Vertigo

Lynd Ward Unfinished Wordless Novel

I was on my back last night when I began to feel dizzy and it reminded me of the vertigo that I had four years ago, though last night I did not get sick but the dizziness frightened me.  I did not tell Rose because I did not want to frighten her but then I became too frightened not to say something. This vertigo reminded me of a print by Lynd Ward from his unpublished woodcut novel where the man is floating in a world of numbers and letters that does not make any sense. This woodcut was completed during the later years of Ward's life when he was suffering from Alzheimer's disease. It also brought back the day that I became aware that something was tragically wrong with me and went to see a doctor. That was actually the first (incorrect) diagnosis that the doctor suggested before an MRI was taken based on the fact that I could no longer speak correctly or remember simple things like the time of the day, the month and day of the week. I remember how helpless I felt and then, ironically how relieved I felt that it was not Alzheimer's but a brain tumor.  At least, I thought, I have a chance with a brain tumor...Alzheimer's spelled slow death.  I forgot how hopeless I felt and how quickly I grasped at any hope even if it mean dealing with radiation and chemotherapy.  And now I am grasping with a sense of hope that this vertigo will go away so that I can read or look outside without feeling sick. I close my eyes and wait and see what he has planned for me now?

The Beast at my Side

The Beast at my Side

He seems to come out when I am tired and anxious. He has always been around me even as a boy. Since my brain cancer, I have worked through my aphasia to regain some confidence and trust with my language skills. The beast is always around. He doesn't even have to show his face.  Sometimes he grinds his teeth at night which wakes me up or pounds my chest until I feel like I am having a heart attack. A leg cramp works effectively as well as itching that does not seem to stop. He loves watching me scratch myself raw. When I feel as though I am getting better, I forget the simplest skills--I can't seem to add simple numbers or remember a word that I want to use in a sentence. I spent more time correcting my grammar and still find mistakes after reading a post over and over again. I tell myself not to pay attention to his abuse--that I am a better person and that goodness will reward me.  But that parochial thinking is getting more difficult to accept. The worse days are when I no longer have the energy to fight him and I let myself sink down into this dark room where I have a moment of peace listening to myself breathing before he bombards my head with a cacophony of crazy sounds and images. How can anyone understand these feelings since what everyone around me sees is a pleasant enough man--a man they remember with respect and admiration. And when they see me today, other than loosing my hair (which I probably will never recover) and a little weight, they cannot see the beast.  The first words out of their stupid mouths is "how good I look." Instead of smiling at them, I would like to bite off their heads! I was not prepared for this reaction. Having this thought and feeling, I suddenly noticed that the beast at my side was quiet for a moment.  What was that about?    

Brain Tumor

MRI of my head with brain tumor

Throughout my life I have had many photographs taken of me and was always considered handsome.  As I grew older, my sense of self always remained inside the flattering image I had of myself. As I grew older, that image never really changed in my mind, though my appearance certainly began to change over the years.  I was beginning to mistrust my perception when I saw it on occasion in a mirror and certainly after someone I had not seen in a while commented that "I looked good," which translated that I really had changed in appearance and was no longer appealing.  All those moments of vanity and denial that I experienced in the last ten years was nothing compared to seeing myself from an entirely different perspective.  In my case it was the MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) of my head with the large tumor in the upper left hand side of my head.  I looked more like an apparition from a horror movie. But this was a snapshot of something very real.  It was hard for me to come to terms with this honest picture of myself.  I looked at it for the longest time and even downloaded a copy so that I could have it on file.  What was I looking for?  Was there a secret message hidden in this image that only I could translate? Is that a smile that I see on the MRI? Is this all just a big joke? The worst part of this ordeal was that the tumor was putting so much pressure on my brain that I was losing my cognitive skills. Reading, writing, and talking were difficult. When was I ever going to see that smiling face that I was so use to seeing every day?

Self Portrait After Surgery

Self Portrait After Surgery. Ink wash, 2014

This blog, The Silent Despair, is a reflection of the flood of memories, fantasies, fears, and hopes that followed the recent discovery and removal of a brain tumor.  This event turned my world up-side-down and wrapped around me like boa constrictor, squeezing out all hope of a normal life again.  I want to capture these feelings and events which have followed me through radiation and chemo therapy and continue through my aphasia therapy in hope of finding those lost cognitive skills that I took for granted all my life. During this journey, I will include as many images to display feelings that I cannot express in words--only in pictures.  I no longer have the complex communication skills necessary to understand the words that I hear; how to say what I want to say verbally and in writing; how to comprehend and retain what I read; and how to communicate on a social level with faculty, staff, colleagues, and friends. 

This is not a "get well" card.  It is more like a shout to myself.  Listen!