New meaning to the phrase "no good deed goes unpunished"

I had thought nothing of it.

Dr. H and Dr. C had emailed and called to set up a meeting with me the following day. It was weird that they didn’t ask for a specific time or day. But they lacked the common social skills found in so many. They are scientists. As the only female, usually, in the department I have gotten used to the awkward and uncoordinated social skills of my fellow peers. Except for the eye contact thing. The ones that avoid eye contact still make me nervous.

So, I emailed and set it up. They were probably going to give me an official thank you and send off. Two years of hard work and I finally got into graduate school. No more being the runt of the office. No more hours upon hours of mindless tedious work only to have your superior put his name on your paper because his phD will get it published. Well, honestly this would still happen but with a phD I could maybe dream of a primary author paper.

When I walked into the room Dr. H was particularly awkward. He had stated making eye contact a couple months ago but that progressed appeared to be gone. Bummer. We walked to Dr. C’s office when the most earth shattering thing happened. Dr. C gave me a hug. ?!?!?!?!? My heart fell desperately into my stomach. This is not the professional awkward and nervous behavior I was used to.

“What’s up ?” I asked

Dr. C: “Sit down Aida You might find it weird I didn’t send you the MRI you volunteered to do for my study.”  

I didn’t.

Dr. C: “Don’t worry everything is going to be ok”

What is? I thought.

Dr. H:“We wanted to make sure of what it is before we told you anything. And we know that everything is going to be ok so don’t you worry. We really care about you”

Dr. C: “Yeah, don’t worry? You can do this”

This is not going to be good. Why wont they just spit it out. They can’t fire me. I am leaving. Is this about the MRI. Did I break it? I did leave my shoes on. There is metal in my shoes.

Dr. H: “We sent the scan to the hospital and we thing we know what it is”

What what is. They have been talking forever. Why wont they just say it.

Dr. C:“We just don’t want you to worry”

They both looked at me in the eye. And my heart dropped into my stomach. They found something.

Me: ”Just tell me what it is? ”

“ You have a lesion in your brain. We think it’s an epidermoid tumor. You have to go see a neurosurgeon as soon as you can.”

shit

Too much alcohol and a need for an outlet.

Last night I drank too much.

After my first set of midterms in pharmacy school, a peer invited me out for a drink. The dive bar, a regular hang out for all the students at UMB, was staffed by familiar friendly faces. A necessity for a place with no working air (it was hot and humid as hell) and the ever present curious odor of stale beer and ammonium.  I ordered red wine; there were only two options for wine—red and white. It tasted like vinegar and grape juice with the beautiful under tones of a wine that’s turned bad several weeks ago.

                We sat outside and after a couple “red wines” our conversation turned from the normal and polite to more personal. She told me about her dating escapades. I told her about my relationship with my fiancé. She told me a story about a close friend of hers with cerebral palsy; her friend is doing incredibly well due to an experimental treatment with botox shots. I told her I have a brain tumor. You know, normal girl talk. Then, I did what I always do after I tell someone. I drank more. A lot lot more. But, telling her did make me feel better.

                We started talking to a local couple standing outside. My peer left and I continued talking to them. I asked several questions and, like most people, they were excited to have the opportunity to talk about themselves. The man was black in his late 20s and had glass (supposed to look like diamonds I am sure) earings. He was from Austin Texas and had moved all the way to Baltimore to be with this lady. She was a white thin weathered woman in her mid forties. Her cheap makeup did an awful job at covering the scars that riddled her face—scars either from adolescent acne or drugs. They were an odd couple but seemed nice. They were open and honest, willing to share with me. And so I returned the favor.

                Big Big mistake. As soon as I told the lady her demeanor turned from chatty to angry. She accused me of lying and being a horrible person. Before I could say another word, she got up and walked toward the other end of the bar and told them about my “lie.” They all turned and looked at me as I sat there amazed at what just happened. Immediately, my heart plummeted into my stomach as my reasons for keeping my diagnosis to myself flashed before me. I am a freak. I have a tumor crushing my cerebellum and it makes me a freak. I have something that scares people so desperately they feel it fair to embarrass and mock me for it.

                I started to whimper, got up and left. As soon as my food hit the gravel outside I lost it. The alcohol, the good feeling from telling a peer earlier, and the bad at making a mistake by telling a near stranger was too much for me. I sobbed like a crazy person on the streets of Baltimore. Two other class mates saw me and, because I hadn’t embarrassed myself enough, in broken gibberish I tried to explain myself. While I am quite ashamed I am glad they stood with me. The lady was apparently not done. She had come out to pick a fight with me. And they ushered her away.

                I feel like I should go and apologies to those friendly faces that I know so well at the bar. I don’t what to say though. I don’t know what I am doing. And I am scared. I am sad and I am so very scared.

                I am writing this blog. I am writing it because I need to tell something and I can’t go around drinking and telling people at bars. My name is Aida. I am 25 years old and I have an epidermoid tumor about 5cm in diameter in my brain. It’s crushing my cerebellum and has spread to my midbrain. I have to have surgery. And I am scared.