The course of life can change very suddenly, and without warning, context, or expectation.

April started positively, with a short trip to the homeland to reset myself in anticipation of my final term at the Academy. No stressors or negativity, just self-assured confidence and knowing I’ve done far better than expected in my degree. A week later, as lectures began, I became wracked with constant, debilitating headaches and an aggressive change of personality aimed unfairly at my fellow students.

Knowing myself well enough to realise this isn’t who I am, I sought the doctor immediately, hoping it just a temporary glitch. Instead, by nature of my age, I found myself immediately expedited into a series of urgent tests. Blood samples, blood pressure monitoring, and ultimately a CT scan for my skull – with the possibility the prognosis could be very serious and permanent.

I still tried to move through life, celebrating what joy I could garner from my circumstances, but I could feel myself getting worse by the week. Clumsiness increased, vision blurred, and although my peers were as patient as can be, I became more isolated. My ability to articulate myself verbally had deteriorated, with any capacity to contribute and think my way through things frustratingly difficult. Although I held to better hopes, the worries of the worst weighed heavy.

On Beltaine I received the results of the brain scan. Thankfully, the unspeakable uncertainty of a tumour was not to pass, nor did there appear to be any sign of stroke or other internal damage. However, they did find an anomaly – a prominent cerebral vein warranting further investigation. To that end I have been referred to a neurologist where I await the next study of self-understanding.

My mind is my lens to the universe, and the detachment is palpable. It is hard for me to communicate with others now. My voice locks-up mid-sentence as I stammer and struggle to find the next word. Exhausted and unable to sit straight for long without nausea, I barely sleep, with night terrors refracting my uncertainty. The personality changes still rage, but I keep them under control although I cannot trust myself to be myself as much as I used to. For now, at least, I am able to write my story – even as the narrator becomes an unreliable stranger.

On the march to Midsummer, I am grateful for the support I receive on campus and elsewhere. I do not know if I will be capable of finishing my course these next six weeks, but I take solace as I ebb and flow my way along that some moments are better than others, and I strive with determination. Throughout all of life I at least console myself that anticipated fears are never as bad as the actuality of the experience, and I approach what may come accordingly.

Ironically, Lufthansa cancelled my original House of the Holy flights, so I don’t need to beg them for a refund should I need to bow out. I will see where the next weeks take me before making any final decision to offer the ticket on.

But despite the shittiness of the situation, I retain a mantra. One that has set me in good stead beforehand, and now codified in this moment of sacrifice and transformation:

For as long as I can, I will.