The Unexpected Answer~


This morning was supposed to be my final PFT before I made my way across the country to visit my family, and Pintos family. I continually struggle to meet the basic running requirements the Marine Corps has established, so this morning began fairly stressful. Pinto and I woke up and ate a Powerbar to provide us with an extra boost, and headed to the PFT course.
Captain Engle had volunteered to run by my side, and push me to my full running potential. We started the run at a good pace, possibly quicker than we should have started. A little distance passed the first mile marker, I could feel myself beginning to slow. As we neared the end of the three miles, I could feel Captain Engle growing flustered and restless with our speed. She consistently encouraged me to pick up my speed, and coached my technique to better enable me to run. I moved my body in the fastest manner I knew. My eyes began to lose focus. My vision did not blur, but instead grew incoherent. Losing more control over the direction of my eyesight, my feet began to disobey their simple tasks, as well. Convincing myself I would remain steady with the momentum of my running, I continued. My mind began losing more control each step, until I was finally certain I needed to change my activity, or my body would not respond for much longer. Despite my own warnings, I continued to run. If I slowed, even slightly, I knew I would fail. If I failed, I would be held from any promotion, I would be put on remedial physical training, and I would enter a new duty station labeled as a failure. I couldnt fail, and I dont give up very easily. My disturbed vision finally debilitated my sense of direction so that I could barely find the running track. I jerked my head quickly in an attempt to snap my mind back into place, but instead my body deceived me completely. I began running sideways until I fell. Sgt Carrillo, who had been following me on his bicycle, stopped. Both Captain Engle and Sgt Carrillo stood over me saying, "Get up. C'mon. Pospychalla, get up." My eyes had rolled back into my head. Fully aware of what was happening, I tried to look straight, as I lay on the ground. I saw flashes of light as I battled to straighten my eyes, and they fought to retreat into my skull like a game of tug-of-war. After a few seconds passed, I was able to sit up, and then, walk. Captain Engle asked, "Can you run?" "Yes, Ma'am." I began to run again, because, as I previously stated, I dont give up very easily. I knew I had failed by now, but I couldnt appear to have given up. I saw Pinto running back for me, and soon, I saw the finish line. I ran across it, and finished. SSgt Seinkle ordered Pinto to take me to medical.
As we drove to medical, I apologized to Pinto for embarrassing him, though he humbly swore I hadnt. I began to cry a little, knowing that my peers and most of my superiors, at that moment, were claiming I had dramatically fabricated the scene. I could hear their critical words wondering how someone could pass out from a 31 minute run of a 3-mile course. If I had not been so slow I knew they would not question my integrity. As I have witnessed before, "faking it" and "lazy" are always the first assumptions of a Marine when he or she sees a slow Marine injured.
Later that morning, I sat in medical. My doctor told me he was uneasy about my story, because, apparently, since I had not lost consciousness, my situation was unusual. They had tested me to see if it was dehydration, but it wasnt. They tested to see if I was pregnant, but I wasnt. They tested my heart rate, but it was fine. They took blood, but I would have to wait to hear the results until tomorrow. Ensign Evans (my doctor) repeated that my account of that morning was odd. He was unusually thorough for working in Military Sick Call (for which I am thankful). To ensure it was not an issue in my skull, he told me to schedule an appointment with radiology for a CT scan of my head. He said I would probably have the appointment sometime next week. I told him I would be gone next week for my PCS to Japan. Understanding, he called the radiology head doctor and asked for a favor. The radiology doctor agreed to see me immediately.
The CT scan requested was "without contrast", but after the first scan, I was informed that the radiologist wanted a more detailed observation. To do this, the scan had to be performed "with contrast". I was injected with a dye that made my body feel uncomfortably warm, and created a metallic taste throughout my mouth. Then, the scan was repeated.
The friendly technician entered the room and informed me the radiologist wanted to show me the photos of my brain. I entered the room and I sat next to the radiologist. He began with simple chatting concerning my unique name, and the area I was from in Wisconsin. He asked me what influenced me to visit the hospital that day, and I explained it in my best brevity. He said, "Well, there is something going on in here." Then, he motioned to the computer screen. As he began explaining what a brain should look like, he added, "but there is this portion right here that looked a little darker than the rest. This is why we did a scan with contrast." Looking at the screen, I saw very little shading difference, but I listened patiently. A new shading of my brain appeared on the screen. "This is the area that was dark in the previous pictures." I looked at the white blob located in the left, rear portion of my brain. My thoughts were still open to suggestions; I did not compute what he was trying to tell me. "This is a tumor, and it will need to be removed soon..." He continued to explain the details of what had happened this morning when I fell, and I absorbed all of his information. The fairly large tumor was pushing my brain toward my forehead, and causing pressure and strain on my brain stem. The tumor was pressing against the area of my brain that mainly controls basic body functions, specifically, my respertory system. I tried to concentrate on his words to turn my attention away from crying. For the next few hours, I cringed back tears as I was lead from one department to the other. People were sympathetic. Their sympathy was so abundant, it gave me less reason to pity myself, and I was further able to repress my tears.
After hours passed, and I was released, I stepped out of the sick call department to find a handful of my superiors (including Captain Engle) waiting for me in the hall to show their support. Their presence revealed a side of the Marine Corps I see rarely, but I have known that those in my present chain of command do not fall into the normal parameters of my experience. SSgt Malone even led the group in a prayer to ask God to help me through my new endeavor. God will have his work cut out for him, because I dont give up very easily.....