I am a rather shy and private person. I also never want to trouble anyone nor give someone reason to worry about me. This is not the attitude of a stoic or saint, but rather the reality of an uptight Irish Catholic male who considers it intrusive to ask what someone did over the summer! My concern is that this particular post on my blog will seem unabashedly narcissistic. My reason for writing is simply to share some of my journey over the past year - and perhaps it might be helpful to someone else.
A year ago, I learned that I had an acoustic neuroma. I had never heard of this. It is diagnosed in about 2,000 people annually. It is a slow-growing tumor of the nerve that connects the ear to the brain and is behind the ear right under the brain. This drawing shows what it looks like:
I was advised to simply watch and wait (a medical recommendation that is probably wise since it is very slow growing. However, the more I researched it and learned the possible things that a larger acoustic neuroma could cause, I became less eager to watch and wait. It could result in hearing loss which I had already experienced to some degree, facial paralysis, motion and balance problems, etc. The growing acoustic neuroma could push against the brain stem and cause more complications.
During this time, I had comfort that the tumor was not cancerous at all. It was simply something that had to be dealt with at some time in the future. Everyone has to deal with something. This is what I had to handle. So many people have far worse things. I did try to keep it in perspective. I could see no reason to share this information with folks since it really was not life-threatening and simply an annoyance to be dealt with at the right time.
I dutifully paid the modest dues and became a member of the Acoustic Neuroma Association. This was fine until I received a newsletter with the lead article entitled, "Dealing with the Emotional Impact of Learning you have an Acoustic Neuroma." Until that second, I did not know that I was supposed to have an emotional impact! Over time, I simply suppressed that little fact.
I learned that there were two different ways to treat this thing:
You can have regular neurosurgery to remove it - (this results in a lengthy stay in both the intensive care unit and the regular hospital - with probable total hearing loss and facial paralysis on the side of the face where you have the acoustic neuroma - in my case, the right side)/ The regular neurosurgery is necessary when the size had reached a certain point. Mine, at least from the original scan, was not at that point. This particular way to treat it seemed rather, shall we say, tacky - so I lurched towards the second way.
OR
You can have Gamma Knife radiosurgery. This is a non-invasive, technologically advanced device for treating deep-seated brain tumors such as acoustic neuromas. Using the Gamma Knife, an increasing number of conditions—including those that were once considered inoperable and those for which other therapies are ineffective—can often be successfully treated without incisions and with little or no pain.
If you're interested in the technical stuff, here it is in one paragraph: The Gamma Knife is not a knife, but rather a highly developed treatment system, capable of directing up to 201 beams of gamma radiation to converge, with pinpoint accuracy, on a targeted abnormality within the brain. When concentrated, the rays provide enough radiation to treat the diseased area effectively, while the low intensity of each individual beam ensures the safety of the surrounding healthy brain tissue. Treatment usually consists of a series of exposures, each lasting approximately 10 minutes. (mine was 22 minutes)
The above was my research. I finally felt that I should now see if I should proceed to the next step. My internist referred me to a neurosurgeon who has treated over thousands of patients successfully with the Gamma Knife. This neurosurgeon then referred me for consultaton with his partner on the Gamma Knife surgery, an radiation oncologist. It would be difficult to find more empathic human beings.
Just two days ago, friends drove me to the medical center at 6 a.m. They asked me my name. They attached a metal frame to my head with four screws that were thoughtfully inserted into my skull by a nurse and a neurosurgical resident. (Thank God for numbing agents - only felt a little pressure.) The purpose of this frame is to immobilize the head completely. This is not a photo of me, but it shows you the frame as it is being placed on some poor fellow's head:
The nurses were wonderful. Then I had an MRI. They first asked me my name. The results of the MRI were transmitted to the Gamma Knife suite where the neurosurgeon and radiation oncologist worked out the treatment protocols for probably an hour to address my tumor.
I was wheeled into the Gamma Knife suite, but first the radiation oncologist asked me my name. A TV monitor indicated that I was going to have 22 minutes exposure to the Gamma Knife. I laid down on the table. They attached the Gamma Knife to the frame on my head. From what I had read about the procedure, at this point, they simply pressed a button. The table moved me into the Gamma Knife itself. The Gamma Knife took over. Absolutely quiet. No pain. No sensation of anything happening. Soft music playing. Spent the time thinking and praying. Very surrealistic. Then it was over.
