In one of my follow-up visits with the brain surgeon – who I really like but I swear to god looks like he’s 14 years old – he described the procedure he would use to remove the tumor. He called the surgery “transnasal” and it’s exactly what it sounds like. They go through the nostrils.

My tumor, who by this time I had started calling Fernando for no particular reason, sits on an area called the skull base, which is the shelf behind the eyes and above the sinuses. The olfactory nerve, which is responsible for converting smells into signals the brain understands, runs front to back in a groove right down the middle of the skull base. My tumor sits just above that. It’s a tricky area to get to.

The surgeon described the procedure to me. He would go through my nose endoscopically and cut an opening through the boney shelf of the skull base, like going through a hatch into an attic. In doing so, he would have to sever my olfactory nerve, but the prognosis for this type of surgery is very good and he should be able to safely remove the entire tumor.

Back up the bus, Doogie.

“When you say sever the olfactory nerve, does that mean I will lose some of my sense of smell?”

“Well…” he was nearly whispering, “most likely all of it.” He looked very sorry.

As I was emphatically stressing to him and my neurologist how important being able to smell is to me, I realized this would also mess with my ability to taste. Food.

“Yes, there will likely be a loss of taste as well. But people are generally able to taste some things.”

Very reassuring. This was going to need some thought.

After I pushed back some more, they suggested I see a radiation oncologist. It was possible the tumor could be neutralized with radiation without completely killing my ability to smell.

Since I still had a year or two before needing the surgery, they scheduled my next six-month follow-up MRI and a visit with a radiation oncologist to see what he would say.

For the first time in my “health journey,” I was getting worried.