#25 Flat Emotions

I feel like I’m walking around in a fog. My emotions are flat. My brain waves feel like they must be flat. Someone tells me a joke and I wonder, “Why do they think it’s funny?” I used to have a sense of humor. Not now. A good friend dies and I can’t seem to feel sorrow. I almost envy the one who dies.

Even looking at a new baby, I fail to feel joy. What kind of person looks at a new baby girl and wonders what kind of sorrows she will have to face in her future? Pictures of war and killing on TV don’t bring a tear to my eye. I don’t have tears of joy or sorrow.

This seems so strange – to cry so hard some days and to feel nothing at all on other days. It’s scary to feel so flat that I don’t care what happens. It’s scary to realize I’m not in control of this tumor. Yet in one way I am. I mean I can decide to have surgery or radiation or do nothing.

Fear of the future is like standing in front of a closed door and not knowing what is on the other side of the door. So, we freeze and don’t open the door.

I had gall bladder surgery a few years ago and what should have been outpatient surgery required a four day hospital stay. I couldn’t wake up. And every time I did, I got sick. If my body couldn’t handle gall bladder surgery, how can it handle brain surgery? Maybe that’s why the gall bladder surgery happened when it did. No brain surgery for me. I don’t care what the surgeons think. Of course, they think surgery is the answer. What else would they think? That’s how they have been trained.

That brings me to radiation? But how is it possible to radiate tumor cells without causing damage to the healthy cells?

If I wait and watch (do nothing), will I spend too much time wondering if it’s growing. No matter what – surgery, radiation, or nothing – I will need MRI’s the rest of my life to check what’s happening. I need to accept that MRI’s are part of the New Me.

Accoustic neuromas are one ugly tumor – totally unpredictable as far as growth goes, as far as hearing goes, and as far as balance goes. I need to realize the future is uncertain. It always was, with or without a tumor.

I know God is, was, and will be the same. His promises do not change. He will be with me and take me by the hand and give me strength and courage to face the future. I can open the door.

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Dear God,

When was the last time I felt joy? I can’t remember. I want to feel joy. Amen.

I am holding you by your right hand—I, the Lord your God. And I say to you, Do not be afraid, I am here to help you. Isaiah 41:13