As the surgery date approaches, I have been thinking about the obscene amount entrails that will be displaced by the surgeon while carving out my tumor. And then there's the whole deal with the tumor completely enveloping my vena cava like deep-fried corn on a hot-dog; that’s got to be like trying to scrape barnacles off a balloon.
I guess what really has me weirded out is this tumor sprouted from my spine. Just trying to imagine how this thing grew scares the crap out of me. Think about it. A few of your spinal ganglia sprout into bits of an odd growth.
Maybe they were bored and wanted to try something new? Is this some type of perverse evolution? Am I supposed to let the tumor grow and evolve into a super-hero? Am I really Kick-Ass?
As time goes by, the growth gains momentum. Like a snowball rolling down a snowy mountain, the more momentum, the more snow it attracts. As more snow joins in, more damage is caused, until one day there’s an avalanche of black mass ready to blow up inside you.
Visions of the surgeon slicing my tumor off my spine really isn’t the most comforting of thoughts.
I've come to accept what must be done. I’ve come to terms with my body becoming permanently disfigured with the scaring; like a zipper from my sternum to my pelvis. I've made my peace with my body rejecting itself.
There are days I can’t wait for the surgery. Then there are the days where I have too much time on my hands. Visions of my innards being displaced and mixed like a puzzle first opened. Thoughts of "what if". What if a nerve is cut and I lose feeling in one of my legs? What if an organ is sliced? I’m not too sure what would happen, but I’d rather not find out. What if I don’t wake up? Will I even remember not waking up?
Honestly, I’m not concerned. But, I am concerned.
Thanks for listening.