Itsy, Bitsy, Spider (and a trip to the neurosurgeon)

October 08, 2008 | Category:

It's spider season. You know, when it starts to get cold and suddenly there's an arachnid tucked into every corner and little strands of web floating from the ceiling fans.

I used to be afraid of spiders. Hell, I'm still afraid of spiders. I can't even watch those Discovery Channel specials about the big ones. And the dime-sized biting ones? Oh, yeah, I take a vicious pleasure in squishing them SUPER DEAD. (Which is different from all dead...)

Anyway, so I'm on a lot of drugs these days. You know that, right? This could totally be "Corporate Mommy's Magical Trip Blog."

To be honest, I've never really done drugs. Yeah, well, I just missed that movement. A Tylenol 3/Codeine after a trip to the dentist has been known to cause a lost weekend. I mean, let's put it out there - I'm a lightweight.

So this morning, I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Bear was still sleeping, the rain was pitter-patting on the roof, and as I squeezed the toothpaste onto the brush, I noticed an itty bitty spider crawling up the wall.

"As soon as I'm done here, you're so dead." I thought it was only fair, to give warning. Sporting-like.

"That's pretty aggressive," the spider snapped back. "What's got your panties in such a twist that you kill helpless, defenseless spiders for fun?"

"You bite," I told him around a mouthful of foam. "Plus? I'm meeting my neurosurgeon in a couple of hours. He's making the go/no go decision on whether to take this lump out of my head. So excuse me for being a little snippy."

"That's good news, right? To finally know what's going to happen next? I would have thought you'd be all giddy and shit. Not contemplating arachnicide with a mouthful of Sensodyne."

"After a couple of years of this, it's pretty freaking momentous to be contemplating a resolution," I defended. Maybe a little heatedly, because this was one well-spoken spider and I was maybe a touch intimidated, what with toothpaste now dripped on my fuzzy pink bathrobe.

"A couple of years when found out how strong you were by fighting back. A couple of years when you've reassessed your faith in an Almighty. A couple of years while you fell back in love with your husband as he supported you. A couple of years you've spent curled up in the ordinary of your son's life."

"Yeah." Huh. Damn spider had a point. I rinsed and thought about it. "But on the other hand, as afraid as I am of my life re-filling with busyness - I'm more afraid of who I will become if the pain doesn't stop."

"I can understand that," the spider replied, still scampering up the wall.

"And? It's brain surgery."

"Hey, at least you have that choice. According to the NY Times, my brain weighs, like, about .005 milligram. And Nerve cells? Fergettaboutit."

"All right, you're pretty smart for a spider. I'll give you another chance."

"I commend you on that decision," the spider stopped to salute. "It will bring you good karma."

"It better," I muttered, spitting out the mouthwash and giving the spider the appraising eye.

One thing and another, and I (and CD, and Dee) were ushered into the office of Dr. Byrne. That's his real name, he's Chair of Neurosurgery at Rush, and he's freaking awesome.

Dr. Byrne looked at my brain. My brain? Is on a disk. Sliced and diced a dozen different ways.

At the back of my brain is a big (benign) cyst that I've probably had since birth. We all looked at it. It was fascinating and disconcerting.

The people who wrote the MRI report said it was exerting something called a 'Mass Effect' and after exams by two neurologists, two MRI's, endless blood tests, a creepy hunt through a hospital basement for my old medical records, and a growing dependence on my big red "happy" pills...my doctor and I hoped & prayed that this last resort would also mean a solution.

Fast forward to my appointment with the obscenely faboo Dr. Byrne.

Dr. Byrne? Could totally remove this cyst. Blindfolded, I'm telling you (not that he would. That so totally wouldn't be awesome.) He removed two like it just last week (he said ever so casually). But he won't. Because the cyst? Isn't the problem. In fact, removing it would - he said - give me worse headaches. Plus a hole in my head.

I wouldn't have minded the hole in my head if my headaches went away. If I could have a life back where I could think straight. Especially in the last couple of months - when everything has gone terribly dim.

But back to the cute and talented Dr. Byrne. He said that what's happening to me isn't being caused by the mass effect. I mean, it could be causing headaches and nausea, but in his opinion something else is going on. Something neurological that isn't triggered by the big ol' squish where my cerebellum's supposed to be.

What is needed here, he explained, is a whole new *cough* caliber of neurologist. (Not that anyone is calling the previous two incompetent.) (But now that I've had Dr. Byrne, how can they keep me down on the farm? That's going to become an adjective, now. "Dr. Byrnian." )

So now I'm going back to Rush, to meet the Neurologists there. The Dr. Byrnian ones, who'll have the file from the dude himself. I'm waiting to hear when my appointment will be.

On the one hand, I was so terribly, completely terrified of the brain surgery that I just about peed my pants with relief. On the other? I wanted to beat something. I'm so damn out of patience and frustrated and more appointments to talk about more scary stuff is just SO not helping.

As I drove home, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry; so I did both. It was cathartic, but ultimately didn't move me very far along in processing what happened.

"Hey, Spider!"

"Oh, human. How did it go?"

"It was great! Plus? It SUCKED!" I took off my shoe. The adorable new black Sketcher.

"Oh, shi......!"

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