Contrary to popular belief, this post is not about this past weekend. Sorry, there will be no tea spilled from my weekend galavanting around the UML Frats. This post is about the first weekend in February of 2008. It was quite horrible for me, and I’m really not even exaggerating.

Let’s set the scene. I’m in 6th grade, 12 years old. I have been feeling sick for quite some time. I had the WORST migraines you can ever imagine, neck pain that made it almost impossible to sit in class without wanting to cry, double vision that I tried to fix by sitting with my hand over one of my eyes at all times, and horrible waves of nausea. I NEVER miss school, and I missed about 2 weeks worth of school that year. It also led to one of my most embarrassing moments of throwing up Eggo’s Cereal (does this even exist anymore?) in the middle of class, all over the desk. I happened to sit next to a very cute boy, so that was super great for me. This whole time, my mom, who’s a nurse, was lowkey ignoring my symptoms. She didn’t really think they warranted a trip to the doctors. As you have probably figured out, she was wrong, it not only warranted a trip to the pediatrician but a trip to Boston Children’s ER. Finally, we rear our heads to The Weekend, DUN DUN DUUUUNNN. I’m still feeling sick, but I’m all sorts of excited for this weekend because The New England Patriots were facing the New York Giants in Super Bowl 42 after going 16-0 in the regular season, the first time any team had done that since the 16 game season was enacted. Do you see where this is going…

Before I go any further, you need to understand a couple things. My family lives and breathes Patriot’s football. My Papa got season tickets in 1960, and we’ve had them in our family ever since. My Papa, Mom, Uncle Tom, and Aunt Cathy went to the first Super Bowl win back in 2001, and it was one of the best day’s of my mom’s life (she has no comment on whether or not it tops her wedding or the birth of her 3 children). When I say I was basically born in a Patriot’s onesie, it’s only half a joke. We have a shrine dedicated to the Patriots in our living room, we have a wooden Tom Brady figure in our front yard. If you know me personally, you will totally understand what I mean, and if you know my mom or anyone else in my family you will understand where I got it from. We are a Patriot’s family through and through, so this weekend meant A LOT to all of us.

Continuing on with The Weekend. My mom went down to Florida to watch the Super Bowl with my grandparents, so it was my dad who ended up dealing with this weekend with me. I don’t remember a lot from going to the hospital, but I do remember my pediatrician taking one look into my eyes with that little light up magnifying thing and telling my dad to take me to Boston Children’s Hospital. She didn’t tell me what was up, and I don’t really know if she told my dad what was up, but she told him that she was calling Children’s and that he needed to take me to the ER right away. We showed up to the emergency room and after waiting for what seemed like hours, they finally took me to an exam room where about a million doctors came in one by one all asking me the same list of questions. The only one I remember was “have you started menstruating yet?” and this only sticks out because I was so ticked off that they kept asking it because my little 12-year-old self was thinking ‘shouldn’t I have a chart that tells them that I haven’t and they should stop asking me!?’ They did an MRI, which was terrifying, a CAT Scan, again terrifying, and hella other tests. I had a bunch of fluid behind my brain, in my spinal column, which apparently is called Pseudotumor, because it gives all the symptoms of a brain tumor, but no tumor. I can now proudly say that I faked a tumor! They finally came to the conclusion that I needed to get a spinal tap. Queue my panic. They shoved a bunch of needles in my back, drained off some of the fluid and I was sent on my merry way. I was groggy as all hell and don’t really remember anything about leaving the hospital or the football game. But I remember standing behind my Uncle’s couch as the game was ending and it felt like my world was crashing down around me. I still didn’t feel great, and now the Patriot’s just lost the most important game in the history of the NFL.

You’d think it couldn’t get worse. HAHA! NO! Turns out, the spinal tap wasn’t done correctly, so while it alleviated my symptoms for a little bit, they all came back rather quickly. Your girl had to get ANOTHER spinal tap.  More needles, more pain, more uncomfortableness.

The David Tyree Catch and my dual spinal taps will forever haunt my memory.

In summary
1. Can I sue Eggo’s for trauma?
2. Don’t ignore your kid’s headaches (Sorry mom, but you’ll never live this one down!)
3. If you ever have to get a spinal tap, you’re in my thoughts, and I’m sorry for your pain
4. F**k the New York Giants