I Want My Brain Back

I've been hallucinating, and it's beyond me why anyone would ever choose to live with a brain altered by drugs. As of now, I can't tell you what happened all week. Oh, I have memories, but of what? I'm pretty certain that one cannot type in midair and have it end up online. The worst part was explaining to Steve & Morgan just what I thought I was doing. At the time it made perfect sense, but why did it seem they were gently laughing at me?

And the horrifying monsters which occupied my hospital room? Well, maybe they weren't really there. But I did sit nervously wondering and pointing. And the beautiful, arching, warm soft droplets of "dove shaped angel water" that drifted over my face while I was talking with Morgan and Steve couldn't have been real. Could they? I kept wiping it from my face, though my face seemed oddly dry. Yet it was pretty.

So, on Nov. 22, my choice was this: 1. Live out your final 3 - 4 months relatively pain free, get very confused, slip into a coma, then pass away. Let the cancer win; it's winning anyway. The only one who wouldn't suffer would be me. Easy and peaceful way to go. Or 2. Have high risk surgery that could kill me, but perhaps extend my life by a year or so, while also leaving me in excruciating pain for weeks, and perhaps not extending my life at all.

Which would you choose? Well, so did I, but it took Sam all of 15 seconds to weigh in and say, "Go for it Mom. We already know you're going to die from this. Please just try to stay a little longer." So I went for it.

So 9 days later, here I sit. The surgery didn't kill me, but it should have. After all, I was allowed no food or liquid (including water) for nearly a week. Seriously. Well, there were the delicious ice chips and the catheter. The incision is over 10" from top to bottom, and we're talking cutting through a liver here, okay? Livers are full of blood, as in "stuff we must have" that's likely to shoot out randomly all over the room. Gag me.

But the tumor is now gone and I'm not yet dead. There were no cancer pockets, no other cancer detected. They didn't have to invade the stomach as expected, and did a few other things that I'd rather not describe. Hey, even I'm getting sick from reading all this, and I was there. They released me early due to my somehow miraculously regaining strength at speeds unheard of.

I talked about my book, and even one atheist nurse said she'd be curious to read it. I told her it was based on our faith, but she indicated that didn't matter. "Yours is an interesting story. I'd like to read it." Clearly, a room full of miracles.