As I navigated the familiar road, my daughter was animatedly discussing her favorite video games from the backseat. “Uh-huh,” I replied absently, my mind elsewhere.
I found myself driving slower than usual along the shaded path, taking note of how the sunlight filtered through the trees. As a busy mom, I often rush through life without pausing to appreciate my surroundings. Yet, at that moment, time felt elongated, especially since one of the errands on my Saturday list was to collect my MRI report before heading to the library with my daughter. When I approached the reception desk, the attendant cheerfully handed me the single-page report, wishing me a pleasant day. My daughter dashed toward the parking lot, and as I walked out, I couldn’t help but glance at the report.
It’s Not Like It Is in the Movies
In films, a person learns about their brain tumor while sitting in a doctor’s office, surrounded by supportive family members. But here I was, scrolling through medical jargon on my phone, walking alongside a child whose biggest concern was whether she would get to play her favorite game, Minecraft, later. The parking lot felt overwhelmingly large and hot, infused with the scent of fresh asphalt. “Come on, Mom!” she urged. “You’re walking so slowly! Let’s get to the library!”
Right, the library. That was the plan.
During the 20-minute drive, my mind felt like it was split in two. One half was oddly calm, responding to my daughter’s chatter with simple affirmations. Meanwhile, the other half was spiraling into anxiety. Why did I choose to do this now, with her by my side? What does this mean for me? I need to consult my doctor, but he won’t be available until Monday. How can I possibly wait two days for answers? Oh no. I have to go home and share this news with my family. They’re going to panic. Should I keep it to myself until I know more? No, that would only lead to more issues later.
“Mom… MOM!”
“Yes?” I snapped back to reality.
“C’mon! We’re here!”
We had arrived at the library parking lot. How did that happen? My daughter had already dashed inside, and I instinctively followed. While she browsed the bookshelves, I scoured my phone for any articles that could shed light on my diagnosis, the treatments available, and the prognosis. Most of what I found suggested that my tumor was likely benign and that surgery usually had a high success rate. Surgery. Brain surgery. Seriously?
I envisioned the dramatic scenes from movies—characters with shaved heads in operating rooms, fading into sleep as music swells, while concerned family members wait anxiously. Yet, the films never addressed the questions swirling in my mind. How long will the recovery take? Who will drive my kids to all their activities? What if something goes wrong—will I be left with a droopy leg or an odd eye twitch forever? What if the surgery drains our savings? We had plans to buy a new home and take the kids to Harry Potter World this year! Is everything about to change?
“Mom!”
“Yes, sweetheart?” I tried to focus on her.
“I’m ready to go. Can I call someone when we get home?”
“Um, let’s discuss that at home.”
Somehow, I managed to fill the next two days with distractions for both my family and myself before I could finally speak with my doctor. We attended a baseball game, enjoyed a fireworks display, navigated a sleepover (which included panicked texts from a child unaware of my situation), and experienced an earthquake (yes, we were half-expecting locusts next). We decided to wait until we had more information before telling the kids, not wanting to add unnecessary fear to their lives.
I’ve officially added “compartmentalizing” to my list of skills because I’ve become quite adept at it.
On Monday morning, my doctor confirmed what I had read online: likely benign and manageable through surgery or radiation (what?). He referred me to a neurosurgeon and sent over my medical records. We began notifying family and close friends. At dinner, we broke the news to the kids, reassuring them that I wasn’t facing a death sentence. And now, we wait.
It’s not like it is in the movies, where problems and solutions unfold in a mere two hours. I’ll have to be patient and brace myself for whatever happens next.
This isn’t just cinematic drama—it’s my reality.
If you’re interested in learning more about navigating these experiences, check out this blog post for additional insights. For those exploring at-home insemination options, MakeAMom offers a variety of reputable kits. For comprehensive information on pregnancy and home insemination, I recommend checking out CCRM IVF’s blog.
Summary:
Navigating a brain tumor diagnosis is a far cry from the dramatic portrayals often seen in films. The experience is filled with anxiety, uncertainty, and the challenge of managing family concerns while waiting for answers. This journey is real and ongoing, requiring patience and resilience as one moves forward.
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