PMS is no crying matter
After 40+ years of never understanding why women’s emotions go all a fluttery every month, I now have a just a glimpse of what it’s like for our fairer sex. My anti-seizure meds are playing havoc with me, especially in the mornings it seems – I guess when the meds are at near full-strength. I seem to have two major effects:
- I sleep – a lot. Like Astro, I take a lot of snoozes through the day, which isn’t always a good thing. I wake up so groggy that I can barely pass one thought from neuron to neuron. Ok, back and forth between the only two I seem to have these days. Even writing takes 10 times longer as I stop to ponder each word and go back to fix spelling. Hopefully my grammar isn’t too far off mark. Edit, so maybe 20 times…
I cry for little or no reason. This bugs me as I’m supposed to be the strong guy who can handle anything. I suppose once I go on steroids I might look like this guy, but for now I’m more the wimpy, super-sensitive kid everybody laughs at in school. No swirlies please!
I can live with the first, but the 2nd has got to go. Not just for my maleness & ego, but also to spare my poor wife, who’s having to juggle everything in our world. And it’s still early days yet, I’m now seven days away from surgery, maybe less if my doctor’s scheduler doesn’t play fair. For Nicole, the pressure is piling on, and I gotta pull myself together to be more helpful around the house.
But any old random thought can get me to well up. With tight throat I can barely get a word out. I think that’s why I’m finding it so hard to talk to people in person or on the phone. And I have no decent reason for this! My doctors are confident that the tumor is benign, is in an easy place to get to and remove, and that the surgery will be curative. Way better than the accounts of other people I’ve been reading who are or have had brain surgery. I’m darn lucky, and should be jumping for joy! Well, maybe hopping a little…
Well enough of that. Today’s kind of an easy day, no doctor appointments or anything, just a few friends who will pop by to say hi. I guess I should be writing later on in the day when I’m more lucid. But wanted to record my feelings now for some reason. Alien-like, since I’m a guy, right? That reminds me, Nicole decided to name my tumor “the alien”. Not gonna pop out of my chest like the famous movie with Sigourney Weaver, more like my best friend doctor is gonna yank it out with some tongs or something. Found out yesterday that it’s actually up closer to the top of my head, not so much in front. Good news for the scar, bad news for my haircut!
My neurologist told us that I’ll be on this stuff for like six months. My neuro-surgeon said I’ll get use to the med in a few weeks, so hopefully my crying jags will go away. God I hope so, this sucks almost as bad as needing brain surgery! Well, maybe not.
So being pro-active, I did the manly thing this morning, told Nicole to sleep in and got CJ out the door for school. Then unloaded the dishwasher (what a macho thing!), washed some dishes, and now it’s time to go lie down and catch 10 winks before Nicole wakes up.