Tumorlicious

Really there is no reason to title this blog "Tumorlicious," since a tumor is probably not too 'licious. Nevertheless, Hi!

I haven't posted in a while. And people (friends, mainly) have been asking me why. Well, it's because I have spent the last two months trying to avoid the subject. Even though I think about it every single day, I have still been avoiding talking about it.

Let's see ... lots of stuff has been going on. I'd like to break it all down in list format. You know how we do.

1. I got a bunch of tests in November, after my doc put me on a watch and wait status.

2. Saw the doc again on December 1. He said, "Wow, you really are dizzy." One of the tests showed that I have only 40% balance function. He ordered me to do some physical therapy to help balance and then said that in March he will do another MRI, and if it (the 'licious tumor) has grown that he is gonna get on the ball and schedule surgery.

3. The surgery will be of the translabyrinthine approach. This procedure provides the best line of sight of the facial nerve and consequently offers the highest success rate of facial nerve preservation for a patient. The downside is that this procedure sacrifices an individual's hearing. It should only be selected when a person has severe hearing loss or the tumor is too large for hearing preservation surgery. Translab is the preferred surgical choice by most doctors when the hearing level is no longer useable. It is also a good choice when a tumor is above 20 mm as, statistically, facial nerve damage increases with large tumors. The entry is behind the ear in which the mastoid bone and some bone in the inner ear is removed.

3b. So, yeah, my inner ear will be removed, rendering me 100% deaf in my left ear. However, my doctor assures me that he can get me approved for the Baha implant which will make me hear again. What? Yep, it's super cool and I will totally be like a bionic woman of sorts.

Except I won't look like this:

Instead, I will look like this:

Not really. Man, that would be a real drag if I looked like that after surgery.

3b. Not only will the inner ear be removed, but the mastoid bone will be removed. And then guess what!?! Doctors will remove a chunk of my belly fat to fill the space where the bone once was and they will put a titanium plate over it and staple up my head. Easy peasy, right? And I plan on taping a note (written in the most beautiful calligraphy) to my belly. And on that note it will say:

Dear Doctors White and Fell: Thank you for taking the time to read this carefully thought-out and planned note. I trust you are doing a good job and not making fun of my belly fat. As you can see, I have plenty of it. Thus, since insurance is covering this procedure, please continue to remove some fat, not just enough to cover the bone replacement in my skull. Surely there are starving kids in Africa or some meat-eating marine life in the Pacific that would like to have a few (hundred) pounds of this belly fat. C'mon, do me this favor, please kind doctors. Also, while you are in there, can you tie my tubes? Again, thanks for treating my body and brain with such care. I owe you one. Love and kisses, Joey

4. Am I still scared? Sure. Am I still avoiding? A little. But the truth is, I have had nearly five months to come to terms with what's going on. I think I'll survive. I hope. If I think about it too much I get really scared. Mainly because I am concerned about finances and who will look after Harry. But I have to rely on knowing that I have good friends. We'll see how good they really are ... when surgery day and recovery time is upon us.

5. Acoustic Neuromas in the media: Well, Dr. House on the prime time show, HOUSE, mentioned acoustic neuromas the other night. I'm telling you, I'm totally making brain tumors cool. I single-handedly made gauchos cool again in 2000 when I came back from Europe. I can totally do the same with brain tumors. You watch! By the time mine is gone, everyone will want one. Veruca Salt will beg her dad for one. Just watch.

5b. Tara Subkoff, fashion designer, had an acoustic neuroma removed. She even had the same type of surgery I am going to have. Harper's Bazaar wrote about it. Because she's famous, and didn't have insurance, all the Hollywood and NYC peeps had a benefit for her. I hope I get a benefit, too. One with lots of beer and pie. I mean, one with lots of sweet and kind supporters.

Anyway, Tara Subkoff had a bit of facial paralysis after her surgery. But it's not too bad.

Here's another picture of her. She's pretty.

