Sick in the head

Last summer, I got very sick. I won’t bore you with the details, but the short version is that they found a tiny spot in my brain. Mayhem ensued. Turned out, it’s probably harmless, and it was the tests, spinal taps, and gazillion meds on my bed side table that made me sicker than any little pea in the brain could.

During the ordeal, I was too sick to worry or even give much thought to what it could all mean. It’s amazing how Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs comes into play at the oddest times. When you are trying to keep water down or muster up enough strength to pick up the remote, you don’t have enough energy or brain power left over to ponder the meaning of life, or death. This is something that I found very interesting once I got well enough to be able to think again.

I have never been sick before, not like that. I had no idea what gravely ill people go through. And I was not by any means gravely ill. But I was surprised at the lack of concern I felt for my own health. Is it because I knew in my gut I would be fine, no matter what the x-rays were showing? Or is it really because I just didn’t have the strength to worry?

My loved ones worried, more than I knew. My husband fielded many phone calls each day. It wasn’t until after it was all over that I realized what I had put everyone through. I hope I never worry anyone like that again. Looking back, I realize, that at least in my case, it was much easier to be the sick one. Mentally any way. Because while I was busy hurting, they were busy imagining the worst. And I’d rather be puking up water any day of the week.