Two weeks ago, the eye doctor confirmed that I once again have swelling around my optic nerve. Which, in Pseudotumor speak, means the sh*t is about to hit the fan.
Cue the scheduling of multiple appointments and a slew of side effects from the medication I again have to take.
Don't get me wrong, I prefer the side effects over the "I just want to split my head open because oh, my god, the pain is unbearable" headaches, but it all happens so fast that there's no time to adjust to your new normal, you know?
And then, suddenly, I'm the girl in sunglasses twenty-four-seven, who's trying not to cry because of the pain, and really wishes everyone would quit asking me about it, but honestly, who wouldn't?
So, I grit my teeth and accept a thousand condolences (like I'm dying or some sh*t) and quietly suffer through newly-acquired indigestion, the sensitivities to certain foods, the random tingling in my fingers, toes, nose, and lips-- Oh, and the constant need to pee.
And maybe this sounds like I'm ungrateful or bellyaching just for the hell of it, but you have to understand, I *just* got my anxiety under control and the depression is still there. So, as much as I just want to sleep the day away because then I don't have to deal with the side effects (did I mention the EXTREME exhaustion?), I know I can't. Because if I do, I may never get up again.
Okay, deep breath. This is where things get...hard for me.
And I don't want to talk about it, but maybe if I do, maybe if someone out there in cyberland understands-- Well, then maybe I won't feel so completely alone and lost and...terrified out of my freaking mind.
At one of the aforementioned appointments, my doctor noticed a... pattern, I guess? Which is unusual with my condition. And suddenly, she was talking about how if her hunch is correct (determined by more neurology tests and yep, you guessed it, appointments) there may be a way to prevent this from happening again.
There may be a way... to never experience the pain and horror of Pseudotumor f*cking cerebri ever again.
I was understandably shocked, hearing those words. Almost numb with the rush of emotions that came over me while my mother almost cried with joy and she and the doctor shared smiles.
I'm not sure how I feel. I should be happy, right? Excited that there's even a tiny possibility? But, instead, I'm terrified.
Because what if they're wrong? What if I do all these new tests and then the neurologist is just like "Oop, sorry, looks like your doctor's hunch was a little off there. You'll still be suffering through this for the rest of your life"?
At least with the side-effect-causing medication, I KNOW it works. I know that when I take the pills, the pain goes away and after 4-6(ish) weeks, I can get back to my life. But with this maybe-but-we're-not-sure sort-of cure? Who knows what will happen? Maybe I'll get better...
But what if, in doing this, something goes wrong-
--and I get worse?