For Be. Fri.

Just for you. I feel like you needed some cheering up. Also, of all the people I know, I feel like you would appreciate the following more than anyone else.

For others, I have gotten word back from U. Maryland & Pittsburgh on the state of the union after the last scans and visual impairment. I have the neurosurgical consult appointment tomorrow at Hopkins and then I will do my best to synthesize and provide an executive summary of the current situation once I can cross-reference notes and take a deep breath.

But, today, I am looking for some distraction. And, I found it! This falls into the category of There Are People That Are Worse Off Than Us. Or maybe, Sometimes There Are Things You Cannot Do Anything About No Matter How Hard You Try.

Those that know me well are fully aware of my love/hate shark relationship. I will watch all the Discovery Channel shark shows with my feet safely hidden under a blanket and never dangling over the couch (just in case). And then DVR to watch later, in case I have not sufficiently scared myself on first viewing.

One common thread among the shark shows is how they spend 58 minutes of each show detailing the most horrific shark attacks in the history of horrific shark attacks and then 30 seconds at the end reassuring viewers that the shark did not WANT to bite that poor, dead person in half and then eat them, but it just happened because the shark got confused. Kind of the feelings I have when I discover I have "accidentally" eaten all the cupcakes in our pantry. Again. I thought they were seals! Clearly.

So I read this article with interest. Here is the full link so I cannot be sued for plagiarizing:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/jan/13/australia-shark-attacks

For all those busy people that want bullet points, here you go. These are verbatim tips about what to do if attacked by a shark:

* If you are in the water, remain calm. You cannot outrun a shark and sharks can sense fear.

* Keep your eye on the shark at all times. Sharks may retreat temporarily and then try to sneak up on you.

* If you can't get out of the water right away, try to reduce the shark's possible angles of attack.

* Fight. Playing dead doesn't work. A hard blow to the shark's gills, eyes, or, as a last resort, to the tip of its nose will cause the shark to retreat. If a shark continues to attack, or if it has you in its mouth, hit these areas repeatedly with hard jabs, and claw at the eyes and gills.

* If you are near shore, swim quickly, but smoothly. Thrashing will attract the shark's attention.

* Sharks have difficulty biting things that are vertical (their nose gets in the way) so avoid leaving your hands and feet loose or going horizontal to swim away from the shark.

* Sharks can't breathe out of water, so, if possible, hold the bitten part of your body out of the water, and get their gills into the air and they will let go of you.

* Sharks tend to thrash prey around to tear chunks out of it, so you should latch on to the shark.

* Repress the urge to scream. Screaming will not deter the shark much and may provoke it further.

To summarize: just lift the bajillion pound shark out of the water using any body part that has not yet been bitten off, while avoiding "tearing" teeth and remaining silent and still - DO NOT SCREAM! - and then swim quickly, but evenly, to shore, as you curl into a tight ball and hold yourself vertical, keeping an eye on the shark, while hoisting any partially severed nubs out of the water and continuing to swim (silently, vertically, and quickly), looking over your shoulder. Got it?

Um ... advantage: shark. Not to discredit the author, but I feel like the practical applications of this piece of journalism are somewhat limited. I think the easier solution is to move to Iowa and take up running. You are welcome for sharing. And, see, don't you feel better now?! It could be worse.

Love, St. Ends.

Hope & Virtue

Congratulations, President Obama.

I am proud to be an American today.

Fasten Your Seatbelt

If you have ever imagined an extended vacation from work and fantasized about how long it would be possible to sit around the house in wrinkled pajamas pants eating empty calories while playing on your computer before it became really really tiresome, the answer to that is TEN DAYS.

Day 10 (and 3/4) of Solitary Confinement Project and I am starting to feel the walls close in. Jeff went back to work on Monday so I have been hanging by myself. I have read all of your Facebook pages and commented on your photos, status updates and groups you have joined. I have read (many many) persons' blogs as well as websites about topics I have ever found mildly interesting, or not (history of cheese, anyone?). I have researched every graduate program that exists in the U.S. with the idea that maybe I should get another degree of some sort (on-line). I have researched Fulbright Scholarships & their ilk to see if maybe I should do some sort of study abroad program.

In fact, I believe I may have come close to reading all of the Internet(s). It seems redundant to state that I have had some time on my hands.

