Day of the Diagnosis

Also known as The Worst Day to Aden Wood.

Chapter Four: Day of the Diagnosis

 

After the seizure, the doctors were pretty sure they knew what It was. It with a capital I, Bringer of Uncertainty and Sorrow and Anxiety and Hope. What was It? What was It?

 

But they wouldn't tell us. They had to make sure. A long stereotactic biopsy followed, during which Father and I could barely sleep or eat so consumed in fear we were. But after a few long days, the results finally came out. It revealed itself. She had a brain tumor.

 

"Glioblastama Multiforme," said the head doctor. There was a touch of pity in her eyes. Pity was not good. Pity was very, very, bad.

 

"What does that mean?" I asked with a small voice. I was scared. It sounded scary.

 

She sighed. "Glioblastoma multiforme tumors are characterized by the presence of small areas of necrotizing tissue that is surrounded by anaplastic cells. This characteristic, as well as the presence of hyperplastic blood vessels, differentiates the tumor from Grade 3 astrocytomas, which do not have these features. If--"

 

She stopped. Father and I were completely, veritably, undeniably, quite obviously, lost.

 

"But I suppose you just want to know about the symptoms."

 

We nodded. That would be nice. (And probably a little more easily digestable.)

 

"Although common symptoms of the disease include seizure, nausea and vomiting, headache, and hemiparesis-"

 

"What's that?" asked Father.

 

"A weakness on one side of the body."

 

"Oh," I whispered, my voice giving out.

 

She glanced at me sympathetically. "I hate to say this, but, it gets worse. The single most prevalent symptom is a progressive memory, personality, or neurological deficit due to temporal and frontal lobe involvement."

 

"You mean-"

 

"She's not going to be the same person," said the doctor sadly. "Her personality will be completely altered. Oftentimes, it's for the worse."

---

"What are you guys all doing here?" asked Unhappiness. "I thought I only invited Pain."

 

Behind Pain stood Shock, Fear, Uncertainty, and Desperation, leaning against the door frame and on each other, all looking at Unhappiness with wide eyes, drooping eyes, shy eyes, pleading eyes. Pain answered for them. "You might as well have invited us all. We come in a package."

---

Glioblastama Multiforme is commonly known as the A*****e Tumor. It devours your personality, chews it up, and spits it back out rotten and blackened and nothing like it was before. My mother truly died that day, that Worst Day, the Day of the Diagnosis. Her body died six months later.

Author's Note

Glioblastama Multiforme is a real disease. Only 5% of patients have a five year survival rate. I THINK it's the same disease as the Asshole Tumor but don't quote me on that.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A very sad chapter. You taught me something new also. Hard to lose someone. Even harder to watch someone died slow and painful. Thank you for sharing the very good chapter.
Coyote