My mom has her first surgery two days after her MRI. I begged and pleaded to be there in the waiting room but was turned away by my stepfather with a controlling hell no every time. Nothing upset me more than knowing that I was NOT ALLOWED to be by my mother’s side. I bit my tongue. I wasn’t going to be a selfish asshole and make the situation worse so I let my friends know what was going on and my stepbrother and longtime friend came over to spend the day with me and my newborn baby for the 8 hour procedure.
Biting my nails and cuticles until there was nothing left, I anxiously paced back and forth all day. I welcomed the distraction of my daughter and having friends to keep my mind busy but the entire time I stared at my phone waiting to hear something, anything.
Finally I got a call. She was out of surgery and I could talk to her when she woke up. “Everything went well” was all the information I got. What the hell does that even mean?
I strapped on my baby Bjorn, grabbed my husband and babe and we went to see my mom the next night. She was in a neurology recovery wing sharing a room with an addict who screamed and threw things the entire time. She was miserable, hardly got any sleep with a headache like no other. 31 staples in her head and the lemon-sized tumor was removed. Doctors assured her that this was “the type of brain tumor you want to have” and that this was a one-time thing. Life would go back to the way it was once she healed.
A follow up MRI said otherwise. The tumor came back and brought friends. They were growing in groups now and needed to be slowed down or removed. On to planning surgery number two.