May 13: Brain Surgery Time

Ten years is a really long time.  Ten years ago today, I had brain surgery.  Ten years ago today, a man cut into my skull and removed a tumor that threatened my life.  Ten years ago today, I lost consciousness with the hope that I would not just wake up the same person, but that I would wake up at all.  Ten years ago today, I got the worst and most expensive haircut of my life.  Ten years ago today, my life changed. 

After the relief of the day prior, in determining that I would not need glue injected into my vessels to cut off the flow of blood to the tumor, I found that I was truly at peace with the brain surgery scheduled for 9 am on May 13, 2004.  Again, this was a day during which I was conscious part-time, so I only have brief flashes of memories which have since been supplemented by the memories of my family and friends.  I remember sitting in another pre-op area, immediately before the surgery, with my husband and my mom.  I remember a nurse coming into our curtained area and giving me a medication that was supposed to relax me; I remember being so relaxed, in fact, that as I was wheeled away from two of the most important people in my life who were probably more scared than they have ever been, I said goodbye with a flip of the hand and a glib, "don't worry.  It will all be OK."  The next thing I knew, I was being asked to shift onto the operating table in a very, very bright room.  Then, I was counting backwards and....nothing. 

I woke up as I was being lifted from the gurney onto my bed in the ICU, apparently a little less than 3 hours later.  I pawed at the oxygen mask on my face, confused and extremely disoriented.  (If you have ever had surgery, you know how disconcerting that feeling is.)  I was hooked up to multiple monitors, I had a central line in my chest, I had an arterial line in my wrist and my entire head was swathed in a thick turban of gauze.  As I started to more fully gain awareness, I was reassured by what seemed like a dozen people that the surgery had gone very well.

That first day, I mostly floated in and out of consciousness, answering questions from the doctors and nurses who came in every hour to check on me and my neurological status.  I vaguely recall my husband, my mom, my brother, my sister and my (then) future sister-in-law coming in and out of the room for what seemed like extremely brief snatches of time.

With the passing hours, I became more lucid and had almost jubilant conversations with my nurses.  This euphoria came over me as the anesthesia faded - I mean, I didn't feel invincible or anything, but I felt blessed.  I felt my faith more strongly in the course of those first nights than I have ever felt it before.  I knew, beyond any certainty in my life, that I was not done on this earth.  The excitement that those feelings brought ebbed and flowed with my exhaustion.  I slept a lot - or tried to, as it was very difficult to find a comfortable position with all of my wires, my new "hat" and the almost constant checks from the medical staff.  For some reason, I did not have my glasses, so even trying to watch TV was kind of a pain, though I absolutely insisted on watching that week's episode of my favorite show, ER, fuzzy or not. 

There was very little pain associated with the surgery - I was dosed from the beginning with narcotics for pain, anti-inflammatory and anti-seizure medications, plus high levels of antibiotics.  The worst part of the whole ordeal quickly became the medications, which were given via the pic line in my chest.  There was one that made me itchy for like five minutes following the administration and another that I could feel as a scent, as weird as that sounds, as it entered my blood stream.  (I can still recall that smell that wasn't really a smell.)  It was, at worst, uncomfortable - medications that enter your circulatory system within seconds of being pushed....it is a very strange sensation.  

So.  That is what I remember from 10 years ago today.  I was told, later, of course, that I had a rather large cheering section in the waiting room, who were a little over-exuberant when my surgeon came out to give them the news that the surgery had gone well.  If I recall correctly, they were shushed by a couple of nuns(?) nurses(?) nuns who were nurses(?).  As the days went on, we all started to get more information about the nature of my tumor, the overall recovery period that I was facing and the idea that the whole experience would soon be, hopefully, just another memory. 

For tomorrow: pictures!  What the tumor actually was!  What happened next!  Stay tuned!!