Chapter 77: Celebrating?

One year ago, my “blissfully” ignorant self

Today is January 21st, 2021. I diagnosed myself with a brain tumor while working in Thailand on January 29th, 2020 almost exactly one year ago. Shortly after this diagnosis, I found myself on an emergency flight home to Minnesota for immediate brain surgery, which took place on February 5th, 2020. 

After my diagnosis, I joined a number of brain tumor support groups on social media. Over the past year, I’ve come to find myself feeling a mix of emotions when I read posts in these various groups. Many posts are hopeful as brain tumor warriors share photos and success stories on their “craniversaries,” anniversaries of their craniotomy (brain surgery) day. Thousands of fellow warriors “like” and comment words like “congratulations” and “thanks for giving me hope” on their fellow warrior’s craniversary announcements. “Wow, you’ve made it 15 years? Thank you for sharing!” Or, “You’ve had 30 craniversaries?! You are a rockstar! Any tips?” The list goes on.

As I find myself approaching my very first craniversary, I’ve been reflecting on what I should do to celebrate. Pre-COVID, I thought I would do something crazy if I lived a whole year past my diagnosis. 

 I’ll travel to Bali, stay in a 5-star resort, and treat myself to the most luxurious spa day of my life. I will deserve it, I used to think. 

Well, traveling is off the list. So, instead, I started to think about more local celebrations. Maybe I’ll throw a giant virtual party. Or, I’ll book myself a staycation at a fancy hotel in Minneapolis and still have my Bali-like spa day (blizzard conditions outside can be ignored while you’re lying face down on a warm massage table).

Every time I got close to booking myself some unnecessary celebratory day, however, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t push “book.” I didn’t know why, but almost simultaneously, the more I thought about my craniversary, the more depressed I felt.  

I’ve written about my history of depression many times in this blog. It is not something I am quiet about. I used to worry admitting I’ve been clinically depressed, have seen a therapist, or take anti-depressants would impact my ability to get a good job as a physician. I worried it would make be seem weak or less competent than my colleagues, who can “do it all” and stay positive throughout. 

But then, I noticed a trend. As I started to talk more openly about my own depression, I found that it was not uncommon for physicians to have depression, anxiety, or other mental illness. In fact, I found out it is surprisingly common for physicians to have depression. So common, actually, that physician suicide is an incredibly real problem in the medical community. A colleague in Minnesota recently died by suicide, making this issue all the more prominent in my mind. 

I write this blog today for a few reasons:

1)    As I’ve said before, I refuse to feel shame that I have been depressed.

2)    I want mental illness to be a topic we can all talk about openly, no matter what career we have, what religion we practice, where we live, what our cultural norms are, etc.

3)    I want non-medical people around the world to realize that depression is not uncommon. It is very common. I also want people around the world to realize that depression is treatable. It is an illness, and like so many other illnesses, we have treatments to help heal this illness. 

4)    If you feel depressed, you are not alone. It is the middle of a long winter during a long, long year filled with unexpected challenges for us all and it is hard. We can do it.

5)    You can admit you have depression, or anxiety, or PTSD, or an alcohol problem, and I will not think any less of you. I hope that someday, no one will think less of you for your bravery in admitting your own very difficult truth. 

What does depression have to do with my craniversary, you might wonder? Well, as my craniversary approaches, instead of feeling joyous, I have been feeling miserably sad. 

I should be happy; my mind keeps telling me. What is wrong with me, I wrote an entire book about finding happiness, and my own goddamn mind won’t stop feeling sad this week. 

Well, friends, this is the cruel trick of depression and how it is treated in our society. We are brainwashed to feel guilty when we feel sad. “Get it together, you’re tougher than this” we think.

For me, I’ve tried to piece together why my approaching craniversary has made my depression more active. I realized that writing about it may be the most therapeutic thing I can do for myself today. Writing over the past year has been one form of therapy for me, and already, as I type these words, I feel better. 

I sit here, typing, and I realize why I am sad. I am not sad that I have cancer. I am not sad that I can’t travel to Bali for my craniversary. I am not sad that life has turned out differently than I expected. I am sad because I miss the ignorance I had one year ago. 

On this week last year, I did not know I had a brain tumor. I was living my life, blissfully ignorant of the huge tumor in my right frontal lobe. I had no clue I would soon be rushed into brain surgery, no idea that I would go through one craniotomy, let alone two. I was ignorant to the fact that I would go through six weeks of radiation therapy, six months of chemotherapy, lose all of my hair, and lose my symmetrical smile after experiencing peripheral nerve damage.

 I realized today that, in a silly way of describing it, I am jealous of me from one year ago. I am jealous of the fact that one year ago, I didn’t have to worry about cancer. I didn’t have to worry about social distancing, wearing a mask, hugging my friends. I didn’t have to worry about not being able to travel, not being able to go to the gym, not being able to have a big birthday party or a holiday dinner with extended family.

Damn, I am jealous of that person. That blissfully ignorant person, just one silly short year ago. But, is it worth my time or my energy to be jealous of an ignorant version of myself? Obviously not. 

I’ve accomplished a lot of good in that same year. I’ve learned to be a better version of myself, a more well-rounded physician, a more caring person. I’ve become a better writer, a more confident friend, a happier person, and a better advocate. I’ve educated myself, learned and unlearned, spoken up, been loud, proud, and unafraid. 

I still have depression. But, you know what? I know how to help myself now. Step one, I admit how I’m feeling. Step two, I continue to take my anti-depressants. Step three, I schedule an appointment with my therapist. Step four, I write and try to figure out my feelings in the process (this doesn’t always work, and that’s ok too). Step five, I share all of this with you, because I am a human with flaws just like everyone else on this earth. Step six, I book myself a damn massage for my craniversary because I f*cking deserve it. Step seven, I ask you and I beg you, if you need help too, please get help.

Ignorance is not bliss. Ignorance is literally “unawareness,” “witlessness,” and “inexperience.” My friends, I don’t want to be any of those. I want to be aware, full of wit, and experienced. 

My witty, experienced self has depression and she is aware of it. She will take steps to find happiness and comfort so that she can help others do the same. 

Love you all. I am here for you. Please get help if you need it. 

Fondly,

Courtney 

©CB2021