Fear

This is the raw version. The no jokes, no witticisms. This is me laid bare.

Fear. Pretty much since the dawn of writing, man has written about fear. You can find volumes and volumes, probably enough to fill an entire library with it.

It comes in so many different forms. I've certainly been afraid before. When I nearly fell of a cliff in the Australian Outback. When I jumped out of an airplane. When I got caught forging my dad's signature.

Fear can be a good thing. It warns us something is wrong. It can be a bad thing, crippling us from mission accomplishment. But what about when it just is?

Because that's what I have right now. I have been around the world, I have done done crazy things. I have felt fear before. I have been scared before.

I have never been as utterly terrified as I am right now.

I can't ask you to be in my shoes. There's no way to imagine it. I wouldn't want you to. 3 weeks ago I was healthy as a horse, driving fast boats and planning a transfer. And now I'm prepping for brain surgery.

"It's normal," they'll say. "It's natural to be afraid" before brain surgery. Well, normal or natural or common doesn't take it away. The fears, the pain, the stress.

The leaving home and making sure, making absolutely damned sure that the last words I said to my son were "I love you," even if he'll never remember it.  That's what fear is.

So why this, and why now? Because I need to lay this bare. I need to say thanks. For the chilli, for the pizza, for the lasagna that's allowed us to have a seemingly normal life. For the thoughts and prayers. For the med-types who've shown a keen interest and helped us ask the right questions, and have provided that voice of reassurance. For the trip to the zoo that gave just a few hours of a glimmer of a normal life.

I try to downplay it. The doc acts like it's routine. I go to my default position, humor. But tomorrow morning, they're going to drill a hole in my head and try to remove a brain tumor.

Fear.