I’m a peaceable woman. I abhor violence and am filled with the milk of human kindness. Yet, at this moment I am looking forward with all my being to witnessing an epic takedown; a beating so brutal it will be deemed a total annihilation.
My sister Lib is taking on her MAB.
Right around St. Patrick’s Day, Lib had a mini-seizure and tests revealed there was something on her brain.
We dubbed it the Mysterious Abnormal Blob (MAB) because the doctors couldn’t tell what it was. Virus? Stroke? It didn’t look like anything they had seen. They exhausted all the external diagnostics before they went in for a biopsy. Unfortunately, the biopsy revealed cancer. It’s something called an oligodendroglioma. An old friend of the family.
If you want more background, check out previous posts under the category “Hospital Stories” in the right margin of this blog.
Lib has had no symptoms all this time, due in part to the anti-seizure drugs she’s on. She’s living her life, going to work and taking care of business. Nothing has changed, except she isn’t allowed to drive.
The first months were full of tests, doctor appointments, getting second opinions to try to nail down the tumor grade. Since then, there has been a frustrating amount of nothing going on.
I know I’m not alone in having found this time in limbo very surreal. I’ve even forgotten about her MAB for days at a time. Lib said when she walked in to the hospital for an MRI last night and noted all the hustle and bustle; it was a bit of a shock to realize she was a part of that. That SHE was the patient.
Finally, something is going to happen.
The MRI results came in this morning. Four months since the MAB first arrived on the scene, and no change. It has not grown. YES! Fist pump and Whoop! Whoop!
Lib is rested, refreshed and pumped up. It’s time to get rid of the damn thing. Let the MAB SmackDown begin!
The first option with brain tumors is usually operating. Hers isn’t in a great place for that. Her doctors think the best bet is chemo, and she starts next week. She’ll do oral chemo for a year. The average patient handles the drug pretty well, without hair loss and with minimal side affects. Although Lib is usually above average in all things, this is one time we’re hoping she can stifle the over-achiever tendencies and just go for the average. She does have gorgeous, big, blue eyes, though, so she could make bald look good.
Of course, my main concern is how this affects the family weight loss challenge. I can’t help but feel that someone going through chemo has an unfair advantage, given the tendency to hurl. She will be taking anti-nausea drugs, and I hope they are effective. Otherwise, I may need to consult with the diet judges on this issue.
I’m not a big gambler, because I’m pretty cheap. But I’m going with the Vegas odds-makers on this one; in the epic MAB SmackDown, I’m putting all my money on my little sister, Lib.