I didn't think quarantine was so difficult... I'm tired, very tired, I'm losing my balance a bit. And then, it gets complicated when I get out of the car my head is spinning. I can't go on rides with the kids anymore, I get dizzy. I must be tired, my blood pressure must be low. My lifestyle must be tiring me out, mother of two teenagers, school teacher, sportswoman...
My head is spinning more and more, I decide to go see a doctor in April. My doctor prescribes the MRI but sends me to see an osteopath specializing in vestibular disorders. I manage to get a quick appointment where we decide to set up rehabilitation after the assessment and wait for the MRI. 3 months of rehabilitation, once a week and I leave each session tired, in tears... and then in July, he tells me that I have the profile of someone who has been in an accident and that we are going to take a break.

My condition is frankly not improving, last photo squatting with my colleagues and I come across one of them, we laugh about it. I put on a brave face and I think I don't want to admit the obvious. I wait... October MRI, a young nurse tells me that it is not necessary to have an injection, 20 minutes pass and when I come out of the tunnel, this young nurse tells me that we are going to have an injection. "Is there a problem?"... I feel her completely lost, speechless... and I go back into the tunnel.
I know, I understand. I go out and it's the radiologist who is waiting for me, tells me that he is taking me to the scanner. I ask him if there is anything, "yes madam, a tumor, I'm sorry but I'm taking you to the scanner and you will stay a little in the emergency room"
I don't have the words, I am alone, I have the scanner quickly and then the same words come out over and over again "it's not possible, I have children!"
In my box in the emergency room, they tell me that the hospital center has sent the images to the university hospital for an opinion and that we have to wait about 2 hours. I call my husband, I call my sister who is in tears, I don't cry, I don't know how to cry. A friend who is an ambulance driver passes in the corridor, I call out to him and I say to him "well, I have a tumor", the poor guy took it head on.
My husband is allowed to come despite the Covid still present, I feel the nurses fleeing, some on the verge of tears and I keep repeating that "it's not possible I have children" ...
My husband arrives and we don't even know what to say to each other, it's shocking. After 2 hours, the emergency doctor arrives, takes my hand and tells me that I have a meningioma, it's the "least bad of the tumors" but it's on the bone and there is enormous edema around it. I ask her if I'm going to die ... she tells me no, that I will be treated but that the journey would be difficult. I have to see the neurosurgeon at the CHU a month later and in the meantime I have to take a very large dose of cortisone to reduce the edema and have an ophthalmo assessment as quickly as possible. But I'm going home! What a relief ....

And then there, like a denial of pregnancy, a "denial of meningioma" and now that I know it is there and with the high dose of cortisone, I have epileptic seizures without knowing what it is. I see the neurosurgeon who suggests meeting with the radiotherapist and oncologist but he is thinking of an operation (which will be confirmed for me) and he puts a name to my discomfort, epilepsy so adds a treatment. I don't go out much anymore and I don't drive anymore, our life is turned upside down but my children are brave, we talk a lot, we downplay it as best we can. My condition is deteriorating but I want to spend Christmas with my family and my children's birthdays. My operation is scheduled for March 11.

I went alone to the CHU by medical transport, I was operated on the same afternoon, 7 hours of operation, 50 staples and 36 hours in intensive care. I woke up happy because I could speak, I could hear and I could move. 6 days at the CHU alone because I didn't want anyone in this fight, it was mine and I didn't want to put anyone else through it. My swollen face, very round with the cortisone, it was my story. I wasn't suffering, just paracetamol and the team was great. The physio came, we took stock and my left side was a little weak but I passed the stair test, so I could go home.

I came back very tired, happy and with this desire to recover quickly. After a month, I started physiotherapy 3 times a week just behind my house, so I could go there on foot. We work on the left side, balance, concentration. 19 months later I still have the same follow-up. Then I have to go to the orthoptist to work on the visual memory that is very deficient in my neuropsychiatric assessment. This assessment also reveals difficulties in finding certain words, in organizing myself and concentrating. I am also followed by a psychologist, THE psychologist who allowed me to overcome the shock of the announcement, to be able to go back for MRIs without collapsing inside, to live even knowing that everything has not been removed. They tried to wean me off the antiepileptic with regular EEGs, we had reached the end but I had another seizure while driving so backtracked.
As a teacher, I returned to school 18 months later, in an adapted position. I help my colleagues, the students in small groups only in the morning. I am very happy with this return. I am quietly resuming my life by doing what I feel capable of doing and when I feel capable of it. Sometimes certain situations are difficult (noise, crowds, etc.) I put on a brave face and adapt as much as I can.

Today, I have adapted my life, my disability is invisible, I am fragile on my left side, I tire quickly and situations where you have to stay focused for a long time without moving can be very complicated and cause headaches.
I managed, a year later, to write to the osteopath who was treating me asking him not to hesitate to send his patients for an MRI if in doubt, without reproach. He replied, upset.
I managed to declare all the pills I took: lutéran for a few months, implanon, optimizette, desogestrel for... 20 years!
The regional health agency admits that my meningioma is probably linked. My gynecologist also finally, but the neurosurgeon is not as categorical. I'm going to change neurosurgeons, mine won't operate anymore and is going to a clinic. He advised me to see another colleague "if we ever have to go back"...

Without Amavea, my neurosurgeon, my shrink, my physiotherapist and my understanding family, I certainly wouldn't be there. I won't be the same again but I'll get closer, crossing my fingers that this tiny piece left on the bone remains as small as it is today.

Good luck to all the fighters and a heartfelt thank you to the association.

Sophie