Catching Up

I have a reminder on my calendar next week to call my neurologist and set up an appointment for my one-year brain MRI. Ideally, I’ll get it done in September or maybe October, so it won’t exactly be a year since my surgery, but hey, what’s a month or two when you’re talking about brain tumors?

This is the type of thing that keeps me awake at night–the anxiety of what might happen. What if there’s another tumor? What if I have to have another craniotomy? What if they find something else up there?

Last night, as I pondered these questions for the umpteenth time, I heard a strange noise, which I did my best to ignore. When I arose for the last bathroom break of the evening before my slumber started, I turned on my bedside lamp, and my eyes were instantly drawn to a small, grey lump on the carpet.

Upon closer inspection, I found that a toad had joined me. I had no idea how this toady frog boi gained entry to our house, nor my second-storey room. My best guess is that he hitched a ride on one of our dogs.

This isn’t the first time I’ve shared my room with a reptile. A few years ago, I was staying with my aunt and uncle in California when I noticed a fence lizard in my room. I think their big floofy orange cat brought it in. Unfortunately, the lizard took shelter somewhere in the room, and I was a little freaked out about having to sleep in a room with a lizard on the loose.

We had a few drinks, got a little giggly, and tried to figure out how to lure the lizard out of the room. My husband suggested microwaving a plate and putting it in the middle of the room–cold-blooded reptiles rely on heat from outside sources to maintain their body temperatures–which sounded like a perfectly reasonable thing that some herpetologist expert might have suggested. Except he totally made it up.

Eventually, I fell alseep, and the lizard was never seen again.

So whether it’s a brain tumor, or a visiting reptile, there’s always something that will keep me up at night. It’s just how I am. I’m also hopeful that like the lizard, I’ll never see this tumor again.