Since I may be one of the few people who has now experienced at least 90% of what our information superhighways have to offer, I ask you to consider the following when posting ... to be clear, if you DO blog about the below-mentioned things, I will probably still read your blog, but I will not ENJOY it as much. So consider yourself on notice, Random People I Have Never Met In My Life. Because if I am at home, sitting on my rear, I would very much appreciate at least a half-assed effort at entertaining me.

1. Blogging about how boring your life is, all the time? That is, in a word, boring. My recent life is boring too, that is why I am reading about yours. Please at least have the courtesy to make something up to amuse me!

2. Here and hear and their and there are different words. They are not interchangeable. If you do not know this, and you are over the age of eight and English IS your first language, may I be so bold as to suggest that you should not be allowed unsupervised access to your computer. Because you might be the .000001% of the population that think nothing of using that computer while playing with matches and wearing a jumpsuit soaked in gasoline while balancing a Fourth of July sparkler on your nose. And then you will catch fire and then you will win a $40 million product liability/failure to warn lawsuit against Dell, Mobil, Sparkler Co., and Acme Matchbox. And product liability lawyers are BUSY people - what with Big Tobacco and Big Pharma - they do not need to deal with you right now. I'm just trying to look out for my peeps.

3. Please come up with something else to blog about besides how CUTE your children are, every moment of every day, and HOW MUCH YOU LOVE them. Of course you love them, they are your children, if you did not love them, you would be a terrible person. But ... and trust me on this ... sometimes even cute children that are very loved can be annoying and difficult and give even the best parents a headache. It is OK to admit that and I am deeply suspicious of parents that do not. You can love your children and still want to sell them on Ebay at times (or, at least, short-term lease them while you take a shower).

4. And about those kids, if you are going to post kiddie pics, then please go through the exercise of deleting the ones that are fuzzy or upside down or say things like "First time little Kayla tries black beans!" or (and I am not making this one up) "Little Felicity picks her first scab." A good start would be deleting anything from your camera wherein the central figures are either legumes or solidified bodily fluids (ANY).

5. Puppets do not make good blog/photojournal material. Ever. I will not explain this further.

So ... you see I have had some time to think about the things that really matter in life. The goal was to hear from JH and Pittsburgh about their take on MRI/vision/driving before I got back behind the wheel (still waiting). It has been my experience that the more serious your medical concern is, the more widely divergent two medical opinions will be on the topic. I was told late this afternoon by the Pittsburgh assistant that my scans and reports are on Dr.[page intentionally left blank]'s desk citing some "International Endonasal Conference" as reason for the delay ... if I had a nickle for every time I heard that same old lame excuse! They will be reviewed later tonight.

Consider this fair warning: I am LEAVING the house in fifteen minutes. In a motor vehicle. I am planning on driving 1/8 of a mile away from where I live, in any direction, with the goal of going to a place that is not the inside of my own house. Where does not matter. It may be an Exxon gas station bathroom. I may just drive there and stand in there and soak in the sights and sounds and smells of someplace that, again, is not my house. As some wise person once said, "It is not the destination, it is the journey." Or whatever. I don't really do deep quotes. You get the gist.

So if you live near me and you see a large, grey SUV in your lane and/or heading toward you, manned by a blond woman covered in cookie crumbs and wearing pajamas pants, kindly fulfill your civic duty and move your vehicle out of my way. Because I am very anxious to get to that Exxon and I have decided that it is far more dangerous for me to sit in the house for one more second than it is for me to possibly suffer a second episode of vision loss while driving.

If I do not return within 24 hours, please contact the second floor of Nordstrom and ask for Valerie. She will know exactly where to find me.

Just The Facts, Please

Just spent a solid forty-five minutes on the phone with neurosurgeon from UMD.

Here are key points:

The differential diagnosis from Hopkins neuroradiologist's most recent MRI report is: subependymoma (a rare subtype of ependymoma)

Tumor is measuring 5 by 6 mm - small - about "the size of an M & M."

Tumor is STABLE, at this time.

He is "confident" that tumor is not causing visual changes, given the area in the brain where it is and the size that it is (follow up w/ neurologist to explore sudden loss of vision).

MRI showed no signs of increased intercranial pressure.

Plan: Continued periodic scans - for the rest of my life - no surgery, no radiation at this time. Punting me back to Neurology Dept for visual follow-up. Still waiting to hear from JH and Pitt neurosurgeons.

