Thursday, July 1, 2010

Can't shake it.

I woke up the other night from one of those dreams where you think, "Damn, I'm glad that was just a dream!"  But I keep thinking about it, it was so real.  I dreamt I went to the doctor for what should have been a rather innocuous MRI and found out I had some kind of brain tumor that would kill me.  The doctor said it could kill me five minutes from right then, or that I could live no longer than 45 days.  Don't ask me where that timeline came from, I have no idea.  But as a mom, you can realize what that news did to me in my dream.  I was not afraid to die, but I was afraid for how my kids and husband would be affected.  In that dream, I also sat down with my best friend and planned my funeral - location, songs, burial, flowers. 
The funny thing is, in a round about way, this dream is my reality, minus the death sentence.  My neurological birth defect (Chiari malformation), that was originally diagnosed (though mis-diagnosed because it was 1985 and technology did not include MRI's then) through a CT scan to figure out what was wrong with my ear, tunred into a much more serious diagnosis.  So there is part of the dream - going in for what is a "non-life threatening" concern (right ear popping constantly and the ENT thinking I had some scar tissue or something odd like that going on) and coming out with a completely different and much more serious diagnosis.  However, it did explain a lot about my childhood experiences of walking into walls and falling down for no reason and tripping over things that weren't there.  Increased symptoms over the next 10 years and improved technology that results in a re-diagnosis, which is the final diagnosis.  Several more years and then surgery #1, resulting in my planning my funeral,  Thus the second part of that dream is also my reality.  I have done this - planned my funeral. When I was having my first brain surgery, I planned everything out, I didn't want my husband to have to worry about what I "would want." It was all in writing.  Surgery #2 happened a couple of years after that.

Thankfully, no one has told me I have only 5 minutes - 45 days to live.  I hope that part is never more than that part of a bad dream.

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