Jen's Diagnosis Story in Her Own Words

The Worst News You Could Ever Get....

I needed to go to the gym.  I love going to the gym.  I crave the endorphins.  On this particular Saturday, I especially needed the gym.  The small problem with this Saturday was the varicose vein surgery I had done just two days prior.  Per doctor's orders, I could not run, lift weights or do anything too strenuous, but the elliptical would be okay.  The elliptical it was.

I knew I shouldn't push it so I entered in a fairly decent level and pedaled for about 30 minutes.  I felt a small pain in the calf of the leg my varicose vein surgery was performed on so I decided it would be best to quit.  I didn't want to overdo it.  So I left.

I was in charge of Sunday dinner this week, so my plan was to go to the grocery store after the gym.  I always go into the produce section first when I go to the store and this time was no different.  Pushing the cart with my right hand and holding my shopping list in my left I turned the corner and headed for the cucumbers and carrots.  

Suddenly my hand dropped my list.  I looked over at my left hand and it was moving back and forth slowly as if it had a mind of its own.  I became a little dizzy myself and knew I needed to sit down before I fell down.  My brain tried to tell my left hand to grab the shopping cart so I could safely lower myself to the ground without any success.  Mr. left hand had a mind of its own and kept flailing around.  I used my right hand and sat on the ground.  I knew I had to call Matt so I grabbed my cell phone and called him while I was swarmed by about 10 people--it isn't everyday a girl is sitting in the middle of the produce section!

I was able to get a hold of Matt and he told me to sit tight and that he'd be there in 2 minutes.  A quick call to Jess and Ben to get over to our house and Matt was off, leaving Wade in charge.  By the time he got to the grocery store, I felt pretty normal--a little dizzy--but normal.  He said, "okay let's go the ER." I told him I didn't think it was necessary since I felt fine, but Matt wouldn't budge letting me know the only reason he didn't call 911 was that he could get me to the hospital faster than an ambulance.

Both Matt and I were pretty convinced I had had a stroke.  I had just had varicose vein surgery and after a workout I felt a little dizzy and lost a little control of my left hand.  I didn't pass out, so in our books it was a pretty minor stroke and everything would more than likely be fine.  We got to the ER prepared to sit for a long while.  Not this day.  As soon as we told triage what had happened they fast tracked me back.  Within an hour I had blood work, 2 CT scans and an EKG.

CT scan #1 showed an abnormal mass in my brain.  We were mildly concerned, but didn't have too much time to think because I was already getting my second scan done--this time with "contrast."  Contrast is when they inject you with iodine so they can see things in the x ray differently and with more detail.  

"Contrast" is very uncool.  It feels like you are injected with a hot liquid that spreads through your body in seconds.  You also feel like you are peeing your pants.  All of this while a man is telling you, over a speaker inside the machine, not to swallow and breathe shallow.  Don't swallow?!  I don't think I really swallow that often (unless I'm eating), but I can tell you that when someone tells you NOT to swallow, you want to! And I did--every time.  I couldn't help it.

Who knows why (maybe because I was swallowing), but the results from CT scan #2 came back clear.  The ER doc said we should feel relieved that the mass did not show up in the scan, but that I needed to be admitted to the hospital so I could get a MRI Sunday morning to figure out what caused my "stroke."

I have never been a hospital patient unless I'm delivering a baby.  It isn't a whole lot different except for the baby part of course.  The room is uncomfortable, the bed is lumpy, the temperature in the room goes from blazing hot to ice cold in minutes and worst of all, they come in to get your vitals what seems like every 5 minutes.  It is torture.  I also had an IV that they could not remove because of hospital policy.  This particular IV was the most painful I'd ever had and I was miserable.  To say in the least, I did not sleep much Saturday night.

Sunday morning started with good luck, or so I was told, because they could get my MRI done immediately--I guess, it's something you have to wait hours for on a usual basis.  The MRI wasn't bad.  I was pretty nervous after my CT Scan #2, but the technician was super nice and even played some 80's rock to soothe my nerves.  It worked.  I liked her and did not have any complaints.  

Back in the room, the last thing to do was to get my EEG to rule out any seizure activity and then I'd be homeward bound.  The nicest lady came in and started the EEG process.  She busily stuck wires with metal ends to my head while we pleasantly chatted.  While she was doing this, the Neurologist came in my room with the MRI results.

Neither Matt nor I were too concerned about the MRI results.  The ER doc said the second CT scan was clear so were were expecting something minor that had to do with my varicose vein surgery.  He asked me to tell him what brought me to the hospital on Saturday.  I told my story focusing most of it on my varicose vein surgery.  I was convinced this was why I was here.  He told me he believed I had had a seizure.  "A seizure?!  Well, what about my varicose vein surgery?"  He told me he did not feel like my surgery had had anything to do with why I was in the hospital.  The MRI showed results of a tumor located on my brain.

A tumor on my brain?

I immediately began to cry.  The lady doing my EEG began to cry.  Matt and the Neurologist barely held it together.  The questions began to flow....

What do you mean a tumor?

Do you mean cancer?

"We believe the tumor to be malignant."  

THIS could not be happening to me.  I am 33 years old.  I have 5 babies.  I run.  I exercise.  I eat right. I lost my mom when I was 16.  I do not deserve anymore big trials, my worst fear is to leave my babies behind.

MY WORST FEAR IS TO LEAVE MY BABIES BEHIND.  

In comes the neurosurgeon.

"The tumor is malignant, it is on your motor strip which means it is on the portion of your brain that controls the movement of your face, arms and legs.  It is on the right side of your brain.  If we are to surgically remove this tumor, there is a good chance you will lose function of the entire left side of your body and this could be permanent."

"THIS COULD BE PERMANENT."

That was all I could handle.  I lost it.  I screamed.  I cried.  I sobbed.  I held on to Matt for dear life.  This was the worst news ever.  My life would never be the same.

I called Jess.  I cried.  She cried.  Hard.  We sobbed, we screamed.  I did the same thing again with Julie and again with my dad and again with Matt.

Why?

Why is this happening to me?  I cannot leave my babies.  My babies have to have a mom.  They HAVE to have a mom.

Matt and I decided almost immediately that I would have to get the tumor removed regardless of the risk involved.  A mom is still a mom even if she is in a wheelchair.  

I'm strong.  I'm a fighter.  I do not do anything half way.  If there is a chance I could walk again, I will do it.  

I WILL DO IT.

Phoenix has a renowned Neurosurgical Institute.  I have an appointment with a surgeon there that specializes in my type of tumors on Wednesday.  I need someone who is confident, experienced and ready to kill this thing because that is what I'm preparing to do.

My hopes are high.  I have everything to live for.  

I will beat this.  I will beat this thing without a doubt.