Three Years

Three years ago tonight, I was oblivious. Well, I shouldn't say oblivious, but I certainly never knew how the next day would change our lives. I was a little concerned, since the neurologist appointment I had made for Brian was being rescheduled at the last minute, and my friend Jocelyne kept telling me December 1 is a bad luck day. But still. I was oblivious. What, me worry?

So the appointment changed everything ... Arnold Chiari and Syrinx are now household words for our family. My own vocabulary has grown tremendously, to inlude such terms as tethered spinal cord, pseudotumor cerebri, foramen magnum, and dura mater. Words that three years ago I would have shivered at the mere mention of one syllable. Now I read the message boards almost daily, trying to be sure the rug is never pulled out from under me again.

Surely, there were good experiences with the bad. We met many smart and world reknowned neurosurgeons. They took my calls, and called me back on weekends! The weeks after the surgery were strangely serene; with our family sort of all holed up in the house as if there were no world going on outside. Under different circumstances, it would have been beautiful. We played mancala, Sorry, Parcheesi, BusyTown, checkers, and (God help us) Pokemon Stadium for countless hours. We watched movies. We sat around.

But mainly, I worried. I worried beginning December 1st. I will never forget the date or the words, " I am not worried about (insert reason for visit), but I am very worried about (insert new symptoms, of which previously blissfully unaware)" nor will I forget "he needs an MRI of his brain, and an MRI of his c'spine" (c-what? oh yeah, that's another part of my new vocabulary, along with t-spine, lumbar, and medulla)

So the worrying began December 1st. After the MRI it did abate briefly. Only until I found out that the doctor had not called back not because it was normal, but because he wanted to see for himself the abnormal. And when he did return my call, again there were words I will never forget, "both of the things I was looking for ... (I swear he paused for effect) ... appear to be there."

This was several days after December 1, but I don't recall any dates other than December 1 for that part of the story. The month of December runs together. I remember we left the neurologist, and we went to the mall. Brian sat on Santa's lap, and his faith in Santa was so strong, that, even thought he was nine and in fourth grade, I truly feared he might not see 10 and fifth, and I was determined that he should hold onto that magic for another year. It was so bittersweet. He was big, and yet he was so small. And his teeth were a God-awful mess. That, too, I remember.

I remembered him sitting on my lap on a Disney transit bus, just weeks before, saying, " I can't wait until I have my own kids" so he could take them to Disney World. Would he ever have his own kids, I wondered now? That day kept haunting me. The doctor was no help. All he could say was, "every time a child has an MRI, it's scary."

After we saw Santa, I remember that we drove home. It was a surreal trip, between the news and my new anxieties. All of these years, being accused of hypochondria and never having been given anything this terrible to face: brain surgery. But I didn't even know that yet. It was still the unknown. In fact the unknown was so alarming, that when I found out that it meant brain surgery, that was like a huge blessing.

I did take Brian back to school that morning. On our way, trees were literally falling onto the roadways. It was very rainy and windy, and we were on a particularly winding road. A tree branch snapped off and landed on a power line. We were almost directly underneath it at the time. I just remember the entire day as if it happened only yesterday.

And I hope to never experience a day like that again.