6. Gosh, I am forgetting what all I have to talk about. Let's see ... I am on five medications. That's right, five!

7. Oh, GOD, here is the craziest shit ever ... I have an ex-boyfriend who lives in Savannah, Ga., and we are still friends. He's a great friend. But he is totally a tumor spreader. His current girlfriend found out about a month ago that she also has an acoustic neuroma brain tumor. No shit!!!! I shit you not. Seriously, I am not shitting you. Shit! Supposedly only 1 out of 100,000 people in the U.S. have ANs, and he knows TWO! What are the shittin' odds? Shit, I swear my Tourette's normally isn't this bad. Anyway, hers is bigger, much bigger and she is getting surgery next week. I am sure all will go well and she will get through this - especially with the great support Mr. Savannah will give to her. He'll be a great caregiver. She's a lucky tumorlicious-having woman. I digress.

8. Let's see, what has been going on this first month of the new year? Well, I've been sick. Harry's been sick. I've been sick. Harry's been sick. Hung out with the love of my life during the first few days of the month. I've had lots of dinners with Emily. Harry's been sick. I've been sick. Emily has been sick. I've started tai chi. Harry's been sick. I've seen Zach a little. Mom started some sort of radiation-type treatment. She's been sick. I've been sick. I've worked lots. It snowed. I've been sick. JP got new boobies. Harry's been sick. I watched a silly artsy movie called Little Furniture with Emily. Harry turned six. Storm Troopers came to his birthday party. He was sick. Harry threw up in the grocery store. And in my bed. I've been sick. My lips swelled up again due to some allergy. I went to the doctor. That's about it. Let's hope February (the month of love) turns out better.

Love and kisses and tumorliciousnessexpialadocious,

Joey

Big fat whiny late night post ...

It's nearly 11:30 on a Monday night. Around 10:30 tonight I started feeling weird. My upper lip felt funny. So I went to the mirror and HOLY crap, something is clearly wrong. My upper lip is numb and gigantic. In the past hour it's tripled in size. It doesn't hurt, but it has me panicked. And I'm all upset. Mainly I'm feeling sorry for myself.

I have no idea why this is happening. It's like an allergic reaction or a bee sting. But I've done nothing different, haven't eaten anything out of the norm and I haven't been stung by a bee. But as I type this it's getting bigger. My lips are huge at the best of times, but it's so swollen right now that there is absolutely no definition. I am too embarrassed to call my doctor. So I call those closest to me.

BFF offered to go get Benadryl, but was already in bed so I told him to forget it and go to sleep.

Long distance boyfriend said, "Put ice on it and go to bed."

Mom says, "Go to drugstore and get Benedryl or go to hospital if you're so worried." Gee thanks mom.

So, I barely make it off the phone with mom before I start sobbing. Big fat baby infant tears. I'm too proud to call anyone else for help. I don't want to wake up my sleeping child to go to pharmacy. And I'm scared and alone. And it fucking sucks. Bad.

I hate crying. I should take a Xanax.

My head is pounding, my eyes won't stop crying and my lips are the size of two German sausages.

I know that I'm a grown up and can take care of myself, but still I feel alone. It's times like this when I miss my nana the most. She would have woken from a deep slumber to come take care of me. And she would have patted my back until I fell asleep. Man, I really miss her.

I've really enjoyed being single lately, but I'm ready to find a new husband. A partner. Someone who will baby me and tell me it's ok when my lips suddenly and randomly blow up to the size of Detroit. I just want to be looked after.

I'm whiny. My lips aren't going down. They feel funny and they are numb.

I guess I'll just go to bed. I found some Children's Benedryl from 2008 in the medicine cabinet. I took half a bottle with a 2mg Xanax. Hopefully my lips will be normal in the morning. If not, I guess I'll go to doctor.

This has put me in a really bad mood.

Good night.

Love,

Lisa Rinna

UPDATE: I drove myself to hospital. They are admitting me for a sec. More details later.

Thin Dizzy

OK, I am not thin, but I am dizzy. And I love the band Thin Lizzy. I mean, how could you not love this band?

