July 3rd, 2013 3:00 am
A year ago today at this time, before the sun had rose and the moon still stood
high in the sky I laid on a comfortably worn in couch watching a movie in Spanish.
As the night owl that I was (and still am), sleep was no place close as I tried
to follow the movie, a task made even more difficult by the dizziness I was
having from new pills swirling through my blood stream. What would be taking
place in a mere 4 hours or less was not a pressing thought in my mind.
As six o’clock rolled around the sky still stood dark as
did my mind to the understanding of the movie I had watched earlier. As my
mother attentively got ready I finished packing my bag for my hospital stay. I
could easily sense the nervousness in my mother’s demeanor masked with
sleepiness while she rushed for us to leave on time. I looked around the
apartment once more making sure I had everything I would need. As my mother
opened the door to the dawning sky I put on my sunglasses.
We arrived at the hospital a short ten minutes later, the
air cool and crisp; very refreshing from the one hundred plus temperatures we
had been encountering every time we ventured outdoors. At the registration area
there were a few people scattered around the waiting room, once my name was
called we went into the office. A lady presented me with the paper work to sign
and even as I was faced with signing “yes” to this whole ordeal no fear had yet
engulfed me.
My mother and I were then led to the surgery holding
area. As I said goodbye to the warmth and comfort of my own clothes and garbed
myself in the hospital gown a strange sense of familiarity came to mind. This
was a process I was used to. Moments later a woman entered my curtained cubicle
speaking very quickly asking me why my hair wasn’t braided and ordering me to
put on my fashionable hospital socks while she strapped numerous bracelets to
my arm. Then a younger girl, around my age cautiously approached me, introducing
herself, stating that she was a medical student, asking if she could observe my
surgery. I paused for a brief moment and replied to her with an enthusiastic
yes. My reason for agreeing was because if I had the chance to watch another person
have their skull sawed on and their brain prodded I would definitely want someone
to give me permission (I know, I was and still am weird like that).
A few minutes and a handshake from my surgeon later I was
being taken back to the operating room as my mother told me goodbye and “Sleep
good”. It wasn’t until that moment that it actually hit me that I was having
brain surgery! And yet still I wasn’t nervous, a calmness and excitement to be
able to get some sleep consumed me. The anesthesiologist introduced himself as
the drugs began to flow. He made small talk by asking me where I was from and
that he was familiar with the area of the South I was from and that he enjoyed the beaches.
I vaguely remember being wheeled to what was either the
recovery room or ICU and the surgeon asking me how I felt, my reply being a
thumbs up. When I awoke, what my brain perceived as only a few hours later,
which in truth was about eight or nine, I was in my ICU room. My mother asked
me the routine “how do you feel?” question but I remember that my first
significant concern was “Are they giving me pain meds?” I knew they must have
despite my telling them not to because I felt incredibly nauseated. When the
nurse came in I asked this again and she said yes; even though I didn’t push
the button on my pain pump, every 15 minutes a small amount was administered. I
demanded she stop it and unhook me from the pump, she looked very confused that
I was refusing pain meds. Moments later I vomited and I think she understood a
little more clearly why I don’t take pain meds. One; they don’t help the pain
at ALL and two; they make me sick, really really sick! Then I had to refuse the
additional Vicodin every four hours. Who knew how difficult it would be to
refuse taking pain medication? A matter made even more difficult when you have
to try to explain to people that yes you are in pain but that the medication
only makes matters worse.
The next morning the assistant surgeon came in to check
on me. She pulled the bandage off the back of my head to check the incision. Oh
Holy Headache Batman! It hurt! I’m fairly certain that was the worst part of
the whole ordeal. She took a picture of the back of my head so I could see and
I was shocked. The scar was much larger than I imagined; 5.5-6 inches long and 27
staples in total. Not to mention the new reverse mohawk I was then sporting.
 |
| My incision the day after surgery. |
The rest of my three day stay in the ICU was as pleasant
as it could have been. If it weren’t for the fact that the doctors were,
concerned for lack of a better word, that I wasn’t sleeping or eating I
honestly would have been ok to go home the day after surgery. Little did they
know, or believed when I told them that that was completely ‘normal’ for me. Yeah
I was in pain, yes I indeed did feel like my brain had been used as playdoh (at
least what portion of my head didn’t feel like a cement block) but the pain was
not much worse than my everyday, 24/7 chronic pain. I was more bummed about
having to stay in the hospital for the fourth of July, missing any attempt to see fireworks.
When I was released from the hospital my mother and I gladly ventured
back to our home away from home in the West and the comfortably worn
in couch was once again my companion for two weeks to allow my body time to rest, heal, and to have my
staples taken out before heading back South.
Overall, despite the pain, fatigue, and having my head
hacked open I really enjoyed the month I got to live in Colorado (even though it didn't snow). Most importantly
I was so happy to know that my brain was fixed (or at least part of it). Even
though I didn’t see drastic improvements right away or that even today I’m not
magically healed, small improvements were made! And the most important factor
to me, the reason I had the surgery, was that I now know that the problem isn’t
getting worse and that I prevented myself from having to endure potentially
further debilitating symptoms. The past year was one of ups and downs but in
the long run I believe it has been much more positive thanks to the brain
surgery!
July 3rd, 2013, today on my one year
anniversary I would like to once more thank everyone who from the kindness of
their hearts donated to the fundraiser that allowed me to have the surgery!