AND ... FROM A PREVIOUS POST OF MINE ... in case you really like to read:

©2008 National Brain Tumor Foundation / Call Us for Support 1.800.934.CURE

Ependymal tumors begin in the ependyma, cells that line the passageways in the brain where cerebral spinal fluid (CSF) is produced and stored. Ependymomas are classified as either supratentorial (in the cerebral hemispheres) or infratentorial (in the back of the brain). Variations of this tumor type include subependymoma, subependymal giant-cell astrocytoma, and malignant ependymoma.

Characteristics • Usually localized to one area of the brain• Develops from cells that line the hollow cavities at the bottom of the brain and the canal containing the spinal cord • Can be slow growing or fast growing • May be located in the ventricles• May block the ventricles, causing hydrocephalus (water on the brain)• Sometimes extends to the spinal cord • Occurrence peaks at age five and again at age 34• Accounts for two percent of all brain tumors.

• Severe headaches• Nausea and vomiting• Difficulty walking• Fatigue and sleepiness• Problems with coordination• Neck pain or stiffness• Visual problems

The doctor will perform tests to determine if it has spread to the spinal cord. Surgery followed by radiation therapy is the usual course of treatment. A shunt may be needed to treat hydrocephalus caused by blockage of the ventricles.

The over-all five year survival rate is approximately 50%. Supratentorial epenedynomas, however, are generally more aggressive and have a poorer prognosis. Studies of prognostic characteristics in ependymomas are limited by the rarity of this tumor. Most studies are reports of single-institution experiences with few patients. The Mayo Clinic (Rochester, MN) experience with 80 patients represents one of the largest single-institution reviews and was published by Schild et al. Seventy of the patients had low-grade tumors and 10 had high-grade tumors. Prognostic factors favorably associated with survival included tumor grade, location, and histologic subtype (myxopapillary vs other ependymomas). Survival did appear to be somewhat improved in patients who had more of an extensive resection, but this was not found to be significant on univariate or multivariate analysis. All of the patients in this review did receive radiation postoperatively, and the 5-year and 10-year actuarial survival rates in low-grade tumors was 87% and 79%, respectively.

High-grade tumors did not fare as well with a 5-year survival rate of only 27%, with a high rate of local (80% recurrence at 5 years) and leptomeningeal (41% at 5 years) relapse. Guyotat et al. reported their experience with 34 adult patients. They found that anaplasia and location dictated outcome. None of the 17 patients with anaplastic ependymoma survived 5 years, whereas 90% of patients with fourth ventricle tumors (most grade 2) were alive at 10 years, and lateral ventricle tumors had a 10-year survival rate of 60%, whereas patients with third ventricle tumors had a 35% 10-year survival rate.

The Patient Patient

Eight doctors appointments, three separate trips to three different hospitals, an ambulance ride and one MRI in seven days.

Oh, and one Xanax. Cannot forget that Xanax. I was stressing about my MRI and my mom offered me the last of hers to take at the hospital "as long as I promised not to waste it." Which I did not. That is love right there. Thanks Ma!

So my driving privileges are not yet reinstated and I still have no answers. Other than my (extensive) list of doctor visits, I have not really left the house in eight days. EIGHT days. Wait, that is not true, my dad drove me to Filene's Basement this weekend so I could buy some slippers. Which was FABULOUS. Also because I was a good girl and did not cry for the IV, Jeff took me out for french toast after my MRI ... but I don't really recall all that much from the experience because I was still Zanny'ed up (Thanks, AR, for my new favorite nickname).

So the neurosurgeon from Hopkins called my cell this morning before 7 a.m. and I missed the call. I MISSED THE CALL because I was asleep still and my phone was downstairs. And what super-over-achieving doctor calls before 7 a.m.? Ethan does not even get up until 7 a.m. I treasure my sleep (apparently more than my brain scan results).

I called back soon thereafter but he had already left for the O.R. At about 4 p.m., I called back again and spoke to the neurosurgeon's assistant. She told me he was STILL in the O.R. (what the hell is going on in there - a head transplant?), so unfortunately, he would likely have to get back to me tomorrow.

When I sounded panicked and told her I had been in the hospital and could not see well, she honestly, did not sound that impressed by my plight. She did concede that she could email him and leave him a note to follow-up with me tonight, if at all possible. I then realized that assistants in this field are not all that impressed when patients complain about being a big mess and worrying about something life-threatening because ALL of their patients are a big mess and worrying about something life-threatening. Take a number.