Today, after calling my ENT (the guy who currently has my life in his hands) several times to get some sort of answers, his nurse called me back. I last saw him on November 1 when he told me that he was putting me in a "watch and wait status" and ordered three zillion tests. I have been calling obsessively for more than two weeks and just today got a response. Their excuse? Well, St. Francis health system has recently converted to a new computerized system and he is just now reading the results.

What are the results you ask?

Well, my ECOG (electrochochleography) test came back normal. That means I don't have Meniere's Disease. I didn't think I did.

The ABR (auditory brainstem response) test came back abnormal. Duh. Really? You mean, I can't hear? This is NOT news to me. I could have saved my insurance company an ass load of money had they just taken my word for it. I am pretty much deaf in the left ear. I didn't need a stupid test to prove it. Nevertheless, it did.

The ENG (Electronystagmogram) test came back abnormal. This was the test that had me wearing a pair of sensitive camera goggles for two hours while they did a battery of tests. What did it prove? That I'm dizzy and tinnitus is present. Again, duh!

I had several more tests, and I guess the nurse didn't figure it was important enough to tell me those results. Nevertheless, she said that the doc wants to see me on Monday to go over treatment options. What does this mean? Does this mean that now he sees that the tumor is affecting me he wants to slice my head open and remove it? WTF?! I am in panic mode again. I mean, I've been in the watch and wait mode for a month now and have sorta forgotten about the surgical option.

Who really knows what it means. It probably means that I am going to pay a co-payment and my insurance will pay shit tons of money for the ENT to once again inform me that I have a brain tumor and that I am indeed dizzy and have lost my hearing. I swear to Allah if he says that to me again I will stroke out and go mental on him.

I am so ready to stop thinking about all of this.

But more importantly, I am at a point where I don't even care about the tumor anymore, I am still mourning my hearing loss.

I spent some time with friends this past week. Friends who know about the tumor - friends who know about my hearing loss. But I still had to constantly remind them. It's no different at work or amongst friends and family I see on a daily basis.

Guess what guys!!!! I can't fucking hear! So, please be cognizant and remember it and take the measures to ensure that I can hear you from my good ear (the right one). I think the only person who really remembers and takes the steps to assist me is Emily Elkins. She always remembers to sit on my right side.

Just so you know, friends, I am going to start ignoring you if I can't hear you. It's easier than saying, "huh? what? pardon me? excuse me? what did you say?"

On a positive note ... I talked to my insurance company at length yesterday and they said that if my doctor sends them letters and documentation on my hearing loss that I may get approved for the $30,000 Baha Ear Implant. That's a wicked, surgically implanted thing that looks like a snap that is put into the bone behind my ear and somehow tricks my bad ear into hearing. It's super sci-fi shit! And I want it.

It isn't pretty, so I will have to grow out my hair. And it's not terribly sexy. I mean, the first man who runs his fingers through my hair only to get them stuck on this big gnarly box snapped to my skull is going to run like the wind. Well, hopefully not. But I probably would. Or I would beg to unsnap it and explore the crazy device. Whatever. I just want to hear again from my left ear. After all, I have to work for the next 35+ years, I want to be able to hear what people are saying to me. And, I work in the music industry. I HAVE to be able to hear.

I'm whining, I know. I'll stop. Because, believe it or not, I am in really fantastic spirits and have been. Even during the bad days I realize that things aren't as bad as they could be. I am always very thankful for what I have. I hope I always stay that way.

Ancora Imparo.

I'm Totally Bringing Sexy Back

I haven't posted in a while. Because I haven't really wanted to think about the shit that is going on in my life. Well, I think about it every single day, but I don't like to dwell on the bullshit. Nevertheless, here I am about to dwell, more or less.

I went to my "surgery consultation" on Monday, November 1. Or so I thought. It was simply an ENT surgeon reiterating what I found out in September. NO SHIT! I have a fucking brain tumor. I KNOW THAT!!!!!! Get on with it ... tell me something I don't know.

