan Dream-Fog, I'm sure Steven was feeling like he was in a nightmare. They suspected that the tumor was a Grade III, but they wouldn't know for sure until after the surgery.

The next day, September 24, 2014, we learned that I wasn't so "lucky". My tumor was a grade IV, glioblastoma multiforme. The news that you have a terminal illness is difficult to describe - and maybe not worth it because you can't possibly comprehend it unless you really experience it. Sort of like childbirth or a Springsteen concert. (Kiddies, don't talk shit about Springsteen unless you've seen him live. You have no idea.)

Springsteen Live = part concert/ part revival = Pure Joy

For two weeks after I got home from the hospital, I imagined my slow decline in health - my death... And then I decided that wasn't a very productive use of my time. And here it is, 363 days since then, and I'm still here. (Hmmmm.... I can't remember if last year was a leap year, and I'm too lazy to look it up. Google that shit yourself! Does it really matter? Details. Details.)

In Part 2, I'll fill you in on what it's like to survive one year with a terminal illness, and what's on my mind as I begin Year Two. I will tell you that if I work this hard on moving into our new house and have a quick demise, I am definitely going to PISSED.

To be continued...