I do not know how to write this blog, and I went to bed trying to sleep so I could do this writing with a better perspective, I hoped. Morpheus barred me from his kingdom tonight–bastard. I don’t know if it is the chai I had with dinner–too much caffeine; the Smiths (David and Michelle) picked me up, and we had dinner together as they wanted to comfort me. I did not want to be alone. It was a great dinner, Indian-styled food. I had the lamb vindaloo (I love that hint of vinegar), eating with my hands (but using a fork to load up my naan). It helped me calm down. Thanks!

Today, I was expecting news. I thought it unlikely that I had a brain tumor, and if I did, it would be cancer and would not matter in that I would have so little time that I would be in a marathon to get my estate ready. A strange comfort that I would not have to go on after Susie’s death. Or I was fine. But, f**k, I was not expecting another possibility. A benign but slow-growing tumor behind my ear, slowly taking my hearing on my left side, would also threaten my balance, which was not on my list of expected options. F**k again. Unexpected! Unprecedented–f**k, I hate that word.

Today at 4ish, I got to enjoy an MRI. I have not done that before. I have no metal implants and proved it today by surviving an MRI. I have never been stuffed in a tiny hole, my head in a cage with headphones and earplugs, and assaulted by a mass of sounds. I kept my eyes closed for most of it and tried to breathe normally for thirty minutes. The strong, cool air they blew across my face helped, and it reminded me of my train ride years ago, with me sleeping in a bunk above Susie with only a few inches to spare.

You get to pick music, and the nurse who did my IV was the slightly distant voice in my headphones while I was stuffed in a tiny hole recommended The Wall by Pink Floyd. She saw the gray hair and thought I was a rock person. I picked, instead, and she highly approved, The Dark Side of the Moon, also by Pink Floyd, and the first CD I ever owned.

Most of the time, it was difficult to hear the music, but when the claustrophobia started, I started to listen to the words. I imagined flying in space around Saturn, Jupiter, and Uranus in my capsule. The loud noise was the gravity effects of the massive planets. I also imagined I was a Lovecraftian creature flying in space, and the noise was my way of experiencing gravity and radiation, “listening” to Pink Floyd through a bone vibration process (there is no sound in space). The music borrowed from the humans at the third rock. It was a difficult process, but it gave me something to daydream about (I did not fall asleep).

The results came by 5PM on myChart, and my hearing Doc Brian called and said the tumor would not kill me, and if I were older or in frail health, they would do nothing. But my tumor, a benign tumor over the nerve bundle, is not tiny, 2.2 cm, and I am looking at surgery or radiation. Doc Brian will connect me to his partner and more doctors. Again, it is slow growing, and there is no risk except for my hearing and balance. I also read my facial nerves could be impacted, but I will not speculate–I will listen to the professionals.

Well, f**k, I have a new challenge. Also, I was thinking that I would need to retire if the tumor was cancer (and die), but now I need more medical stuff, so I will have to keep going. Yet another f**king adventure with yet-another-medical-leave-request and Sedgewick and Nike HR.

F**k!

I feel like I have caught irony instead of COVID-19. Not cancer. It’s not life-threatening. But, I need brain surgery or brain radiation (possibly the gamma knife I read–again, I should not read anything on the internet). It seems ironic to have a boring, low-grade brain tumor–how can there be something like that. F**K!

So, new doctors, new tests, new options, new tumors, and it sounds like a bad version of the Twelve Days of Christmas.

And now I can’t f**king sleep, and it’s Friday at 3AM. I also can’t stop using F**K!

I started counting again. Today is Day 1 of the new challenge. Let me try to write my narrative for Thursday, 15Dec2023.

I started at 6AM and rolled over for what was ten seconds, I swear, for 6:30AM. I rose, having slept some of the early afternoon on Wednesday and still able to sleep. I made only coffee as breakfast was available at work today. We get a breakfast and lunch buffet for the testers and those who support them (us) at Nike WHQ Swift. I never drank much of the coffee as it was too hot before 7AM showed on all my clocks. I did have time to approve a change in a technical design document (a software bug fix) and read emails, Slack channel updates, and the news, as usual, to prepare for the day. I don’t want to be that guy who asks something in a Zoom call that was called out in the channel updates! I showered, shaved, put Utterly Smooth on my feet and hands (every f**king day), and dressed. I am still pulling clothing from the suitcase I loaded when I thought a family member would need me in Michigan–the person is doing better. And, like me, meeting with a new bunch of doctors and running tests for the latest challenge–f**k.