I truly think all these appointments are ways to get money from me and my insurance company. I could be wrong.

So, doctor number 1, who is located here in Tulsa and the ONLY ENT surgeon who has experience with Acoustic Neuromas and who will work with the only acoustic neuroma-experienced neurosurgeon to remove the tumor, has told me that he doesn't want to do surgery right now.

He put me in the dreaded Watch and Wait mode that all the people I've read about on the Acoustic Neuroma website dread. No one with a brain tumor wants to be told to wait and see.

I should be happy, right? I should be happy that my experienced doctor doesn't think surgery is necessary right now, right? I'm not.

It's not like I am dying to have my head cut open, but I do have the desire to get the tumor out and move on with my life.

I am dizzy all the time, I can't hear (this will NEVER be fixed) from my left ear and the tinnitus is oftentimes unbearable.

Doc #1 scheduled me for a bunch of tests with acronyms I can't even recall - VEMP, ENOG, ENG, ECOG, LMNOPNOG, EGGNOG, etc. OK, so the last two are made up. Doc #1 thinks I have Meniere's on top of it all. Which to be honest, I haven't even googled that because I really couldn't care less. Sad, huh? He thinks I should get all of these tests and then wait until another MRI next year to see how much the tumor has grown. I have nightmares that it grows a centimeter or more. Acoustic Neuromas are generally slow growing, but I lost my hearing in the matter of months, it seems like it's growing fast to me.

The day after I saw Doc #1, Doc #2 called. I sent my MRI scans and reports to him in LA. Doc #2 works for one of the premier Acoustic Neuroma hospitals in the country. Doc #2 has 15 years experience doing acoustic neuroma surgeries on a near weekly basis. He thinks I should not wait because the longer I wait the larger and more difficult it will be to remove. Right now he says he can do the translab approach which means a smaller incision and minimal to no brain exposure. Also he only estimates 1% temporary facial nerve damage. Also, he says I will be recovered and quite possibly back at work in less than a month. WTF!?!? The problem with Doc #2 is that insurance would be a bitch to work with - it might take months of denials and appeals to get the insurance to cover surgery in another state.

Two doctors, two completely different opinions. So WTF do I do??? I don't know. Is Doc #1 scared of doing the surgery? If he were to do it would he fuck it up? Sorry, I think I have used the word fuck at least 1,900 so far. I'm just in a fucking mood. Is Doc #2 just after the money? I don't know. Right now I don't want to spend the $500+ for a third opinion, but I think that is what I might have to do.

What would you do???

 Please tell me. I am at such a loss right now.

I don't normally post hideously ugly photos of myself. This is where you chime in and say, "Joey, all your photos are hideously ugly." But, I am going to post this one. I don't have my glasses on and you can see my dark circles and my Native American-looking face (you may not know this, but I am 7/16 Cherokee - that's a lot for a white girl). This photo epitomizes my mood. This is when I was getting the ENOG, I think. The test that uses a stun gun sorta thing that shocks my face off over and over and over and over and over ad nauseam at varying degrees from low to high until the computer says I can't take it anymore. Fun!

Here is a picture of my dead dad. He is full blood Cherokee and died in 2005 in Baqubah in the Diyala province of Iraq, at the hands of someone who didn't respect life, much like he didn't. A suicide bomber. I think I look just like him, except he is brown and I am white.

Here is a picture of my brother I have never met.

Sometimes I wish I had brown skin. I could do without the Dawes tribe's broad shoulders, though. Actually, I could do without the Dawes Tribe!

I am seriously digressing.

Here is a picture of the stun gun medical device they used to stun me.

I have more tests tomorrow.

I guess I will wait to talk to Doc #1 again before I make anymore decisions.

I haven't eaten refined sugar since Sunday and have only had water to drink since Sunday. I am in a shitty mood all around. Everything is seriously starting to get to me. My brain tumor, lack of support with Harrison (this could be a completely different blog topic - all about Harrison's selfish father), dizziness, the fact that I seem to have zero social life anymore, my son's sadness about not seeing his father and "wanting a new daddy," not being able to hear from my left ear (this somewhat depresses me - a lot), not having my boyfriend near me, and general day to day stress.

