I woke up this morning thinking it was the middle of the night when it was, in fact, 10:38 a.m. I’d slept through Monday right after I’d gotten home from the hospital, and after I’d voted in the federal election, of course. My mom and I stopped at my old elementary school to vote before we’d surrendered our entire day to the possibility of waiting at the hospital for hours. We weren’t there more than an hour, thirty minutes tops. My mom has a tendency to overthink anything medically to do with my ears, but then again, so do I. I was, after all, the one who’d started crying Monday morning when I couldn’t see what was in front of me, telling my best friend that I was sorry and that I should probably go to the hospital.
We weren’t there more than an hour, thirty minutes tops.
My mom had phoned the office of my ear, nose and throat specialist, noting that he was at a specific hospital in the city doing surgeries. We went directly to that hospital and my mom told the emergency nurse everything about my ear except for the fact that I was positive that I wasn’t going to pass out anymore. I regretted telling my mom immediately after entering the hospital. This entire trip was pointless, and I instantly felt like a child again when my specialist showed up to tell us that being dizzy on the verge of passing out has absolutely nothing to do with having a tumor of the middle ear. Sure, I’ll get dizzy. But passing out is an entirely different story that I’d already decided not to concern myself with the minute my specialist told us we could just see the emergency doctor and not him.
I felt like a bother.
And I felt 8 years old again, the way my specialist looked at my mom and not me because she is obviously the more concerned one of this party.
I feel like part of me wanted something to be wrong. Well, not part, all of me. I wanted something to be wrong. I wanted to go to the hospital and leave relieved that I had something to blame on this odd sensation of losing my vision in the midst of feeling like I was falling. To say, “Oh, I get it. This is why this is happening.” It’s a lot easier to live day to day when you have something to blame.
But this was not an effect of having a tumor. “This has happened before, though, the exact same thing.” my mom says. What she doesn’t know is that the last time this happened, two years ago, I hadn’t eaten in days, and mixing that with middle ear issues and a hot, steamy shower gives you a clear road toward trouble. It was my own fault for passing out on the bathroom floor. This was different, though. My specialist reiterated his previous comment and made a note to book me in for a CAT scan to see just how deep my tumor is, if it’s nested into my skull or just playing sitting ducks.
I think I’ve been making too much of a deal out of this tumor. I have a tumor. I’m going to have surgery. It’s all happened before, and maybe this time will be different. And maybe it won’t be. I need to stop concerning myself with things that I don’t know the outcome to. Enjoy the now.
And I guess eating two edibles Sunday night could have had something to do with things, but I was too in my own head Monday morning to mention or consider this before running to the hospital.