Air Volvo, damp with some of the Oregon Mist that has slipped in between primarily dry days, had me at Nike WHQ without incident. For a Thursday, the traffic was lighter (Christmas break for the kids has parents not on the road running late and panicked) and well-behaved (it won’t last). I took the elevator, still unfamiliar with the brand-new and glowing white Air Force Ones. My balance and coordination, while improving, were still best not tested at 6:50 today. Aside: Now we know why.

I sat in the atrium; the two stories of glass were not warm! I did the hours of Zoom meetings there while eating my breakfast (with bacon). I had some discussions about data and processes, but none can be covered in this blog. Next, I had a burger from the updated buffet for lunch. I ate two cookies because I had an MRI and need a hit of sugar for that! I did my last Zoom meeting, which was surprisingly short, and approved more tickets and design changes–all software bug fixes.

I also created a myChart account for Providence Medical Services, as I only had an account for Susie. They require an email address, and my usual one, alohawild@mac.com, was used already for Susie’s account. I slid in by using the alternative that is mapped to the same account, alohawild@me.com, and soon had a working account that immediately showed my MRI. Excellent. I could get results online.

That also gave me the address of the MRI place, which I had only my handwritten notes on. Better. I left Swift at Nike WHQ and boarded Air Volvo, and soon, I arrived and discovered the location of the imaging service. I left Air Volvo in the parking lot, which was almost full, and found the lobby almost empty (?!). I have found that specialized imaging is often waiting for patients as they book it for the worst-case timing, and I was right and soon was enjoying the process. Non-metal using scrubs were provided, and I locked everything in a set of lockers. MRI is serious voodoo, and the forms and warnings are manifold. I was effectively told that this would suck and to make the best of it. I tried to comply. I closed my eyes and hoped I would not panic when shoved into a round, slightly off-white 2001 Space Odyssey-looking machine. It needed more red lights, but it did have one red laser that seemed to be an update of the red light from the movie’s HAL-9000. The nurse, Diane, was the voice in my non-metallic headphones. She spoke calmly, but I could hear her humor, trying not to leak out. Had she said, “I can’t do that, Micheal,” I would have ruined the process with my giggling.

So, as I described before, I managed it.

I took Air Volvo home, and knowing I had Theology Pub at 7PM, I made dinner. A Chicken Cordon Blue from the freezer, couscous, and some microwaved sweet potatoes. No results on the MRI, so I was expecting that on Friday. I took almond slices, dried cranberries, and Indian-styled spice and cooked them in hot butter. I got this hot and the butter brown and added a cup of couscous to toast in the butter and seasoning. I cooked the chicken in the oven. All was nearly completion when an email popped up that I had results.

The results, coming before Doc Brian’s call, took me three reads to understand. The word lesion took me a while to understand. The worst news: tumor. I looked up a word I did not know, and that was a horror internet story you always get when reading this stuff out of context.

I called Dondrea, The Smiths, and Linda, my sister. Doc Brian called and explained that I was facing a non-life-threatening tumor and that, at its size of 2.2cm, it would need to be addressed. He would connect me with the next doctors, and the process of developing a care plan would begin (my words).

F**k.

The Smiths suggested dinner out, and I heartily agreed. The finished dinner went into containers and was carefully placed in the frig. We managed to avoid the tumor in the discussion. It is premature to have much to say. It was a good distraction, and I have 1/2 a plate of Lamb Vindaloo and plenty of naan next to my other dinner.

And that ends the narrative.

I am cold and shaking while writing this. I am freezing. I turned up the heat. I made ginger tea.

Another voyage begins Thursday and this early Friday. Like before, it is not a voyage I would select, and it will be painful and awful. I will do this one without Susie. The adventure will also be amazing and I get to do strange things and experience weird things. Fun with brain tumors. I still plan to travel, see Zorida in Texas, and visit New Orleans in January.

The voyage is holy and must be respected and cannot be resisted. I imagine myself changing rafts in a little village. After a few drinks and an Indian-styled meal with friends in the friendly village, then it’s on to the next boat. I make something warm and put on my coat. I see the flag on the raft, The Unexpected, and just say, “Well, Fuck.” I cry and drink my tea. I was not ready, but you are never really prepared. Here I go!

Thanks for reading.