Written in Ink
Written in Ink
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Postcards from my sick leave


There’s really not much you can do when you can’t drive, have binge watched everything interesting, and can’t read because of double vision.



I have a minor surgery Wednesday to prepare my sinuses for the craniotomy. That should help me pass the time and shave a few days off. My craniotomy isn’t until the first week in January and until then it’s just a barrage of appointments - neuro opthamologist, allergist, etc. - and sitting at home.


Support Groups

My father found a support group online, but they all talk about putting your faith in God and praying. I’ve been biting my tongue about that with friends and family. Why would I subject myself to more of it when I don’t have to?


They also keep asking questions about their complications after surgery. Thanks for giving me all these new things to worry about. I didn’t know I could lose the use of my eyebrows. Thanks.

Oh Mama

My parents came to visit for a week which was equally comforting and frustrating. They brought gifts from everyone back home: a bag of junk food, an awesome personally knitted shawl, socks, a robe, frozen casseroles, and cards a plenty.


They took me out to eat once or twice a day and I finally stopped losing weight. I didn’t gain any back. Of course I’ve since lost it. We drove around one day and looked at “the rich houses.” We spent a day in their hotel room watching dumb movies on HBO and laughing.

But every day I felt I had to see them. They told me not to overdo it, that they were they when I needed them, but I still felt obligated. And then there was the smothering. “Do you want to take a nap?” “Do you want to take a nap?” The third time I told her that if I did want to take a nap I would be sure to let her know but until then assume at I don’t.


Calling in tumor

The morning after I was diagnosed, I called in sick to work so I could process things. I joked to myself that I had called in tumor to work. Maybe just a 48 hour thing. Sine then I have been using my tumor to get out of things. Sometimes it’s justified, sometimes not. My husband has gotten used to me saying, “Uh, brain tumor,” and then giggling

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