So today's blog prompt says I can write about whatever I'd like, relating to migraine of course. I have a very long history with migraine, so the possibilities were endless! I decided though, that what I'd like to write about most was a life-changing ordeal I suffered in the summer of 2005. I had just finished up my sophomore year of college. It had taken all my willpower to battle through final exams, as my migraines were in a chronic and severe state. I went to see a new neurologist who was a headache specialist, we'll call him Dr. W. Dr. W surmised that part of what was causing my issues was a "screwed up" curvature of the cervical spine, and no, that is not the fancy medical lingo he used, but it gets the point across. I was put on two types of muscle relaxants and sent to physical therapy in order to improve the curvature, and hopefully reduce the severity and frequency of the migraines.
A few weeks into the new treatment, I was arriving home from a date with my then-boyfriend. He walked me up to the house, and as my dad opened the door for us, I collapsed to the floor. Luckily one of them caught me before my head touched the ground. I had lost consciousness, and though I regained it quickly, clearly something wasn't right. In the days and weeks that followed, I was overrun with dizzy spills, and more concerning, recurrent numbness in my arms and legs. One morning I woke up and found I couldn't move my arm. My parents rushed me to the local emergency room in a panic. The ER staff quickly did a routine CT scan of my head to rule out any life-threatening issues. I noticed while still in the CT room that there was a pair of x-ray techs pointing at my images, and they were whispering in concerned tones to each other. I tried to pass it off as my own paranoia, but deep down I knew this wasn't good news.
The ER doctor returned to the room with a solemn look on his face and notified us that there was a mass found on my brain. They wanted to do an MRI to take a closer look. For those who don't know, an MRI is when they put you in a small tube, cage your head in, and take lots of pictures with a machine that makes extremely loud and nefarious noises. On a good day, it's disconcerting. When you've just been told you have a brain tumor, it's hell on earth. I had a panic attack when they first put me in, and had to be pulled out, consoled and talked off the ledge by a sweet nurse, and put back in. It was the hardest half hour of my life in that stupid tube.
The MRI confirmed the existence of a mass. The ER doctor told us, "this is not something that is going to kill you today or anything, but it is very serious, so you should head over to your neurologist's office right now." I really hope that doctor is no longer practicing, because he had a horrible bedside manner. Dr. W downplayed the results, saying that it didn't look like a typical tumor to him, but he would do a more advanced MRI to double check. After an agonizing week or so wait, he called to tell me that it was indeed a brain tumor, one with significant blood flow (I know this isn't good, but I couldn't tell you why), and that he was going to have some world famous radiologist look at it and make some recommendations. After that, the next step would be to consult with a neurosurgeon. The hoity toity radiologist was on vacation for the next ten days, so it would be about two weeks before we heard anything more.
My life as I knew it came crashing down on me. Minutes ago I had been a relatively normal college student living in a dorm with friends, a boyfriend, and a summer work-study job. My biggest concerns were whether or not to get highlights, and deciding on a major. Now I was figuring out how to take a medical leave of absence from school, staring in the mirror at my hair wondering how much longer I'd have it, and researching the newest surgical treatments online. I felt numb. My family members cried a lot over the next few days, which upset me, but mostly I was so focused on being informed and getting this fixed that I didn't allow myself the time to process or feel.
Two long tortuous weeks passed, and someone upstairs must have been watching out for me. Dr. W called to say that the famed radiologist had diagnosed the mass as a cortical dysplasia (or as my family likes to call it now, an "Anna Kournikova"). A cortical dysplasia is something you're born with, and can cause epilepsy in rare cases, but most people who have them don't even know it. It is NOT a brain tumor. We found out later that the cortical dysplasia was faintly visible on a x-ray taken of my head in 1996. It went unnoticed or unmentioned by the doctors at the time, but had not changed in size or appearance between 1996 and 2005, which was very encouraging. It was later determined by Dr. W that the combination of muscle relaxants I had been prescribed caused my blood pressure to frequently plummet to an extrememly low level, resulting in the odd symptoms I had been experiencing. There was also a possibility that some minor seizure activity was also occurring, but once off the muscle relaxants all my symptoms vanished, making epilepsy unlikely. I was not dying. I was not even sick, save the migraines. I felt like I had been given a second chance.
I resumed school in the fall, and life went back to normal...well sort of. Going through this ordeal left a clear imprint on my personal identity. I was undeniably changed. When your life is threatened, you start reflecting on how you've been living it. I identified the positives to keep and the negatives to change, which resulted in some big shakeups. For starters my 3 year relationship with my boyfriend ended mere weeks later. The tumor debacle made me begin to question if he was the person I wanted holding my hand through life's trials. Once that spark of discontent set in (and to be fair, I don't think either of us had been happy for a while), the breakup soon followed. I also realized who my true friends were - the ones who brought me ice cream and watched bad 80s movies with me on the hard nights (thank you, Grace), instead of the ones who avoided me in the quad on campus and didn't return my calls. The final big change was a strengthening of my relationships with family members, in particular my father. We had clashed often throughout most of my teenage years, in part because we are too alike, both stubborn and bullheaded (with a penchant for speaking without filtering first when we're mad). This medical scare forced us to bond together, and now we communicate much better. He is one of the people I confide in most often.
I can honestly say that I handle my migraines much better since this incident. I'm still far from perfect, but I do a much better job of staying calm in the middle of a migraine, and am more self-sufficient with regards to my own medical care and overall health. A lot of it is perspective. Yes, I'm in pain sometimes, am not able to maintain a professional career, and often have to miss parties and important events. No, it's not fun. But I'm alive, and these migraines are not threatening that status on a daily basis. There are many people out there not only suffering horrible pain, but also battling for their lives, for just one more day with their loved ones. It's an important lesson for all of us - to appreciate our blessings and treat every day as an opportunity to live fully, love fiercely, and touch someone else's life in a positive way.
"Pain reminds us we're alive. Love reminds us why."
-Unknown
National Migraine Awareness Month is initiated by the National Headache Foundation. The Blogger's Challenge is initiated by www.FightingHeadacheDisorders.com.
I remember that summer all too vividly. Well written sis.
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