Ever since my brain tumor was finally diagnosed, I’ve been told I was something of a medical miracle. Apparently, a tumor that size should have knocked me out for the count a lot sooner than it did. At the very least, I shouldn’t have been able to prance around in stilettos and constantly master the new technology necessary to do my job, let alone fly around the country as I’d been doing every week for five years.
More than three years later, I still have no idea how to feel about that. People always ask me how I could have not known that something was wrong. To be clear, I’ve never said I didn’t know something was wrong. I remember being super tired a lot, but I was living in North Carolina and working a project in Beverly Hills. I chalked the fatigue up to the stress of being bi-coastal, and the idea that I could honestly make that claim was so thrilling to me at the time that a little tiredness didn’t seem like such a big price to pay.
Of course, brain tumors don’t exactly tickle, but it wasn’t as painful as you might imagine.