I’m sitting in a tiny brick room at the library with my handsome best friend working by my side. Andrew works from home every Friday. He spends four days driving an hour to St. Peter, and one day working at home—he’s trending towards two days working from home (fabulous news).
Since my grand-mal seizure last February, I have been focused on procuring a cure for myself, and in my research I have learned things that have not only helped me, but I’ve been able to apply to my family’s health, our dog included. It’s been fun to see actual healing taking place. Our dog, Mace, has Addison’s disease, and along with that he has had continuous rashes on his belly. By giving him MSM (sulfur) and Vitamin D oil in his food his rashes have cleared up, and I bet he feels better internally too. I have now added iodine/iodide to his routine, along with the rest of us. If at all curious about health, I’d recommend this fabulous supplement. We are also currently putting in a full-house water filtration system to remove chlorine, fluoride, and whatever else may be lurking in the city water supply. Andrew has taken on my project and the furnace room looks like a big chemistry lab with the various pipes and filters hanging on the walls. I am so looking forward to pure water to bathe in!
This past week I attended Makaela’s boyfriend’s orchestra concert in St. Paul. It was lovely. The room was filled with loving, supportive families spanning at least three generations, if not four. There was a gorgeous energy to it. Makaela’s boyfriend sits principal cello, and played several small solos throughout. Wow, his intonation is practically flawless and his tone resonates depth and richness. Afterwards, I sat in the empty theater and read the New Yorker while she congratulated him on a job well-done, and visited with his folks. I know this appears rude and anti-social, but it’s what I must do in order to protect my brain from further inflammation and a subsequent migraine. The concert itself causes a bit of stress to my grey matter and conversing in a noisy bright auditorium inflames it due to my dysphasia (inability to find words with ease caused by the tumor). Protecting myself comes at a cost. If one could see my disability, it would obviously be understandable, but since it is invisible there is much misunderstanding. I live in a world where I am continually balancing my invisible disability with other’s perceptions and legitimate feelings. Sometimes I do better managing it than others. I often forget my limitations, only to be reminded by a weeks worth of migraines that I do indeed have serious limitations.
I read last night that dysphasia is a larger cause of depression than cancer. I’m sure it’s true. It robs you of your ability to move through the world as yourself. Communication is everything. With dysphasia one’s intellect remains the same, but your ability to communicate succinctly who you are/what you know is diminished/removed. Fortunately, my reading and writing are okay, but my verbal skills have been greatly affected. After my craniotomy in 2009, I couldn’t read aloud to the girls for more than 30 seconds until I started stuttering ferociously. My brain has betrayed me, and I am working on healing it (as I haven’t found a physician who can). I am 2-4 years past my original death prognosis. If I had listened to the experts on brain tumors, I’d have had two or more surgeries by now, and chemotherapy and radiation to boot. I probably would not be sitting in this tiny cubicle typing. I’d most likely be in an urn or in a piece of jewelry on Andrew’s hand. As lovely as Andrew’s hands are, I’d much rather be sitting next to him typing. Anyhow, dysphasia sucks. I am not sure I can ever heal the brokenness of my brain, but I am hoping to halt the tumor’s progression and live a long, full life. And, I do believe, I will.
When we purchased our sweet, tiny tudor on Grand Avenue, it was to be a temporary home while we searched for the ideal house near one of the city’s lakes. I have days when I think I could stay in our current house forever, and others (when the sadness of my situation gets to me) when I just want to live by the lakes. Crossing busy streets by myself is uber stressful (thank you brain tumor!). If we lived by the lake I could walk all day long without crossing a high traffic street. I am on the search again for that perfect home. Sadness and restlessness are fantastic motivators to move! I located a sweet Cape Cod with cedar shakes near Lake of the Isles that sits squarely between the lake and Hennepin (happenin’) Ave…t’would be lovely—no busy streets to cross, but easy access to coffee shops and the beautiful, peaceful lake. Plus, it’s mere blocks to downtown meaning we could even walk to Orchestra Hall when the weather cooperated! So very dreamy.
Well, all my best to you and yours dear friends. Wishing you the loveliest of Decembers. Thanks for taking the time to stop by and listen for a bit. Love and hugs.