So I spent all day waiting by the phone to hear the results for naught. Except when I was eating cookies. Or calling my husband to report that nobody has called me yet. Or calling back three minutes later to report still no call. Or now, one hour later. Or pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom because I did not want to take a pee break in case the phone rang. Or eating more cookies. Or doing a little light stalking on Facebook. Other than that, I sat by the phone and waited patiently.

I felt like the neurosurgical equivalent of the classic He's Just Not That Into You woman. I was one step away from calling all my friends and whining, "Why? Why didn't he call!? He SAID he would call! Should I call him? NO! ... No? Are you sure? ... Maybe he lost my number? ... Maybe I should email him? .... No? ... I mean, I guess he IS busy at work ... Right? RIGHT!?" and then putting on slutty patent leather boots (you know the kind) and going out to get trashed on cosmos and multiple buttery nipple shots. (Shout out K and L). After which I would call him anyway, slurring, "I thought I meant something to you! Or do you say that to ALL the girls with intraventricular tumors and potential hydrocephalus?" And his wife would hang up on me and then block my phone number.

But before it got to that point, I asked nicely and requested that maybe if the surgeon got a break, he could call me tonight. Ya know, if he got bored of his 12-hour surgery and wanted to wash that cerebellum off his hands and get a snack or something. It's OK - I don't mind if he talks with his mouth full - I was, in fact, raised in a barn! Or if he was busy, he could even just send me an email with either ( - : or ) - ; in the subject line. All I need.

The assistant DID tell me that the MRI had been read by the radiologist and she had the report on her desk. Of course, she could not tell me what it says. I have to talk to the surgeon about that. Hmm. I briefly debated calling Hopkins MRI to fax me the report but I have been down that road before and I, personally, recommend never ever reading your own radiology report before you talk to a doctor. Sometimes it is better than it sounds and Wikipedia will do you no favors on this front. You will spend an obsessive night (or nights) convinced you have four hours to live. Or maybe that is just me.

Alright this entire post makes me sound INSANE (- r, than usual), but what can I say? I am a little frayed around the edges right now. And if the shoe ... or slutty boot ... fits ....

Now if you will kindly excuse me, I hear some cookies calling my name.

Treat 'Em and Street 'Em

Watching the sun come up over the waves of the ocean, snow-covered mountains, six-hundred thread count linens at a five-star hotel with mimosa in hand ... all worthy endeavors. Watching the sun's first rays hit the ER parking lot after an ambulance ride and a night spent in the hospital is, however, a life experience I could pass on.

I apologize if this post is full of typos and such. I am literally squinting at the computer screen. I may have just typed squidding at the pewter tween but I cannot be sure. But my vision is just starting to improve and I have been itching to get to my keyboard and type something I could proofread, even just a little. What can I say, proofreading calms me.

First some Good News: We have just emerged from the month-long holiday coma brought on from too much food, drink, and merrymaking. I would like to say that I let go of all expectations of having a "perfect holiday" and just relaxed and enjoyed all aspects of a MAGICAL season but that is not really my speed. I did, however, manage to tone it down a notch and tried to do less presents, fewer expectations, more joy (or more eggnog, which is really the same thing). Considering I was not sure in November 2007 if I would kick it before Holiday 2008, I consider this year extra credit.

A big thank you to the M family for hosting a fabulous Thanksgiving feast. Great hosts, great food, better company. We all enjoyed it so much. Cost of two premade pies that I managed to burn (apple) and undercook (pumpkin): $20. Not having to stick my own defenseless arm into a naked turkey cavity and pull out a sack of juicy alien turkey bits: Priceless.

To the other M family, as always, it was so good to celebrate with you on Christmas Eve. We love our party tradition and hope we keep it up for years and years. Our one disappointment this holiday was that nobody got caught making out in front of the bathroom, but there is always 2009.

Much gratitude to the S parents for cooking a Christmas dinner consisting strictly of meat and potatoes so that Jeff did not die. Since I organized a Christmas Eve menu of vegetarian offerings, we were all more than a little concerned that Jeff would not survive until Christmas morning on only eggplant. If my husband had a dietary slogan, it would be that Meat is Murder ... Tasty Tasty Murder. So thank you for bringing his lipid blood levels back up to a healthy 96.99% on Christmas Day. He was starting to look a little pale.

Finally many thanks to the E family for hosting the entire family at your New Year's Eve bash. We had so much fun in your gorgeous home ringing in the New Year with all the little noisemakers (pun intended). You throw a great party and we were thrilled to be a part of it (don't let the sleeping couch lump indicate otherwise, midnight was way past his bedtime).

