Shift in Perspective

Some days I just want to weep.

Since my last post I’ve undergone a six-hour craniotomy to remove a bilateral meningioma tumor that had invaded my optic cortex making the surgery more complex and just as risky as January’s. The operation, like the first, was a success and gratitude runs through my veins.
Now, after two re-arrangements of my brain within eight months, I I recognize I’ve been decidedly altered. I’m wondering, “How have I changed and who am I now?” “Before” I was so abruptly informed I had been growing tumors in my skull for more than half my life, I would have described myself as confident, independent, well-spoken, and active. “After”, the descriptors I use are hesitant in my speech, dependent, quiet, and fragile.

Some days I just want to weep.

Each day I walk for at least fifteen minutes twice a day. A midday nap is essential. A stack of books is at my side as well as magazines whereby I can imagine a life outside the boundaries of my current quiet life. Dinners have been prepared and delivered by my friends every day since we returned from Raleigh. Mornings, when my energy is at its highest, I sit at the computer to read and to write, to chronicle my progress and to keep in contact with friends who have supported us and I’ve not yet collected enough energy to see.

Often as I contemplate my present situation, I am reduced to tears – of gratitude, of compassion, of body memory, and a slew of other emotions I cannot now name. Exhaustion ensues. So go my days. One day I expect to understand. For now, I’ll continue my recovery.