Steve the Brain Tumor - Part 1 of 2

About a week before my neurologist’s appointment, the television began talking about my mother.

I was neither hallucinating nor paying attention - I was engrossed in stalking ex boyfriends on Facebook. The show was Mystery Diagnosis - basically House, minus Hugh Laurie, which isn’t especially captivating or enjoyable for anyone except diehard hypochondriacs. It was on in the background - I am terrible at turning off appliances (and will start caring about carbon emissions when I start forking out for utilities. Yes, you can judge; I do, too.)

I finally looked up when the woman noted that she had weird ‘spots’ on her MRI which weren’t diagnosed as anything. Huh. My mother had waited a full year for an MRI and had the exact same experience- no diagnosis, spotty brain. She had crippling arthritis, transient numbness, and for six months had been confined to a wheelchair because of horrible pain and weakness in the lower half of her body. Doctors had shrugged incompetently. The woman on the television? Pretty much the same thing, except no wheelchair - her arms had been affected more than her legs. ...Interesting.

Finally, the woman on the TV learned that she had a genetic illness (Cavernous Angioma) which caused malformed blood vessels, which were situated throughout her brain and spine. From time to time, these raspberry-shaped ‘spots’ leaked blood or hemorrhaged completely, causing severe pain and disability in various parts of the body. I looked it up - it seemed a clear match for my mother's condition, which has yet to be diagnosed as anything at all (though one doctor thinks it might be MS but probably isn't...Yay, medical systems that work.)

It did not escape my notice that I, too, was having some neurological problems - namely headaches and my weird pupils - and that my mother’s new illness was entirely genetic.

And with that, Steve the Brain Tumor became Steve the series of raspberry-shaped malformed blood vessels, oozing and exploding throughout my brain. I was giddy with pride at my deductive prowess. I called my mother to tell her the good news - well, sort of good news.

And then I prepared for my neurology appointment - doctors like to be the ones making the diagnosis, so I knew I would have to be subtle.

(Part two to follow shortly)