But, I am still keeping a positive attitude - really, I am. And I am trying to keep my sense of humor. I have really amazing friends and family and a super awesome son. I am lucky.

I'll write later when I feel better.

Ancora imparo, for real.

What Did You Say?

I'm grieving.

I'm grieving the loss of my hearing.

Although I am remaining very positive about my present state and my future, I can't help but grieve something that I have already lost. And I can't be positive that I will regain any of my hearing.

It's a sad process. Losing your hearing.

But it's gone. There isn't much I can do about it. I think I might be able to find some comfort in getting a hearing aid after my surgery, but the sadness is still present.

I started really noticing my hearing loss at the first of the year. I would slam my phone down and cuss it out - blaming the stupid iPhone, rather than thinking it was my hearing.

In May I was out to dinner with a bunch of friends and I was so frustrated because I couldn't hear what everyone was saying, so I left the dinner and went home and cried. That's when I knew something was wrong.

I like to be the center of attention. And that isn't easy to do when I can't hear what everyone is talking about.

Saying "huh" all the time gets annoying - even to me. So, I have found that I have been saying, "What did you say?"

It has also come to my attention that I have to remind my friends and family that I can't hear from my left ear and to please speak in my right ear. It's heartbreaking, even though I never let it show.

I never thought I would have to say, "Excuse me, I can't hear you, can you please speak into my right ear." Old people have to say that ... not vibrant 38-year-olds.

But here I am bitching again, when things in my life could be much worse. I could lose my hearing in both ears. I could have been born deaf. I have a lot to be thankful for.

But I want to have a pity party right now. I am sad. I can't hear out of my left ear. I can hear noise, but I can't make out speech.

Friday night I took Harry to see his favorite band of all time, Muse! It was a great time. I found myself plugging up my right ear (my good ear) to see what I could hear from my bad ear. I could hear noise and sound, but couldn't make out what that noise and sound was exactly. It was very strange.

I'm sad, goddammit! I want to hear again. I want to talk on the phone using my left ear.

You know, my left ankle is jacked up, too. I have plates and pins and screws in it. Forever. I want to bitch about that, too. But I won't.

I am lucky. I have it good. I have the use of my limbs, my mind, my heart. I am lucky.

I've decided that I want to get a landline. I am nervous to only speak on my cell phone, as I really have a sneaking suspicion that my acoustic neuroma was caused by radiation from my cell phone.

I want this phone from ebay. Or one like it.

I like the color pink.

Thank God I still have my eyesight.

I am lucky!

How Did That Tic Tac Get There?

So far on this short journey I have discovered who loves me - I mean, those who truly love and care about me. A lot of you do. I really think I am probably one of the luckiest people alive to have so many loved ones. Thank you.

So, one of my dear loved ones, Bruce, sent me a picture text message on Monday that said: "Your neuroma is smaller than a tic tac."

Since I told Bruce about my brain tumor, he has spent countless hours researching my schwannoma. He has been so positive about everything and it has really been helpful. I've known Bruce for about a year and I've discovered that he is constantly seeking wisdom - especially about faith issues. Well, he has a lot of faith in me and my survival and he has faith that I will get through this. And for that, I am thankful. Thank you, Bruce - I appreciate your positive energy and efforts to keep me smiling.

I'm still constantly thinking about my tumor (I also refer to it as CiCi [short for candy corn]) and how it is affecting me. My symptoms have become more noticeable now that I know it's there. Tinnitus, dizziness, loss of hearing and headaches. I seem to be more tired than usual, but that's probably stress.

But what keeps me up the majority of nights is the simple question of why me? Why did I get a brain tumor? What do I have in common with one in 100,000 other people who have Acoustic Neuromas?

First let me say that I consider myself lucky. Lucky that I have a 99.9% benign brain tumor. Lucky that my tumor is the size of a tic tac and not the size of a plum. Lucky that my tumor isn't already causing daffiness and facial paralysis. I'm lucky.

