I left off telling you my parents got the surgery that saved my life, but I left out so much. That's the part I want to tell you now.
I remember getting my diagnosis. My mom and I were sitting in the room with the doctor. She told my mom they found a tumor on my brain stem. It is inoperable and caused hydrocephalus.
I wasn't even eight years old at that point. I had no idea what a tumor was, let alone hydrocephalus. I just remember my mom putting her face in her hands and crying. Things seemed serious, but I had no idea just HOW serious. I feel like being clueless helped me get through it.
I don't know how my parents did it, but they gave me confidence and strength. They saw me through it, even though family and friends were placing the blame on them.
This brings me back to growing up in the Kingston group. In this group, as in most others, everything that happens is either a blessing or a punishment. They don't (or at least didn't, I know the rules have gotten a little more lax as of late. God must be loosening up a bit) believe in eating sugar or processed foods. We followed this rule very strictly at our house. We got to eat potato chips on Christmas and Thanksgiving. Every so often we got to eat Chex and Kix cereals, but that was it. We had to give our bus driver money to get any candy (there's always away to get your fix).
Anyway, people were telling my parents that I got my tumor because I ate too much cereal and potato chips. Or that I must have eaten too much sugar (If that was the case, I should have a bajillion more tumors by now....I was deprived dammitt!). My parents are smart though, so I don't think they believed all of it. Part of me wonders if they did though. I know I believed it all. I started getting upset and angry with myself for giving myself a tumor and causing my family so much worry. I was mad at myself for sneaking candy. I was mad that my parents were getting blamed, when it was clearly my fault. They didn't know I was sneaking candy. I prayed every single night, asking God to make my tumor go away. I mean, if he helps people find the remote when it's lost, surely he'll help me. It never went away though. That was when I started to realize, I was talking to myself every night.
I don't remember much of the surgery or hospital stay, but I did remember it was getting close to my eighth birthday. I was getting more and more worried that I would be spending it in the hospital. Lucky for me, I was released. We drove the three hours home. As we were getting closer to our house, I remember siblings were getting kind of antsy. Then I noticed some balloons tied on posts and thinking it was weird. We turned to pull into our driveway and on the deck was a banner. It said, "Welcome Home Emily!" My aunt and cousins had gone around and had a bunch of people write on it and sign it! Even some of my outsider friends! It meant so much to me. My mom helped me roll it up. I still have it today.
This is getting a little long. I'll continue more next week!
Thanks for reading!
