I’m back. There’s no telling when I’ll have time to post anymore. Every minute of my day seems to be consumed with school and friends, but I’m not complaining. It’s a very busy busy, but it’s a good busy. I don’t exactly have time to be sitting on my bed, legs stretched out under a blanket, writing this post…but I’m doing it anyway. That next paper and studying for two quizzes tomorrow will just have to wait…I need to write.

As much as I don’t want to write, because I know what words will spill from these hands, I need to write.

Not for you, for me. In fact, it’s tempting to write this as a draft and never post it, because this isn’t for anyone but me, fleshing out my thoughts, but here we go anyways.

I think I’m sick again. Which is really funny (in a not funny way) because the doctor said my kind of tumor never comes back. He told me and my parents that if I could ever want a tumor, I would pick the one they had just removed. Because it’s almost never cancer. It almost never comes back.

But here I am, almost two years later, still having symptoms. They come and go and they’re never as strong as they were before surgery, but they’re still here. Last semester I attributed them to a new environment and the stress of school, and since then I’ve comforted myself with the idea that they’re just after-effects of surgery.

But it’s been almost two years.

And sometimes I find myself sitting in class, watching my teacher as she explains something, or staring at my notes trying to absorb the information before my looming finals…and everything goes black.

Not for long, but for a few seconds I can’t see. I blink and lights come back on, but then everything is fuzzy. The words on my page of notes are dancing around and it takes a little while for things to come back into focus. No one notices, because I sit there in the dark by myself. The lights never went out for anyone else.

It scares me, but I’ve actually gotten a little used to it. Which is even scarier, I think. But this past week the second or two of darkness lasted longer than usual, and I haven’t been able to shake the nerves. I’ve started a mental list of everything that’s been happening with my body that shouldn’t be happening.

One or two events on their own aren’t worrisome, but when added all together they’re impossible to ignore.

All I want to do is ignore them. I’ve been ignoring signs all year because I don’t want to deal with it.

I don’t want to be sick again.

I’m happy here. I have wonderful friends, the most amazing sisters, and a family back home that I miss. I don’t want to be sick again. So I go on with my day each time, rarely mentioning anything to anyone, dealing with everything on my own. The dizziness, the darkness, the knots that stick themselves to my back from all the stress, and the times I can’t sleep because the room is spinning.

On my own, in my strength (which is part of the problem…relying more on my strength than His).

But I can’t anymore. I’ve reached my breaking point. I finally Skyped mom and told her I wanted to get an MRI here. I have another one scheduled in July back home, but my mind can’t wait that long. I’m running myself ragged with the possibilities and the not knowing has become bad instead of good.

It’s like a teeter-totter in a kiddie park. For a while, the not knowing is great because I can avoid all possibilities and continue on as normal. But eventually the other kid pushes their legs off the ground and the balance shifts; not knowing becomes bad, it becomes an opportunity to imagine all possibilities instead of knowing what I’m dealing with.

Maybe I’m fine. Maybe these are all after-effects that no one warned me about. But if that’s the case then they should have told me this two years ago.

I need to know. Not many people here know I ever had a brain tumor removed, but I’ve talked to two friends this weekend and they both feel that I should get an MRI just so I can know what I’m dealing with. I agree. I just need to know, even if it’s worse case scenario and I’m part of that 1% that gets to experience it coming back. I’m okay with that, but I need to know.

I never mentioned this before, but I had an MRI in December and they found something in my brain. But they don’t know what it is.

Comforting, right?

I never mentioned it because what do you do with that? How am I supposed to feel about that? I looked at the scan and clearly, easily saw a long shape pointing in my brain, like a needle. I listened as my neurosurgeon said he didn’t know what it was and it shouldn’t be there, but that there’s no reason for concern.

Well I’m sorry, but if there’s something in my brain that shouldn’t be, that wasn’t there 6 months ago on my last MRI scan, I’m just slightly concerned, thank you. But he wasn’t, so they did nothing.

Which leaves me with so many questions and no answers.

I surrender it again and again, I ignore the pain and the possibilities, but the other child has pushed their little legs from the ground and my balance has shifted. I need to know.