Hear Today, Gone Tomorrow

Okay... truth? I'm really, really bummed at the thought of permanently losing the ability to hear on one side as a result of the surgery I'm about to undertake. I know it's an obvious downer you'd expect to hear from someone in my shoes, but as opposed to, say, reading this about someone else and acknowledging its shock value, this is actually going to happen to me. And I think it sucks.

I've also been thinking about the repercussions of this sort of loss. Things like, having to suddenly find myself unable to determine the origin of an unseen noise. Or having to render one of two iPod earbuds completely useless. Most distressingly, though, I’m saddened at the fact that I’ll be unable to enjoy music in 100% full-on surround sound stereo, which, as someone who loves their music, is a tragedy in and of itself.

Because of that latter point -- coupled with the fact that I try not to take life too seriously -- I recently gathered some friends to have some much-needed fun in light of everything that’s been going on. I guess you could say I decided to give my right ear a proper going-away party. I called it “Hear Today, Gone Tomorrow.”

One of San Francisco’s most beloved cover bands, Tainted Love, was scheduled to play at a nearby venue, so I picked that as the location for our bon voyage. You can’t, after all, go wrong when 80’s tunes are involved.

Thanks to my infamous support group (not to mention a Bon Jovi hit here and there) the evening turned out to be quite an enjoyable time. I entertained guests at my apartment prior to the show and even became the lucky recipient of some unique hostess gifts, such as this:

“I wasn’t sure if you had a mono record player or not, but… here.”

And this:

Homemade card procured from the pages of the eminent Dr. Seuss

To top the evening off, towards the end of their performance, Tainted Love dedicated Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” to lil’ old me – me! -- while I just so happened to be standing in the front row. The singer held her mic down in front of me for a few bars, and for a magical moment I suddenly felt like Molly Ringwald in an uplifting ending of some feelgood 80’s movie. It was awesome, and it was just what I needed.

In all seriousness, though, I’m definitely upset about having to relinquish half of my hearing as a result of this experience. After having taken this sense for granted my entire life, I’m now more than aware about how much it’s a part of me and how angry I am that it’s unfairly being taken away from me. Sometimes I feel like I’m entering this process only to become a lesser version of myself.

And then, less selfishly, there’s the other hand: I absolutely know it could be worse. I read the news. I know there are millions of other people out there who’re experiencing a million worse things. I don’t have to walk further than a few blocks from my doorstep to encounter our city's homelessness to realize that, all in all... I ain’t got it so bad when I really think about it.

In light of that perspective, I do know that in the grand scheme of things I shouldn’t let this bother me. So I’m going to try my best and not let it.

After all, I have a whole ‘nother ear I can count on.

Atmospheric Support

In collaborating e-mails to announce the creation of this blog to my family and friends, I was struck with the realization of what it must feel like to create a wedding-invitation list. And, I’m not referring to the actual process of compiling such a lineup; rather in taking a surreal moment after the fact to look at an aggregated list of the people that comprise your own little personal atmosphere.

While seeing everyone’s names amassed together was wild enough in itself, even more mind-boggling was to reflect on how each name on that list has affected my life in a different way.

Clearly, I've experienced several epiphanies throughout this experience (carpe diem and similar once-trite philosophies that seem to become even more revolutionary during times like these), and one of those epiphanies was realizing how lucky I am to have such a great support group of people who, like, actually care about what happens to me.

A support group that sends me things like this:



And advises me to avoid getting into very specific situations like this:



Due to now-personal experience, I think it might take a jolting personal experience to fully realize the power of having such a support group handy. Whether it’s someone to unabashadly complain to, to create silly tumor puns with, or simply to provide a necessary distraction while playing the Nintendo Wii, it's the personal atmosphere who's been saving my sanity.

I've been a little stunned by the awesome outpouring of generosity and support over the past couple of weeks. While most folks seem to feel that saying "if there’s anything I can do..." is a futile gesture to make, rest assured, is isn’t. Every single "if there's anything I can do" is further proof to me how lucky I am to have you to tell me that in the first place.

Yes, having to deal with an uninvited tumor sucks, but at least I have a kick-butt team of friends and family to count on while doing so. Your cards, letters, e-mails, stories and humorous e-mail attachments are proof of that – and are strengthening my confidence every day.

It's a humbling feeling.

Can you imagine going to a routine check-up and finding out, 48 hours later, that you have a brain tumor?

Well, that's what happened to me.

Once I heard the words, "You have what is known as an acoustic neuroma...", I felt I was having an out-of-body experience and could not perceive that this was happenening to me. I have a brain tumor the size of a golf ball in my head.

Though it was only recently that I held the MRI scans in my hand, looking at a picture of my very own brain and struggling to digest the newfound knowledge that I -- an otherwise active and healthy 30-year old -- had a tumor in my head, I learned it was not a recent development at all. According to my doctors, this -- what did they call it? -- acoustic neuroma had been slowly developing over the past 10 years or so. (And you think you know somebody!)

An acoustic neuroma is a slow-growing, benign tumor that originates in the vestibular, or balance nerve, connecting the inner ear to the brain. The balance nerve runs beside the nerve of hearing and the facial nerve which controls movement of the facial muscles. These three nerves travel through a bony canal known as the internal auditory canal.

I know -- what? Here's a little diagram to better explain all that. And here's a general overview to read about it in more detail.

And so, after having overcome the initial shock, fear, and just plain feeling-sorry-for-myself, my family and I sprung into action to locate the best surgeon in this field -- and guess what? We found him, locally (!), at Stanford Medical Center. I'll be undergoing a complex procedure, known as a translabyrinthine surgery, to remove the tumor on October 10th.

While overwhelming and scary as all get-out, I must admit that, despite the seriousness of the diagnosis, I'm excited about the location of the procedure. Stanford! It feels like I've been accepted to the university or something. In fact, the surgical team who'll be tackling my surgery is one of the most sought-after in the country, and both my brain and I are elated about that. Because, lemme tell you, when you know you have to find someone to tinker around in there, you become obsessed with finding the best person to do it.

The brain surgery itself is very complex -- 12-14 hours -- followed by a week-long hospital stay and 6-8 week recovery. I'll provide details on the actual procedure in a separate post, though to sum up, it will unfortunately result in total loss of hearing on my right side (where the tumor is). This is the best possible outcome of this whole process, and ironically, is the goal we're aiming for.

I've gone through a million different emotions throughout the past few weeks, asking a lot of "Why me?" questions and all that, but then realized: "Why not me?" I've discovered, through many shared tales of friends and relatives' own personal struggles, that things like this simply happen. Life is just like that. You can't predict it, you can't anticipate it, and you can't prevent it. So you have to just deal with it and move on.

That said, I've also discovered that it can be really hard to deal sometimes. It's natural to feel scared and shocked and sad and vulnerable, though more importantly, it's empowering to feel invincible and strong and confident and brave. I'm determined to focus on the latter, which is largely due to the unwavering support of family and friends (like you) that make situations like these bearable.

Thanks, so much, to everyone (especially you, Mom) for all you've done and said and offered to me so far. I know I'll overcome this ordeal, and I have all of you to acknowledge in helping me along the way.

With you -- plus a few genius doctors -- on my side, I know I'm gonna be okay.