Today was a day I had been looking forward to for a long time. Make fun of me all you want, but today was Wild 94.9's Wild Jam concert featuring Drake, who as pop as he may be, is one of my favorite rap/hip hop/urban/whatever artists currently out there, and my good friend was able to get me into the show for free. I was super fucking excited to see a dude who I had been pretty fucking into since last summer, and it was going to be nice to get out of town for the night. So I finished up a rather lackluster night of Djing at Eli's last night, sped home, and fell asleep as early as I could, but it was hard because honestly it was like how a little kid feels trying to sleep on Christmas Eve.
When I woke up today, I had a couple of missed phone calls from my internist. I am not a particularly big fan of using the phone in general, so I figured I'd get back to him when I was damn good and ready, and hopped in the shower. I hadn't been in the shower for more than three minutes when I heard my grandma pounding on the bathroom door and telling me that Dr. Chen was on the phone, Now, as I have stated in earlier posts, tensions in this apartment have been running a tad high due to being in such close quarters under the stress of me being sick combined with the generational differences in methods of coping with illness and stress, but I know that my grandma wouldn't be pounding on the bathroom door mid shower for no good reason. I told her I'd be out in a minute, turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and went into the kitchen to get the phone.
On my Tuesday doctor's visit, my doctor ordered some blood tests, specifically for my liver, kidney, and thyroid. Almost in passing, I had mentioned to him that my sex drive had been more or less non-existent over the last two months. I told him I'm aware that a 30 year old male shouldn't have that perma-boner, fuck anything that walks libido of a teenager, but I figure I am going to tell my doctors anything that's weird or out of character for me because it may lead to finding an end to all this suffering and bullshit I'm going through. My doctor decided to test my testosterone for the hell of it. Low sex drive is normal in people suffering from depression, but hey, what the hell? They already were sticking a needle in me anyway, what's a little more blood, right?
He had called me back to tell me that my liver, kidney, and thyroid tests had all come back normal, but something was seriously wrong with my testosterone. I asked him to explain to me what that meant.
According to my doctor, the average range of the testosterone level of an adult male is between 200 and 800. A thirty year old male in relative good health should be somewhere around the 500 range. What level was I, you ask? 34.
Yeah, you read that right 34. Not even in triple fucking digits. Not even the low side of normal. If you want my term for being that far off of the normal range, it would be PRETTY FUCKED UP.
He had ran some tests regarding my pituitary gland, and the findings to that were also not up to par. He told me he had already referred me to an endocrinologist, order two very specific blood test that the endocrinologist would need to start her work, and ordered me an MRI for my brain. His early prognosis is that I have a tumor in, or near my pituitary gland, which is located a the base of my brain at the top of my neck, and that it would have to be cut out in order to render this problem solved. He said that while it isn't necessarily related, he wouldn't rule out all of my gastrointestinal issues being a side effect of this gland problem, but that would have to be something that was studied and documented after i had addressed the pituitary issue.
So, to sum that up in a real short sentence, brain surgery is in my near future.
When I got off the phone, I didn't really know how to feel. On one hand, this was the first bit of medical info I have gotten since all of this started that actually had like, a tangible end to it. It was the first thing a doctor had said to me that made some sort of sense, and discovered a problem that had a solution. On the other hand, its a fucking TUMOR that requires fucking BRAIN SURGERY. That's a little more of a big deal than like, getting your wisdom teeth pulled.
