The Brain Tumor

A few months before my first child was born I noticed a strange aching sensation which lingered at the very top of my head.  It wasn't exactly painful, just odd and bothersome at first.  I brushed it off as another of the many ailments late pregnancy produced. 

Oddly enough, after the baby arrived, the headace persisted, even growing progressively more poinent.  My ability to concentrate or focus on anything was shot.  Simple things like writing an essay for school which I could normally rattle off with little effort became monumentous.  In order to make sure I graduated, I'd put in a big effort to finish school over the last year.  The credit hour loads I'd taken on were twice the number considered to be standard 'full time'.  Even then, to squeeze in more credits, for some classes I'd simply studied my heart out and tested out of them.  Learning for the more part had always been easy for me.

But, there I was, weeks away from graduation finding it impossible to focus.  Then things got even stranger.  There would be times when I was driving and I'd black out or something.  One minute I'd be in one place, the next I'd be another, seriously wondering if I'd run a red light.  I had no idea what had happened in the interim.  Stubbornly I refused to believe anything so strange could actually be happening to me.  Instead I went into a kind of denial.  Each time I'd black out, I'd brush it off like it hadn't really happened, I was just imagining things. 

Finally one day I was sitting in an English class, putting forth a Hurculean effort to stay focused on the teacher's lecture when this wild vision took over.  All of a sudden knives of all sizes and shapes were flying through the air, slashing through the flesh of students around me until one by one people were being beheaded.  Heads were rolling between the desks with blank staring eyes, spurting blood.  It was terrifying.  Even though I knew none of it could possibly be real, it looked and felt so terribly real I suddenly grabbed all my things and ran out of the room.

Some distance down the hall I cautiously paused to make sure the hallucination hadn't followed me.  Much to my relief, it was gone, but for how long?  What was happening to me?  The only thing that remotely made sense to me was that maybe I had a brain tumor.  Brain tumors could easily mess with your mind.  It would explain the strange sensation I'd had in the top of my head, my inability to concentrate, and the black outs I'd been having.

Completely desperate for help I went straight to my car, drove to my doctor's office, walked inside and said I needed to see the doctor right away.  It was completely out of line behavior, but I was desperate.  I didn't know what else to do.

After what seemed an eternity, my doctor who was also the physician who had recently delivered my son, agreed to see me.  I told him what had been going on with the head pains and black outs, my inability to concentrate.  For some reason it just seemed too mortifying to say that I was actually having hallucinations. Then I shared with him my brain tumor theory.  He patted my knee comfortingly.  Next he told me the good news - it wasn't a brain tumor.  Instead it was probably a combination of stress and postpartem depression. I knew most women got the 'blues' after having babies.  I didn't think it could have anything to do with hallucinations or black outs.  How could those things be related to depression?

He told me to take it easy for the weekend - completely relax, not worry about school at all.  Over the next number of days I did my best to follow his instructions on the hope that he was right.  In some ways things did seem to get better.  Stress clearly was a big factor.  All the same, school had to return sometime.  About a week had passed when I woke up in the middle of the night.  This time things were a thousand times worse than my classroom hallucination.

All kinds of gore infested, violent scenarious were playing out inside my head.  It was like the person I knew to be myself had been pressed into the recesses of my mind.  Another creature was doing it's best to take over.  That horrific demonic thing wanted nothing more than to kill in the bloodiest of ways.  Stiffly I made my way out into the living room hoping the change of location might make a difference.  Things got worse.  The part I knew to be myself shrunk to the size of a fly watching nearly helpless as my mind carefully planned out how I could get the biggest kitchen knife, use it to stab my husband time and time again.  Once that part was played out to it's fullest, I was to move on to my infant son, swing him by the feet and smash his head into the wall.  Finally, I'd finish off myself.  That one had to involve a lot of blood mixed with a lot of time.  I'd run a bath, slit my wrists, then watch with delight as the chrimson fluid drained away what was left of my life.

I was more than terrified.  It was taking every ounce of strength I had to keep myself on the couch.  My knuckles were turning white from the effort of keeping myself still.  In all honesty I was beginning to believe there was no other option, but to follow the impulse.  It was crushing me, making the part I knew to be myself, less significant by the moment.

Then, like a miracle, I remembered a scripture, something I'd studied in seminary when I was in high school about how I couldn't be tempted beyond my ability to resist that temptation.  Even this? I wondered.  Did I even have a choice?  It was all I had, my only shred of hope.  That one fragment of memory was like an essential lifeline.  I held on tight, knowing it had to be true.  Weakly, at a volume lower than a whisper, I began calling for my husband.  Each time I called his name, the stronger I became.  Over an over, laboriously I struggled until finally my sleepy husband staggered into the living room. 

He asked me what was wrong.  I couldn't speak.  The horrible thoughts that had been in my head of all places were too terrible to verbalize.  They weren't me.  They couldn't possibly be a part of who I was.  Saying it was like accepting it.  Instead I told him to turn on the TV.  Time passed.  Slowly, very slowly, I began to sense the person I knew to be me back inside myself, back to being in primary control.

I told Scott a very vague, very watered down version of the truth - the only version I could deal with at the time.  The next day I went back to the doctor.  This time I did manage telling him about the classroom hallucination.  He got some remote sense as to how serious things were.  If he had known the full truth I'm sure he would have sent me straight to the hospital.  Instead he told me there was a medication I needed to take, something called Tophranol.  Taking the medication, however, meant sacrifice.  I probably wouldn't be able to finish the term at school.  I wouldn't be able to graduate in time to get a teaching job.  We needed the money.  We needed me to graduate. There was no way I was going to give up my degree, not after everything I'd done to get where I was.  Graduation was paramount, so like an idiot I didn't take the pills.

Depression is so terribly deceptive.  You can convince yourself 'I'm perfectly fine right now. All that other stuff was just some wild fluke.  It won't happen again.  Why would it happen again?  I know who I am.  I would never hurt anyone, least of all the people I love the very most.'  Days passed.  Things were going well enough.  Sure, it was still nearly impossible to concentrate, or even keep hold of my thoughts for that matter, but I could do this, I could graduate.  There were only three weeks left.

Then absolute hell returned.  Exactly one week after the first episode, the same thing happened a second time.  This time the urges were more powerful.  The fractional part I knew to be myself began reasoning that the only way I could save my husband and my child was to eliminate myself first.  I was trying to figure out how to get the razor blades out from the little disposable razors we had on hand so that I could cut myself deeply enough to get the job done.

Yet again, like a miracle I remembered how the scriptures had promised there was no temptation which did not leave me with some way to escape.  God didn't condone suicide.  There had to be another way.  For the second time I started calling for my husband.  The next day I began taking the pills.

Two weeks later by the skin of my teeth, I graduated from college.  Those last few grades were the lowest grades I'd ever gotten, but I did it.  After going to great lengths working with my professors, explaining my situation, I passed every last class.  It was one of the greatest accomplishments of my life.