For Anyone that Ever Dealt with My Crazy!

Like my first blog, I questioned as to whether or not to share this blog with the world. I have discovered a lot about myself through this journey. And although I have grown in unmentionable ways over the last year, I can’t help but reflect on major areas of my life. Sometimes, I look back at moments, decisions, and opportunities and shake my head. “What was I doing? What was I thinking?” So this blog is for anyone that has ever had to deal with my “crazy.” For some of you, those moments were minor. Maybe you left my presence scratching your head wondering “what is wrong with that girl?” For others, my level of crazy has been more intense. There was drama. But there may have actually been a medical reason I have behaved in the way in which I behave. Let me explain.

When I was a kid, I read somewhere about Charles Whitman. He was 25 when he died. Whitman killed 16 people and wounded 32 others in a spree shooting in Austin, Texas, on the University of Texas at Austin campus from the infamous University Tower on the afternoon of August 1, 1966. He opened fire on unsuspecting co-eds after he killed his wife and his mother. He was eventually killed by police after he refused to surrender.

An autopsy later revealed that Whitman had an astrocytoma, the same type of brain/CNS tumor that I had; the tumor was about the size of a pecan. Mine was slightly larger. Originally, the coroner ruled that the tumor had no affect on his behavior. However, that finding was later overturned by the Connally Commission, after Texas Governor John Connally commissioned a task force of professionals to examine the physical autopsy findings and material related to Whitman's actions and motives. Forensic investigators have theorized that the tumor may have been pressed against the nearby amygdala region of his brain. The brain contains two amygdalae, one on each side, and the amygdalae are known to affect fight-or-flight responses. Some neurologists have since speculated that his medical condition was in some way responsible for the attacks. The science of understanding how the brain works under the pressure of tumors is undergoing constant research.

My medical team has concluded that my tumor, a polycystic astrocytoma, has been brewing since I was a child. Its size and slow growth rate as well as the clear long term degeneration of my cervical spine are an indication that it was there for decades. The tumor started at the base of my brain stem and extended 6 vertebrae. Its location meant that it was surrounded by the most delicate and clustered portion of my central nervous system. As it grew, not only was it compressing my spinal cord, but it was also forcing everything else around it to react to its presence.

Over the last few months since my surgery, I’ve noticed something different about my behavior. Anyone that knew me pre-surgery can easily confirm the details of my often interesting and reactionary behavior. Sometimes it was like a light switch. Sometimes the smallest thing would set me off on a tirade of epic proportions. These episodes were generally followed by moments of guilt and shame that I suffered in silence. I simply didn’t understand why I behaved that way. I didn’t want to behave that way. I was high strung and simply couldn’t “deal” with high levels of stress. As I got older, I honestly tried to make an effort to tackle this issue head on. It affected every aspect of my life: personally and professionally.

My decision making was flawed at best. As tough choices came my way, my anxiety levels would increase. I felt it physically; my hands would tingle, my heart would race. I cannot explain how intense the feelings that raced through my body were in the worst moments. I knee jerked almost every major decision in my life. It wasn’t that I didn’t have time to think things through, I just wouldn’t. The longer I had to think about what to do, the worse my anxiety got. I always took the easy way out or I just procrastinated all together. Avoidance was an effect coping mechanism until the situation usually reached a peak. But by then, most situations were so intense that I would just make the easiest decision (which was usually not the best decision.) This had an even more intense snowball effect. The older I got, the less stress I could handle. The less stress I could handle, the more poor decisions I made thus the more stress I endured. It was a horrible vicious cycle. The months and weeks leading up to my surgery were the worst. I started taking Xanax.

The three months after surgery weren’t easy either. The physical recovery and the strain of radiation treatments combined with the financial anxiety of having been out of work for 12 weeks were overwhelming. And then the radiation treatments ended as 2015 started. And I wasn’t so tired anymore, so I could work more. And as I started to get caught up on bills the financial stresses lightened up, and then I noticed something interesting. That feeling – that physical anxiety that use to well up beyond controllable reason seemed to have disappeared. Over the last few months I just feel calmer, more collected. I feel like I make decisions with a level head. I exam facts and easily take my time. I feel less flight and more fight. But why?

I think it can easily be argued that my new prospective on life is based on having walked away from a life changing experience with a major take away. I have fought to survive; I fought to live. Nothing feels as big as that. Everything else is small stuff. But I wondered. Was that it? Or had something more happening? I asked my medical team about the tumor and its effects on behavior. I also researched the subject. And across the board, the answer was an astounding, “yes.” Although the research is limited, there is an unwavering opinion that brain and central nervous system tumors are linked to irrational behavior, lack of reasoning, anxiety, and poor life choices. Or better yet, is it a combination of both? A decompressed spinal cord, a central nervous system and brain stem no longer under the pressure of a massive tumor and the life lesson that life is in fact beautiful resulted in a better me. Seems like a pretty simple conclusion.

Even if there was 100% refutable proof that this tumor was responsible for the majority of my crazy, I would still own every single decision I have ever made. Why? Because it has lead me to where I am today and I am pretty happy with that. Sure, I wish some things were different but there are so many blessing in my life right now that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. So to anyone that has been on the opposite end of my crazy life choices and weird decisions, “thank you.” I know that thank you may seem an odd choice, but “I’m sorry” seems ungrateful. I am so thankful that so many people have stuck by me, through sickness and in health (even when no one knew how my health was affecting my mental health.) I am thankful because so many people that loved me had chosen to never judge me or at least do it silently.

So in 2015, here’s to a new me: a more rational, level-headed and thoughtful me. But, don’t worry! I am still as passionate, driven and determined as I’ve always been just now it comes with a little less crazy. Or at least it feels that way. I feel lighter. I feel like I’m surrounded by lightness. I still have a long way to go to truly be where I want to be, but it feels like getting there is less of a struggle now. I now reflect each night on my daily “take-away.” Good or bad, what did today teach me?

This Monday, I have my follow-up MRI. On February 24th, I’ll meet with my neurosurgeon to see the results of the radiation on the remaining tumor. Six months ago, the waiting would have worked me. I would have been a rattled cage of energy and anxiety. But, today I understand that the results are going to be the same regardless of how I behave today. So I am better off to enjoy today. If you only worry about what’s going to happen tomorrow, you’ll never enjoy yourself. I am my own standard of perfection. And today, I am pretty happy with who I am. I would have never thought discovering I had cancer would have been such a great thing. To date, it’s probably the single best thing that has ever happened to me.