But really, why me.

I've thought about it and here is what I have come up with ... did one of the following cause my tumor?

1. Radiation: Though it hasn't been scientifically proven, it is said that radiation from cell phones might be linked to acoustic neuromas. But MILLIONS and BILLIONS and TRILLIONS of people use cell phones everyday, yet still only 1 in 100,000 people have acoustic neuromas. My friend Emily sent me links to a few articles regarding cell phones being linked to high radiation levels. (Be sure to click on both links if you are interested, as they are different.)

Reading one woman's account of her brain tumor surgery she mentioned waking up and immediately requesting her cell phone. That would be indicative of a cell phone addiction problem, which I definitely have. So, really, could I have this thing on my 8th cranial nerve because I talk on my cell phone too much? I mean, I have spent five years with long distance boyfriends - why don't they have acoustic neuromas? Not that I would wish that on anyone.

When I was a little girl I used to microwave dinners for my brother and myself every night. I would stand by the microwave door waiting for the timer to ding. Did my hunger and impatience give me this damn tumor?

2. Drugs: I was a bad teenager. I'm not proud of it. I liked to experiment with drugs. Not just the typical marijuana, but the bad stuff. I mean, I didn't shoot up, but I did like poppers and huffing stuff and other stuff. It was fun and funny. And hallucinations were fun to me. I blame Timothy Leary and Tom Wolfe and rock and roll. Which brings me to ...

3. Loud Music: I've been to a lot of loud shows in my 38 years. A lot. From the time I was a little girl I have loved music. I have stood next to loud, thumping speakers at least 200 hundred times. But so have billions of other people.

4. Mercury: No, not the planet, but the element. One of my stepfathers had a little vial of it when I was a little girl. I would always sneak it out of his sock drawer and pour it into my hand or on a table and break it up. It was fascinating to me. I seriously played with it a lot. It probably wasn't good for me and may very well have given me a tumor.

I mean, what little kid wouldn't want to play with this?

5. Lead Paint: I once had a little armoire when I was a baby. I remember it. It was right next to my bed. It was painted pink. I had a horrible early childhood and this is one of the only things I remember. I was VERY young and as a way of coping with the stress of being in an abusive household (this was obviously before I lived with my dear Nana), I would lay in bed and pick off the paint. It peeled off quite easily and it would relax me - even as a toddler. I would peel of the paint and eat it. I don't know why I would eat it, but I would. Gross, I know. It had to have had lead in it. Is that what made me get a tumor?

6. Pregnancy: Last year my friend Lisa died. After her second child was born she was diagnosed with AML (leukemia) and she died within a year - before her baby's first birthday. The doctors said that it was always there, that she was born with it. But they also told her that it was her pregnancy that made it flare up. I am sure the doctor didn't use the phrase "flare up." But it was because her body changed during pregnancy. My doctor said that my tumor has been around for about five years. My son is five years old. I am sure it's just a coincidence.

7. Mark: I blame Mark for everything now days. We broke up five years ago. It's his fault. I should stick to that. Anytime I am around Mark this is what happens ...

I'm kidding. I don't blame Mark for anything. But it would be easy to blame him for a lot. In the past month I have often thought, why on earth isn't he the one with the tumor. He deserves it more than me. But that is malicious. He doesn't deserve this. No one does.

8. Diet Coke (and other processed bullshit): I have had lots of diet coke in my day. It's not good for you. When I was pregnant my doctor told me to drink full sugar pop if I was going to drink it at all. Artificial sweeteners just aren't good. It does horrible things to rats. What about all the MSG and shit I put into my body on a daily basis. My fat ass is proof that I have obviously exceeded moderation. So, should I blame processed food or artificial sweetener? It'd be easy to.

9. Men: I know you can't catch brain tumors, but if you could, I would have definitely caught it from a few of the men I have dated in the past. I mean, there was that catholic loser who thought he could "save me," or the jerky doctor who punched me in the face and what about the race car driver guy with one leg? I swear, I am not making this shit up. Which brings me to ...

