Go Ahead and Stare. Look. It's my insides. And, yes, it looks like there is a golf ball stuck somewhere above my left hip. I have to remind those guys to yell "Fore" when they are teeing of into my party.

Kidding.

Schwannoma. Everyone say it with me: Schwannoma.

It's basically a tumor. What a 4-letter word. TUMOR.

And this is nowhere near as cathartic is you may think it is for me. But you're helping. Read on.

Your nerves are like an electrical wire, with sheathing and insulation built in. The myelin, or outside covering of the nerve is made up of Schwann cells. If we go to our friend, Mr. Pedia, Wiki Pedia - if you will - he (or she) says:

A schwannoma (also known as a "Neurilemmoma")is a kind of tumor originating from the Schwann cells. The insulating myelin sheath which covers peripheral nerves is produced by the Schwann cells. Hence, one kind of tumor originating from the Schwann cells is called a schwannoma.

Now you're reading my blog thinking "why in the world am I reading about this guy's ailment?" For a few of reasons. First, it helps me to talk about it. Talking about it helps me to not have as bad a case of nerves (get it? It's a nerve tumor). It's likely not malignant, so I don't think I'm terribly concerned about that. It's also therapeutic to put it on paper, albeit a product that is virtual. Hopefully someone, anyone, who reads this may have had a similar experience and can offer me some words of encouragement. Third, and last, my family have been saintly about listening to me be scared about this thing. They love me, but they need a break. So I am sharing it en masse, and we'll see where it goes.

If you knew me (way back when) you may not believe the following statement: I am a nervous guy. I have lots of anxiety. A lot of that comes from not allowing the past to leave me. Notice that was an active tense: I don't let the past leave me. I'm working on it. But sometimes forgiveness is a hard pill to administer - especially to yourself. That being said, with anxiety comes lots of side effects. Sometimes sick, sometimes panic, sometimes worried, sometimes not. But I remember in January of 2008, I complained to my dear wife, that I felt like I had a knot in my leg. I went to the doctor and he ended up diagnosing me for acid reflux (go Zegarid!), and sending me on my way. It wasn't until October of 2008 that I finally stayed on my doctor to finally look at my leg. He thought it was a "Neuroma", which is basically a damaged or blocked neural path. But to be safe, he sent me to a Neurologist. They did a bunch of tests, the most memorable of which was jabbing my leg with the equivalent of diabetic sharps, and a neural relay, where they hooked up electrodes to my leg at all points and then shocked my leg and tested the response from the imp[ac point to the electrode. But when all was said and done, they sent me to have a MRI. MAGNETIC RESONANCE IMAGING. Yeah, they pass you through a magnetic field that basically takes a picture of your insides. Hence, the photo to your upper left.

(Not much longer...I promise)

"You have a Schwannoma in your back, and it needs to come out". One neurologist and 6 months later and here we are.

So why be scared? You guessed it - SURGERY! I have to have surgery this year, and I am terrified of it. The possibility of being out cold and completely out of control petrifies me to no end. I have a great love of life and I do not wish to die just yet. I have a great wife and best friend, and two kids that I want to see grow, graduate, and marry. The surgery is not anytime soon, but this was a surgery that was around a couple of corners...that is until my doctor said (at my last visit) "We need to go ahead and get that thing out this year".

The tumor is not in the spine, which is good, but it's in my back. To either side of your spine there are 2 long muscles. these are called the Psoas muscles. There are far more elegant ways of describing them, but they are the human equivalent of the tenderloin. Long. Lean. They hold your "core" onto your legs. To get to the tumor, the neurosurgeon will have to make a horizontal cut through that muscle to get to the nerve, Once at the nerve, he will have to cut the tumor from the nerve. The best metaphor that I can give it is this: Take a tennis ball. Poke a hole in the top and go directly through the bottom. Now run a piece of string through the holes. There's your visual metaphor for the nerve and the tumor. To excise the tumor, the doc will have to cut all the way around the nerve. The good thing is that typically this overgrowth of myelin is not invasive into the nerve itself. The scary thing is that this is the nerve that carries the sensation through the outside of the left leg, calf, and foot. I know that God will give my surgeon steady hands. I pray (and ask that you pray) that my nerves are sturdy enough to sustain the trauma.

Even though the doctor says that it has to happen this year, and I know that this year is nowhere close to being done, more than likely the occasion will occur in August. I should be under General Anesthesia for 2-4 hours, in the hospital for 2-4 days, and out of commission for 2-4 weeks. Lots of sequences of 2-4, no?

This prospect has caused me to ask a lot of questions - the "just in case: ones. A lot of them revolve around "What-ifs?" and "What would happens?". You know the ones. I trust that if God said "It's Time" that he would take care of everyone. You're saying "You have a flair for the dramatic, Chris". Well, I do. We had a friend who went in for back surgery about 4 years ago. He developed a blood clot on the table and passed away. That is what drives my fear. I'll talk to you and my doctor about it, but my human, frail, selfish fear will still be there. Until the Valium. Then I'll see the balloons and clowns.

The thought of the operation fills me with awe, fear and hope. It is scary and relieving all at one time. No more symptoms. Recovery is slow and painful. No more talking about the surgery. What if it damages my nerve? What's recovery going to be like?

All and all, this is very, very uninformative 1st public blog. But if you've read this far, you have helped me by letting me know that my ailment means something to read to the end of a pointless blog about.

I'll write more, but for now this is enough. Thanks for reading my tale of woe.