Gamble

The time has come to start seriously considering the dreaded surgery. The pain has come back and I am now taking so many pills throughout the day that I am constantly looking at the clock and running to my pill case. Which is hard enough and would be OK if that was the only obstacle with taking them. But as usual, there is a dark side (bum bum bum-- supposed to be shocking music).

These pills, and I am not sure which one, have the lovely side effect of giving me grade A, disgusting acne. And no I am not talking about a couple of zits. That I can handle (and have been handling my entire adult life.) No, I am talking about the kind of acne that makes you want to wear turtle necks in the spring time, your hair curtaining your face (remember when I said I am glad to give up my Goth days? Well, I might be revisiting them), and you avert your eyes whenever someone really good looking comes within five feet of you. My God, I am a 13 year old again.

Now, imagine all of this, all that I will feel when my husband comes home. I think he will turn around and pretend he doesn't know me, except, he does want to see his kids. So they will be there to distract him enough to let me quickly throw on a turtle neck and enough makeup to hide underneath.

I don't think I am being vain by considering the surgery due to horrible acne. The pain is making me take more and more pills. And I am not sure my kidneys and liver can handle the amount of drugs coursing through them. Apparently my skin can't. I do, however, have to consider the risks and side effects of the surgery. And the fact that it is only effective in 80% of the people who get the surgery. And I just know that I will be in that unlucky 20%. Let us not gloss over nor forget that only 1 to 15 people in 100,000 get this condition in the first place. Again...not so lucky in stats.

So what do I do? Do I go under and have the docs cut open my head and "move my brain over" to place a disk between a blood vessel and a nerve? (I imagine it like a slot machine. Insert the disk, pull on my arm and my eyes spin around.) Do I risk the infections that could occur? Do I risk the swelling of the brain? Do I risk the fact that it might not work?

I don't know. I do know that the pain is back and doesn't seem to be going away. I do know that I can't live like this. But I also know that I can't imagine my kid's lives without me if something should go wrong. Or the look on my husband's face if something should go wrong.

But the pain is back. It is back and I have at least 30 more years to go. 30 years of turtle necks and shaggy hair cuts? Of ice packs and more and more and more pills? So do I risk the 30 years?

Do I?