I went in for the second MRI this past Friday

Two weeks have passed since the neurologist notified me of the pituitary micro adenoma otherwise known as The Brain Tumor. Intellectually, after obsessive Google searching, I know that this is nothing dire. Physically, I feel fine, except for the headaches. Emotionally? Good lord! That’s a whole different matter. That part of my brain functions on its own. It is the part that my mother used to deride as “Sarah,” after Sarah Bernhardt. It is the diva and the drama and the dread. That part of my brain has taken a whole lot of energy to keep under control and, at some points, has won.

During the first week, when I felt I should not let anyone know what was happening except my husband, I think about half of my energy went to maintaining a normal facade. In class, I had this almost physical sensation of sitting with my back against a glass wall. Behind the wall, Sarah Bernhardt threw a scene, complete with the gremlins, knocking on the window and shouting, “do you all want to hear something dumb? It’s quite hilarious, really!” I remember looking at a student speaking to me as if I were looking through binoculars, trying to pretend that nothing was going on behind me. I felt as if I were sitting in the front 1/10th of my brain with all of this other activity taking up the rest. By the end of the day, I was exhausted.

Finally, I gave in and let my friends and colleagues (but not students) know what was happening. That let off some of the pressure of keeping a secret. Still, at the end of the day I feel beaten. First, rage. Then, despair. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, a moment of “don’t give a fuck.” Not at The Brain Tumor, which still makes me want to laugh, but at actual things that do get me angry or sad regularly, but cranked up, and more so because I feel that I’m wasting time on thinking about them. What would I rather be wasting my time on? Not this shit. Not anger. Not despair. Not grading. Not other people’s bullshit. I also have to tamp down the joking because the husband doesn’t understand it.

Friday seemed like a nice beacon. A respite of some sort, although I don’t know what. Maybe because the MRI would offer more information that would lead to the next step, whatever that may or may not be. The puttering in place frustrates me. So, the MRI itself was a comfort, and the IV a real thing about which I have real anxiety that I could address. Being a baby about an IV is also something people can deal with. I can joke about it and people feel ok. It is communal. Laughing at the cosmic joke of a brain tumor to deal with it is a bit more individualized.

So, Friday, I worked out, ran four miles, did a yoga class, then went in. Filling out the same damn paperwork annoyed me. I wonder why they do that? Are they testing me? Do I have a tattoo now that I did not last time? The MRI tech, who looked a lot like my dad when he was in his fifties, only not as heavy, gave me a bit of a scare when he said they would give me a “shot” of the dye. I thought he meant an injection, and visions of gigantic needles poking me in my neck began to fill my head and all of that mental preparation gone for nothing. He reassured me that it was all an IV. He also reassured me that my sweat would not glow in the dark, nor would my spit, which was rather a disappointment. My urine wouldn’t even change colors.

The MRI itself was probably the high point of my week. Closeted there in that tiny space, even with the tube in my arm and the Sprockets Symphony playing around me, calmed me. I thought of a tv film about Temple Grandin, who forestalled anxiety attacks with a squeezing machine (which she modified from one that held cattle during castration, but whatever). I thought of being in a pod in a spaceship in a science fiction story, drifting among the stars. I hoped that this MRI would last a while.

Alas, it was over in about half an hour, if that long. I was out of the machine, the IV was out of my arm, and my scan would be out of the office by the end of the day. I can start pestering the neurologist tomorrow afternoon.