Now The Bad News: It genuinely never occurred to me that even if doctors declined to operate on the brain tumor that, at some point, emergency brain surgery might be needed to mitigate complications from the tumor, such as internal bleeding or increased intercranial pressure. Murphy's Law of Being a Patient dictates that this will happen at 2 AM on a Saturday.

I suppose by definition brain surgery should be considered "emergency surgery" but there is scheduled brain surgery as in:

"We are going to resect your tumor. Here are the risk/benefits. Do you have questions? Go home and pack your bag."

VS.

"Holy shit! You need to come in RIGHT THIS SECOND and we are going to open your skull with a spork and a nail file and give you a leather strap to bite on for the pain! None of our surgeons are here now but our janitor is very bright and we are pretty sure he can handle it once he finishes unclogging that toilet!"

This past weekend, I had been feeling off and exhausted for quite awhile. I attributed it to the fact that the kicking, writhing, snoring five-year-old that visits Jeff and I in bed at 4 a.m now has a rather bulky accomplice in his new stuffed child-sized T-Rex and there is no room at the bed inn for me. Thanks Santa! Note: I did not think about sleeping arrangements when I bought him (the giant dinosaur, not the kid). As penance for my lack of parental foresight, I feel like I have forfeited the right to complain about the whole situation.

Saturday arrives and I am feeling like the Grim Reaper and my vision is blurry. Normally I am 20-20 but suddenly it seemed like everything was covered with a grimy film. I was squinting at words on my computer screen and watching TV was giving me a headache. I suggested maybe I needed some fresh air so we drove to a local park and went for a walk through the woods. My husband noticed I was off because I was so alarmingly quiet.

I had plans that evening with one of my favorite people to meet at a restaurant for dessert after our kids were in bed. While getting ready, I was feeling a little wobbly but Jeff encouraged me to go, thinking a night out would perk me up. I left the house and once I was lost en route (a common occurrence even before brain issues) - and late - I discovered that my Blackberry was not working. Insert your favorite curse words here; this is an interactive blog. My poor friend was waiting patiently on me while leaving semi-threatening voicemail that I could not listen to until later. Sorry G!

Dessert was painful. I was feeling awful and conversation was difficult for me. We left and I realized once I was back on the road that I could not make out the street signs. I could not READ THE SIGNS. I could see them but could not discern the words or letters. And I had NO PHONE to call for help. Awesome. And I was all out of curse words, so I took it to the next level and burst into tears, which did not help the sight situation.

I tried my best to get pulled over. Ironic because several weeks before I got a ticket for going forty-something in a thirty-something and had no idea I was even speeding seeing as I was leaving my house in a hurry because the carbon monoxide monitor was going off. But that is a different post.

I pulled over on the highway and put on my hazards and sobbed. And waited ... for help? What do I do? It was clearly not safe for me to be driving but it was 10 pm and I had no cell phone and no On-Star and no clue what to do. I did not want to pull off on an exit because I had no idea where I was and did not have any phone numbers without my phone. So I waited and waited and waited and no police. I gave up and drove the entire way home, sobbing, with my hazards on, going no more than 20 mph on the highway.

I made it home and came in and told my husband, "I cannot see. I think we need to call the neurosurgeon."

And he was all, "Are you sure?"

Because he knew calling the neurosurgeon would mean going to the hospital. You don't call a neurosurgeon at 10 pm on a Saturday night unless you really, really, really want to go to the hospital. Because they are mean like that and will make you. And my husband knows that despite the fact that I have a dossier full of medical notes and MRI scans, I would rather be flogged by raw pork chops and forced to wear purple Crocs in public for the rest of my existence than go to the hospital in the middle of the night on a weekend.

I am a manic needleaphobe and bloodaphobe and the hospital sends me into such a tizzy it takes days to recover. When I found out I was pregnant, I immediately began worrying about 1) having to have an IV during labor 2) a needle in my spine during the epidural and 3) the fact that childbirth is bloody and I thought I would pass out in the middle and then I might have to have even more IVs and spine needles! It was all I talked about for months. Until about the sixth month when I read a book about what can go wrong during pregnancy and then I started worrying that because I ate tuna sashimi three years ago, my baby would be born with flippers (he wasn't). You can see why my husband is so eager to knock me up again.

