Fred the Tumor

When I was first diagnosed in 2001, my daughters were 10 & 7 years old. One of the toughest things for me was to attempt to let them know what was going in while not overwhelming them with information and thus scaring them. My wife, Anne, and I both felt, and continue to feel, that it is important to bring them along on this journey, to tell them the truth to the extent they can understand it in age-appropriate terms. They came to San Francisco for the initial craniotomy with Anne, my father and his wife, and visited me when I couldn't talk to them, let alone get out of bed yet. Looking back we remain convinced that we did the right thing - for us and them.

In order to try to explain what the tumor was, I wrote two poems; "Fred the Tumor," and, "What's a Seizure." I'm not sure who was helped more by the poems, them or me, but I'm so glad I did it:


Fred the Tumor

A while back I felt dizzy
My leg and arm got weak
So I went to talk to the doctor about it,
And asked her to take a peek.

They took a special picture,
That looks like inside-out,
It shows them what’s inside of me,
When all the lights are out.

The doctor said I have a tumor
That’s sitting inside my head.
She gave the thing a special name,
But I think I’ll call him Fred.

Fred is like a piece of fat
That lives inside my skin.
I wonder what he’s doing there,
And how he first got in?

We took another picture
That was really kind of neat,
And let my doctor look at Fred
So the two of them could meet.

But Fred was playing hide and seek,
Or so the doctor said,
So they put me in the hospital,
To look inside my head.

And when they did they saw him there
Some say sitting all alone,
They took a little pinch of him
And up my head was sewn.

The doctor says Fred’s an easy one
And he’ll soon be on his way,
So until he is we walk step by step,
Through each and every day.

We’ll sleep, we’ll wake, we’ll live and learn,
We’ll wrestle and we’ll play;
Fred is just a short-term guest
Your daddy’s here to stay.


What’s A Seizure?

Remember what I said to you
In the poem about Fred,
When I said my leg and arm got weak
And I was dizzy in the head?

There’s a name for all of that
And the doctors are real sure
That what made me feel so weak and weird
Is what they call a seizure.

A seizure is the way that Fred
Says, “Hey, remember me?”
They don’t hurt, and they don’t last
But I might look silly.

You might see my eyes get big
Like when I say Boo at night
Or you might see me sit down quick
If my leg does not feel right.

I promise I won’t quack or bark
Or dance and hop around,
But I may move in funny ways,
Or make a funny sound.

The doctor gave me special pills
To keep the seizures away;
They are really working well,
And I take them every day.

Until they’re gone, doc says don’t drive,
Walking’s good enough.
I really don’t mind it all that much,
‘Cause I get to see more stuff!

Seizures come and then they go,
I don’t know when or where,
But I do know there’s no need to fear
If you happen to be there.

The best thing you could do for me
Is simply hold my hand,
In a moment or two I’ll feel just fine,
And be back to normal again.