I was wheeled back to a small treatment room. The neurosurgeon helped take out the four screws. He said that the surgery was completely successful. They wrapped a bandage all around my head and added an ice compress to an area where one of the holes from the screws decided to have more blood coming out than they liked.
By noon, I was having lunch at the Cheesecake Factory at the Short Hills Mall, complete with my head bandage. Amazingly, we were seated right away. I should always wear this bandage when going to places where they might have a line.
No headaches. No nausea. Just a little tinge of relief - that will take a while until I stop holding my breath. While I took it easy after lunch, I was back working on email and other things that had come in during the morning. In parish office the next day and attended a diocesan fundraiser that evening. Still cannot deal with fact that I had surgery (even though it was without a knife that cut!) to take care of a brain tumor. The only indication that anything was done is four scars where the screws were inserted. But unless you are looking for them, they cannot be noticed.
Ok, perhaps all of the above is more information than you needed or cared to know - and certainly of greater length than any report that I ever gave on any activity involving me. So why do it? I really want to share with you what was going on inside me during the past year.
Spiritually, it was an unusual year. While it might not have been evident, I really concentrated extra hard at daily or Sunday Mass when the Prayers of the Faithful prayed for the sick. I usually just thought "me too." I prayed even more than usual for people who were sick. I was acutely aware that what I was going through was absolutely nothing compared to what so many people were going through. I was extremely fortunate. The tumor was benign. It was small. I never took that for granted. I prayed so many prayers of gratitude during this past year.
One of the many reasons why I did not mention this to people was the fact that everyone has things to face. I'm not different. I am luckier than a lot of other people who are struggling with cancer and unemployment and family strife and so many other things. Granted, the acoustic neuroma was important to me because it affected me. But when considered in comparison, how fortunate I am.
I prayed so often in gratitude for parents, for friends loyal beyond all reason, and for being able to serve people as a priest. I am so blessed.
I did not want to have anyone worrying about me. This was not cancer, not life-threatening. I did not even tell my boss, the bishop, until last night at a fundraiser. He is an excellent worrier. I did not want to add to his worries. He said that he would have driven me to the hospital. I appreciate that kindness and so many other kindnesses.
While admitting that this has been a year of gratitude, this is on the rational side. Now that it is over, I am very much aware that, at least internally, I was a basket case off and on throughout the year. I have the mixed bag of seeming somewhat calm and centered, often even in crises. However, please do not believe it. Inside, I tend to be churning at tough times. I know that some things I let slip by without dealing with them during the year. It was just too much to handle. Now I'm starting to feel the slight stirring of excitement about all the things to be done. Without being aware of it, I have been holding my breath the entire year.
For the most part, the things that I do, both at the parish and the diocese, are fun. At the parish, the msot wrenching things are being with people in times of their own pain, regardless of the source. At the diocese, the Church is an unruly family at times - and often with rapidly growing expectations, diminished resources, conflicting priorities, financial heartaches, old buildings falling down, and continuing to address problems caused by others in the past. But, I will take this unruly family anytime. There is an astounding amount of goodness and faith and sacrifice and hope and love in this unruly family.
I know that my patience on a few occasions was in short supply this year. I did make amends after those occasions. There are some who say that you should never say that you are sorry. Well, those people are idiots. We all make mistakes. If you are truthfully never sorry, then your name is Jesus Christ.
I do believe in the nonabandoning love of God. This is what it is all about - -ultimately, this is what we experience through the Church and sacraments. I have never been very good at praying for myself. I have been persistently good at praying for other people. I know that those prayers came back to help me as well.
Sometimes when I would talk with people about a situation, I would mention that we need to keep things in perspective. It is not cancer. These people did not know that I was really just reminding myself about this reality.
If I have seemed overly narcissistic, sorry about that. Not my intention. I just wanted to get this out so that I could go back to being an uptight Irish Catholic from Chicago who devoutly believes that the Cubs will win the World Series this year.
If I have not said it enough and even if I have because you can never say it enough: Thank you, God. Thank you, parents. Thank you, loyal friends. I love you. (this is enough gushiness; now I can return to being analytical.)
This has been 1963 words of sharing, a lifetime record for me!