I called my parents, let my besets of friends know, let some other people know, then got it together enough to head down to the show. I mean, tumor or not, fucking Drizzy was playing tonight and I wasn't about to miss that for anything. His set was incredible, and it completely got my mind off of my health for 45 minutes. However, I headed back to Oakland from San Jose, stopped by a friends, and before I knew it, I was back to being alone in my room with the weight of this new found discovery bearing down on me like a whole new, much larger monkey is now on my back,
So now its 2:23am, I'm eating graham crackers and drinking cranberry juice, and riding a pharmaceutical buzz (sorry family, you drink wine or smoke weed, I eat the valium that I'm prescribed, accept reality). I have lived through hard times, walked through the fire, made mistakes and took lessons away from them, and am not one to cower in the face of adversity. It still kills me, however, to think back to June of 2010 and think of how happy and normal my life was going. I had a girlfriend I loved, a job I could tolerate, plans to go to grad school, was playing great music with great friends, and watched all of that slip away from me as I puked and shitted and cramped and cried alone in my grandparents' guest room. I am not asking for free ride. I am not asking for life to be easy. I just want life to not be complicated for like, a year of my life. I want to not have to fight, to be brave, to be strong, to have to endure misery, just for like, a year. How the fuck did I go from riding my bike freely down Broadway every morning to work, bullshitting with Greg, making dinner with Paisley, and playing shows with Loose Endz, to losing 30 lbs and screaming at my grandmother about how i have given up hope on ever finding a cause for my sickness and how I have thought about throwing myself off of the seventh floor balcony of their apartment on more than one occasion? And now, when an answer may have finally presented itself, it mostly likely will involve cutting the base of my skull open to remove some shit from a gland? What the fuck bro?
I've cried more in the last six months than I have in my entire life. I've thrown up more in the last six months than most people probably do in a lifetime. I won't get into the diarrhea because its just downright unpleasant. I have tried to keep my head up and to not put this on everyone I know, and been told I was too self-absorbed to be a good friend. I have cut out negative elements of my life. I have been told that I am too candid in public about how I feel, and that the few small things I do to keep the illusion of having a regular adult life are either counterproductive to my health or detrimental to my feeling better. Essentially, I am failing people at even being sick. I have taken all of this and still I pull myself out of bed, in the morning, in the afternoon, and sometimes after dark. I have done everything every doctor has told me to do. I shit onto saran wrap and scooped into vials and dropped them off to be mailed somewhere and examined. I have gotten so much blood drawn I have track marks. I take antibiotics, anti depressants, anti nausea meds, anti anxiety meds, all of which have side effects that make me feel just as sick, albeit different sick, than i feel anyway.
After doing all that, I now get told that the key to getting this all fixed is going to be a bone saw, a scalpel, anesthesia, and an incredible amount of pain and discomfort.
While I am happy to finally get a lead on something that may actually put an end to all of this, the severity of what the cure may actually be is incredibly soul crushing, and its very hard to smile and keep my head up when brain surgery looms over my future like a squall over open ocean.
I just want a few months of nothing. Of just existing. I don't even remember what that's like. I don't even remember what being me in average health feels like anymore.
I'd like to thank Dre Stewart for getting me into the show tonight, and continually doing me favors like that whenever he gets the chance. I don't ever take what you do, or our friendship for granted, and I look forward to gladly being able to return the favor in any way I can throughout our friendship in the future.
I'd like to thank my family and friends for putting up with me and all of this, and for putting up with however this unfolds in my future. I am fucking scared and angry and puzzled. I am sure I will snap on some of you, say horrifically scary things to others, or perhaps clam up and fall off the face of the earth and not be around for others. I am only a 30 year old with less than perfect social skills who has never been this sick before in his life. I am doing the best I can, and I know that sometimes my best sucks. Just bare with me. I wouldn't wish how I feel right now on anyone in the world. Not even anyone on that very short list in the back of my mind of people who I fucking despise with every inch of my being.
I just want to be me. I am scared of what my future holds, and fuck, I don't even know how to keep talking about this. I am crying all over my keyboard right now. I should probably just shut the fuck up and go to bed.
Either way, today was a day that for 45 minutes, I felt like I was on top of the world screaming along with 15000 other kids to a Canadian rapper who knows to sing, and was pulled to the lowest depths of hell dwelling over the fact that I have to get my skull cut the fuck open.
"...and you just tell me what you down for. Anything you down for. I know things have changed; know I used to be around more, but you should miss me a little when I'm gone. i just hope you miss me a little when I'm gone...gone...gone..."
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