Babies and Brain Surgery
I was fourteen weeks pregnant when I found out my brain tumor had a name. It wasn’t just “mass” or “lesion” anymore. I can Google what it is. I know that might sound silly, being able to Google it, but for the past five months I haven’t been able to call it anything other than a mystery. There’s some comfort in knowing now what we’re dealing with here.
I was also fourteen weeks pregnant when I found out after the baby is born they are taking me for brain surgery to remove said tumor.
Back in October I found out about this thing in my brain when I went to the ER. I insisted they scan my brain, and after hours of me screaming, crying and the doctors drug testing me to make sure I wasn’t high, they agreed. I could write an entire post alone on how awful Punxsy ER is, but I’ll spare you the angry details.
When November came I had an MRI with a neurosurgeon down in Pittsburgh for them to see what the heck this thing was. Only for us to find out that “what the heck this thing is”, was a mass that could be seen, measured, and recorded… but couldn’t yet be identified. They told me to come back in three months for a scan to see if it grows. Three months turned into five months. After a year of trying for another baby, with no luck, my body decided four days before my next MRI I’d take a positive pregnancy test. When five months came around I was so close to even forgetting I had something serious going on. I was quickly reminded.
I’ve always struggled with religion. I don’t know if I could confidently say I have ever given it a real chance. I have a bad habit of only talking to God when I need something answered. I have a hard time having faith in things I can’t see or touch or know to be absolutely true. I have the tendency to play devil’s advocate. I just sit in this confusing place of I want to believe, and I think I do, but how do I know for certain, but that isn’t what faith is, but how do I really know? It seems like everyone that has their faith finds it so naturally it can be really intimidating when you sit in this place not really knowing where to go. Then there’s also this embarrassing place of not wanting people to question your faith because it may make them think less of you so you don’t ever seek help in truly finding it.
Are you confused by that? Tell me about it. I am, too. I’m trying.
I want to believe I went to that ER that day because an angel sent me. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known about my tumor until it was too late for surgery to be an option. Or the tumor could have had time to mutate and become cancerous.
I want to believe my husband and I tried for a baby for over a year with no luck only to get pregnant four days before my follow up MRI because we were seriously contemplating moving to Tennessee and an angel wanted us to stay here because I’d need to be here for surgery. My neurosurgeon is one of the only surgeons in the country who operates in the part of the brain my tumor is in.
I want to believe the baby is God’s way of making sure I still remember life is fragile but it is also rewarding and extraordinary.
I guess I just want to believe I’m not a pregnant 24 year old mother of a toddler who just married the love of her life to have this all happening for no reason.
I guess I just want the silver linings I’m forcing myself to find to have truth to them. Like I never appreciated how much family I have before this. I’ve always been close with my brothers and parents but after marrying Cole I inherited this whole other family that is just as amazing. Or like how you can’t take for granted a single sunny, cloudless sky. Get outside and jump on the trampoline with your babies. Or like how the morning sickness I’ve had practically every single day since 5 weeks along reminds me the baby is alive and growing. I am alive and growing. Or like how my jeans fitting tighter and tighter by the day means we are closer and closer to meeting our new baby. Slade’s sibling. Or like how all those weekends where I want to just do nothing and we have family obligations can be tiring and overwhelming, but we are so loved. Or like how my husband’s boss is also my father-in-law so Cole gets to be at every appointment with me to hold my hand and it is never an issue. Or how I haven't had to explain my anxiety to any of my family or friends. They just get it. Instead of making me feel like I'm dying they're treating me normal while also making sure to ask, "How can we be here for you in the way you need us to be?"
I know this post doesn’t have a rhyme or reason besides me trying to process all of this stuff I’m going through. I guess I just want people to know I’m going through it. Not for pity or sympathy. Maybe for some prayers or good vibes to be thrown my way. But more so for me to find comfort in my words and thoughts and sort them out and share them. I don’t want to just post when I have something organized to say. I want to post when I’m messy too. Social media is a highlight reel, and while I refuse to stop posting pictures of my super duper cute, perfect son to my timeline, I also want to remind the world there’s a human here, too. Be kind.