So I've always found myself LOVING School House Rock. I mean, for kids that despise learning....IT'S GENIUS!
I've always been partial to the episodes that focused on the proper use of English. ( Lolly lolly lolly, get your ADVERBS here!)
For tests, I was the odd one out because I preferred essay questions over multiple choice. NERD ALERT!
Anyway, I'm in the beginnings of writing a book. I know...my story isn't more important than the next person struggling with an illness. I just find it therapeutic for me to write. I'm aware that commas and semicolons are in no way, shape, or form correct. A lot needs to be added and/or changed...I'm just spitting words in the form of my typing.
Here goes...
I am an Aries, bordering on the line of being a Taurus. This translates to “I’m sassy and a little confrontational, but I am the first one to run and hide when something confronts me.” My senior year of high school was set to be the best. I had earned so many credits, that I could get to school at 8 am, then throw on my sunglasses at lunch and come home to be back asleep by 1 pm. I was set to be living the life with courses like “Student Service” and “Peer Counseling”.
On Thursday, November 13, 2005, I went into my dad’s room to say something very unimportant about a very important TV show, Cops. As I started to speak, the same syllable came out of my mouth. “The-the-the-the-the-they sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh”. The next 45 seconds were a blur of my dad screaming for my brother to call 911, me being so insanely scared that I couldn’t breathe, and my dad trying to calm me down. By the time the paramedics had arrived, about 10 minutes AFTER I had taken my makeup off(...just my luck.) my face was pale white and my heart rate was racing. “Do you know your name?” they asked. Ok, I’m 17... not suffering from Alzheimer’s. “Kirsten Nicole Trimble”. “Do you know where you are, Kirsten?” “Yes. My dad’s house.” I can’t recall what the next few minutes contained, but I’m almost positive that my seventeen year old materialistic self, who demanded $300 in make up for her birthday, was thinking, “Damn, this EMT is freaking gorgeous! Do I look cute? Of course not!!! Why did you take your makeup off?”, as if I predicted this happening. At least my hair was halfway done and I didn’t smell. My dreamy paramedic friend appeared over me and asked “How are you doing, Kirsten?” I answered “ya know, I’m doing really well. How about yourself?!”, as if we were on a date. After he had himself a chuckle, he replied, “I’m doing great. We are going to be taking you to the nearest emergency room. I promise you will be in good hands.” Sounded like a swell idea! (I said “swell” because even now, I speak more eloquently when I’m flirty or nervous.)
We arrived and I felt like a VIP! What?! Who knew that ambulances had their own entrance to the emergency room?! I wasn’t familiar as to how hospitals operated, but I was completely satisfied with the celebrity treatment that I was getting!
“Kristin Trimble?” The doctors were entering and though I didn’t happen to catch their names; they had my results! “It’s Kirsten...”, I said...as if they cared. “Well KIRSTEN, we wish we had better news......as I’m thinking to myself “NO. NO. NO. I’d rather not even know if it’s bad news!” They didn’t listen! Then in slow motion, “You have a brain tumor and it needs to come out right away.”
Me??...Kirsten Nicole Trimble? Are you sure that’s my scan, doctor? The next 30 minutes were a blur because I broke down screaming and crying at the top of my lungs while my parents stood, wide eyed and jaw dropped, staring at the MRI.
I was immediately transfered to UCLA by some of the most gorgeous EMTs. I remember thinking, “WHY did I take off my make up before I had my stutter-fest?”
Then the “God” conversation came up in my head. If God did exist, which I wasn’t completely convinced of yet, why would God do this to me? If He does exist, he must REALLY hate me. What did I do to Him? Isn’t the saying “What goes around, comes around,”? Ok, I’m not a perfect angel. I know...shocking! I’ve been drunk like 5 times, smoked once-ICK!, and yes mom, I’ve had pre-marital sex. I was no different than any of my other friends; I was actually better behaved.
AAAAAAANNNNNNDDDD! If he does exist, then I have one question for him, “WHY ME?! Why not the Timothy McVay’s of the world? Why not someone in Texas that was scheduled to get the death penalty the next day? Why was I the lucky 17 year old girl “chosen” to have a brain tumor? Not even a small tumor, a small-orange sized tumor located in my left frontal lobe? Why weren’t my “friends” coming around to see me? That’s it....there is NO GOD!
November 17,2005- The day that will forever be engraved on my theoretical headstone. Something that I will never forget is the nurse that woke me up. She acted like it was just another day in the life and I was just another patient. “HELLO!” This is the day that I had been losing sleep over (Side note- doesn’t everyone wish that hospitals had memory foam mattresses, or at least egg crates). I remember my dance instructor calling at a time I like to refer to as “zero dark thirty” and telling me that everyone was praying for me. I believed her. I was seventeen years old...and going under the knife.
Surgery was successfully performed by a brilliant surgeon who had me out and walking in 3 days recovery. I was young and otherwise healthy, so I was right on track.
About a week later, I was adjusting to life and whatever my new “normal” was. New normal consisted of me sleeping for 20 hours a day with the intermittent antibiotic/steroid/pain killer/stool softener/super duper brain healer.
