Saturday, September 14, 12:50

In this moment I can see a beginning. The rest of my life starts here. It is not set in the context of daily problems or expectations. If I stay in this moment, I can write anything.

Step out of this moment and I’m the “brain patient,” the mom who hasn’t been fully there since last November. My teens have stepped up to help–to parent themselves. My husband has tolerated the destruction of our bank account, our lives–to keep me alive. And I know what a ridiculous dream this writing is. I can see the futility of submitting short stories or thinking I can write another book. What do I have to say?

Waiting to see the next specialist is like waiting at a stinky, decrepid bus station. I’d like to think that the bus will pull in, clean and modern, and it will transport me to a new diagnosis, a way of overcoming or even just managing the strange sensations in my head. The bus might take me past the fear that the next “brain reset” will be the end–my end. That I will turn off like a light switch.

And I know I should be doing something more to pull my family out of this financial ditch. Like work more–but then I get dizzy, sick, end up calling in. So I work part-time, reduce stress, try to avoid driving. I should clean the house more, but then my brain swells, I end up calling in sick. So I do the simple stuff, like the dishes and straighten up a little. I feel so useless.

And the only thing that puts me back in the moment, in a place where I can see a rest-of-my-life, is writing. I’ll write as long as there is a future in it. Mine.

(For more about my brain tumor battle, go to “Posts About Acoustic Neuroma, Brain Surgery.)Anything below this is an ad.)

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10 Comments

  1. Oh, boy, Lucie. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’m glad you’re writing, though! Really glad. Remember that your family loves you and knows you love them. They would rather have you with all the stress of the last few months than not have you at all. Stay strong. Be healthy. *hugs*

  2. Thanks Texas Sunshine and Peggy. I feel lighter today. Ironically it was one of those self-parenting teens who helped me through yesterday most. And writing. I feel completely overwhelmed by this currently, and want you both to know how much your support has meant through everything. My appt with the specialist is the 25th. I can only hope he will give me some answers.

  3. Just followed your blog from AW today so have no clue what your current health problems are. So sorry you’re not feeling well though. I find writing to be extremely therapeutic too. I’ve had to face some health and life challenges and writing, for me, is a great way to escape it all and think about something else, something I’m passionate about and not something that simply has to be endured.
    Hang in there. Hope your specialist identifies your problem and can give you some help.

  4. Thank you so much, linnea. I appreciate your kind words. Absolute Write holds a very special place in my heart. It’s where I became a real writer after developing a very thick skin.

  5. Thank you so much, Anje. I miss you too. And I’m hopeful that soon this new brain specialist will shed light on these strange sensations and swelling. It will happen somehow.

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