But back to Saturday: I go upstairs to wash my face (this made sense at the time) and my husband calls the neurosurgeon. The neurosurgeon on call is not the doctor who has been following me and when he calls back I am pleased to find out MY REPORTS ARE MISSING FROM MY CHART. Are you kidding me? I mean?! So he gets the three-minute cocktail party version of my diagnosis and current symptoms.

His response, "I need immediate evaluation ... blah blah ... the concern is that the tumor is changing ... blah blah ... or hemorrhaging ... blah blah ... intercranial pressure ... blah blah ... come in right away. How long until you are here?"

There is some discussion of calling an ambulance but since we live thirty minutes from UMD, he said local ambulance service will not take us that far, so the determination is made that if my husband is alright to drive, he can drive us and I will be admitted through the ER.

I took this in stride and started packing my purse with my standard hospital necessities. Antibacterial hand gel. Check. Insurance card. Check. Defunct cell phone. Check. Granola bar (though I have been instructed not to eat or drink in case there is surgery, I pack it anyway because I am an optimist). The only remaining detail is the sleeping child upstairs, who at last check, does not like to be left home alone.

I called my mom and report calmly, "We are on the way to the hospital. My vision has suddenly declined and my tumor might be changing or bleeding and I need to be seen right away."

She replies that she and my dad are on the way to stay with Ethan and do I need anything?

"No." I say, "No. I'm good ... and ... just ... rmaspolxxmsmd ... [sobs] ... or arjdmicmcxaoakd ... and ... smaicdollllmphhhhhhhhh. OK?!!"

I am still not sure what I was trying to get out but it was probably the middle-aged equivalent of I WANT MY MOMMY!! Jeff is downstairs gathering all my brain scan films and medical records and hears the commotion and comes upstairs to calm me down. And I am all snot bubbles and red eyes and feral animal noises. Because it has just occurred to me that I might need EMERGENCY BRAIN SURGERY. Like ... tonight.

Before we left, I make it clear to all present that if I have to have brain surgery, I am to be transferred to Hopkins. Got that - Hopkins! Not UMD. Hopkins has a better program. They can LOOK at me, but no letting UMD cut (a minor detail I had never considered until that very moment). After repeated assurances and a quick bed check on Ethan, who through some miracle was sleeping peacefully through all of the phone calls and keening and inhuman noises, and off we went.

Now, if you have never had the pleasure of going to a big city hospital in the middle of the night on a weekend, let me tell you ... gunshot wounds, signs all over the place telling you to remove your jackets (in case you are packing heat, I guess?), bloody footprints all over the filthy linoleum. I take a seat with the bleeding masses and start rocking back and forth as Jeff checks us in and tells triage the neurosurgeon on call is expecting us.

Then we wait ... and wait ... and wait. Jeff checks with triage again telling them I am feeling worse and we are still waiting. More waiting ... after consulting with the triage nurse on a time frame (where IS that flippin' neurosurgeon that so urgently needed to see me?) we end up taking an ambulance to Howard County General with the decision that I need to be evaluated and that if I need to be transferred back to UMD for surgery, so be it.

The ambulance ride was relatively uneventful, as far as ambulance rides go. Though I swear one of the paramedics was flirting with me because he told me to bring my son to the fire station for a tour, which I think was only because he thought I was hot. What with my swollen tear-stained face, pajama pants and matted hair, I was hard to resist.

Howard County was a relative spa compared to UMD. And quiet. The ENT saw us right away and called the neurosurgeon at UMD (I don't think he was too pleased we left in pursuit of less urban and more mellow medical pastures). After evaluation, it was determined that I was stable and not in acute neurological distress and we were sent home, many hours later, at 7 am with instructions to follow up with my "real" neurosurgeon the next day. Also, see an ophthalmologist.

As a result of all this, my brain MRI has been scheduled at Hopkins this week (I was due in December anyhow, so am a week or so overdue, we decided to wait until after the holidays, assuming symptoms remained the same).

I saw the ophthalmologist today. My eyes look structurally healthy (yay?) so more neurological tests tomorrow to see if the visual problems are due to increased intercranial pressure. If so, that will need to relieved with a shunt. In my head. I imagine that hurts more than having a filling put in a tooth but I cannot be 100% certain of that. I do think you may get some good drugs with a head shunt. I am trying to look on the positive side. More later ... on work, boob, life. But now I am tired ... so it will have to wait.