10. Karma: So, yeah, the race car driver with one leg was a really nice guy. I broke up with him because he had one leg. I couldn't handle it. That's shitty. Is this tumor karma's way of biting me in the ass so to speak? Probably. Do I deserve it? Maybe. But really I am a very nice, thoughtful girl, typically. I don't deserve this at all. But who does?

Last week my housekeeper (Jonna - she is amazing and you should use her. Plug for Jonna! Holler!) told me that people like me get tumors. At first I was like, gee thanks! But then she went on to say that it's because I am strong and can handle it better than most people. And that she thinks that I am capable of being positive and fighting and getting through it with flying colors. I think it was a compliment. I think she thinks the same thing Bruce does - that I am strong, powerful, thoughtful, capable and ready to kick this tumor's ass. They are right. I am ready. Scared shitless, but ready nonetheless.

Thanks for sticking with me.

Why learning about cool people with brain tumors makes me feel so much better about mine ...

I took a vacation.

A VACATION!!!!!!

Although I have traveled quite a bit in recent years (on business, to see my long distance boyfriend(s), to visit friends, etc.), I haven't had a proper vacation since 2004.

I really needed this vacation. Five days on sea and in Mexico. It was glorious. I mean, it was a really, really good time.

I went with my friend Emily.

I laid out on the beach and didn't want to leave.

I drank copious amounts of booze.

I sweated. A lot.

We got sunburned.

I watched my worries float away. At least for a moment.

It was over way too quickly.

I used all my vacation time, which in hindsight is probably stupid considering I will have to take unpaid leave after surgery. But I don't care. I needed this vacation - it very well could be my last.

I know, I know ... that's so macabre.

Whatever.

But vacation isn't the subject of today's blog.

Last night, whilst surfing the Internets, I came across something that turned my frown upside down. That's such a grandma phrase and really, I wasn't frowning at all.

One of my favorite actors, and definitely one I crush on from time to time, also had an acoustic neuroma. Get ready for it ...

SEXY ASS MARK RUFFOLO had surgery for his AN back in 2002 and suffered serious facial paralysis. Which he later overcame 99% of it.

I think you can sorta see the bottom left of his lip is still a little dangly and super cute. If I have sexy, cute, adorable, hangy paralysis lip like Mark Ruffolo after my surgery I will be chuffed.

Chuffed = British slang for pleased, satisfied, etc.

Is it just me, or is Mark Ruffolo the cutest actor on the planet?

Upon researching Mark and his tumor, I found this guy:

Adorable, Hilarious, Funny Tumor Guy Who Wanted To Call Mark Ruffalo

I might write to this guy. His tumor is different than mine, but nevertheless, he seems funny.

Hey, it just struck me that humor rhymes with tumor. I should write a rap. I will write a rap. A humorous tumorous rap.

My surgery consult is on November 1. They (not really sure how to define who "they" is) say that surgery is scheduled VERY soon after your surgery consult, so I'm thinking that my surg will be in early November. There is so much to get done.

1. Finish my living will. (This is very sad for me - and I will surely blog about it.)
2. Clean my office and write several schedules and to do lists for while I am recovering, or in case I die. (This is a huge project.)
3. De-hoard. Meaning, clean and organize my whole house so I can recover comfortably.
4. Figure out how I am going to live financially during recovery. I might have to hook this month in order to build up a nest egg so my son can eat and I can have cable and Internets - oh, and a roof over our heads.
5. Write letters and journal for my little boy. In case I die.
6. Seek therapy for this little issue I am having regarding death.
7. Love on my son as much as possible.
8. Get a bitchin' haircut that will include shaving the left side of my head in a fashionable manner.
9. Call all my creditors, utilities, etc., to see if I can get extensions and forgiveness on bills I will owe during recovery time.
10. Have copious amounts of sex. Just kidding. Although I wish I weren't.

That's all for now.