My wife figured out how to extend the lounge chair into a mini bed and we settled in for the night. The irony of all this is that they come in every twenty minutes or so to make sure that you're still alive and/or give you another pill. Still, we managed to get a little sleep.
Then the weather turned shitty. The National Weather Service, who had done a crap job the week before in regard to issuing a severe storm warning that resulted in some serious property loss, made up for it and overcompensated by issuing a tornado warning. A tornado warning means that one's been sighted and you should find cover immediately. If you live in the Midwest, all this means is that everyone should leave the house as soon as possible and stand in the middle of the street to watch the storm roll in with the neighbors.
Unless you're in the hospital. Their policy was to get everyone away from the windows and keep them there until the Weather Service cancelled the warning, which could and often does last for hours. The nurses and orderlies dutifully herded and wheeled everyone into an interior hallway. It looked like a M*A*S*H* unit -- IVs all over the place, people with all sorts of bandages, beeping machines and beds lined the hallway. I was doing okay enough to walk, but it was still tremendously uncomfortable.
The cherry on the sundae was the three very loud, very dumb frat boys who talked about stupid shit the entire time. I didn't expect a dissertation on the ramifications of Voltaire's Candide but sweet Christ were they trying. And since one of them worked there, we couldn't really say anything. All I could do was watch the TV as the menacing green blob slowly moved to the east and we were finally allowed to go back to our rooms. It probably lasted a couple of hours, but Dane Cook and Friends made it seem like an eternity.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
J-E-L-L-O
I woke up in my room and the first person I saw was my wife. What a warm relief that was. She was smiling the brightest, warmest smile and things were instantly better. Words truly fail me. It was such a comfort to see her as soon as I came to.
We spoke for a bit and I talked to my folks. Though my mom did her best to hide it, I knew she'd been worried sick. I'm sure it was a relief for her to see that I'd not only made it through but had all my faculties. Had I been thinking, I would've yelled something in Spanish or in a made-up language, but the anaesthesia had the upper hand. The nurses came in to make sure I was okay and to get me started on what would be a night full of IV drips, injections and pills.
My head was bandaged up but I could see with both eyes. One of the first things I wanted to see was a hospital menu. It was mid-afternoon and I hadn't eaten since the night before. I was ravenous. I probably would have even eaten a slice of Sandra Lee's Kwanzaa Cake and asked for seconds. The nurse brought me a menu and suggested I take it easy since anaesthesia can make some people nauseous. I got spaghetti and meatballs and some red Jell-O.
The Jell-O arrived first. A lot of people make fun of Jell-O, saying it's strictly for honkies, Jell-O shots and after-funeral lunches. And they're right. But it's also pretty goddamn delicious when you haven't eaten in sixteen hours.
After that I talked briefly with one of our former customers from our bakery for a bit and just rested. I was happy to learn that I'd be getting a morphine drip. I, like most Americans, had heard great things about morphine and was looking forward to it and all of its wondrous narcotic properties. Sadly, all it did was dull the pain.
Which was surprisingly minimal. You'd think that getting your head cut open would make the top three on the Holy Shit That Hurts list, but I was more sore from the screws in the halo than the divot in my skull.
After the spaghetti (which also tasted as if Jesus Himself had made it) I rested and tried not to move too much so I wouldn't disturb the IV. My bed was almost supernaturally comfortable. Though the matress was thin, it had these pumps that'd continually adjust to support your body in whatever position you were in. I could also control the TV (I think -- morphine's a hell of a drug. At one point I'm sure I thought I could control Prince Charles and/or the weather in Peru) from my bed. It was pretty sweet. If it wasn't for the whole sickness/surgery thing, I'd get one for home.
We spoke for a bit and I talked to my folks. Though my mom did her best to hide it, I knew she'd been worried sick. I'm sure it was a relief for her to see that I'd not only made it through but had all my faculties. Had I been thinking, I would've yelled something in Spanish or in a made-up language, but the anaesthesia had the upper hand. The nurses came in to make sure I was okay and to get me started on what would be a night full of IV drips, injections and pills.
My head was bandaged up but I could see with both eyes. One of the first things I wanted to see was a hospital menu. It was mid-afternoon and I hadn't eaten since the night before. I was ravenous. I probably would have even eaten a slice of Sandra Lee's Kwanzaa Cake and asked for seconds. The nurse brought me a menu and suggested I take it easy since anaesthesia can make some people nauseous. I got spaghetti and meatballs and some red Jell-O.
The Jell-O arrived first. A lot of people make fun of Jell-O, saying it's strictly for honkies, Jell-O shots and after-funeral lunches. And they're right. But it's also pretty goddamn delicious when you haven't eaten in sixteen hours.
After that I talked briefly with one of our former customers from our bakery for a bit and just rested. I was happy to learn that I'd be getting a morphine drip. I, like most Americans, had heard great things about morphine and was looking forward to it and all of its wondrous narcotic properties. Sadly, all it did was dull the pain.
Which was surprisingly minimal. You'd think that getting your head cut open would make the top three on the Holy Shit That Hurts list, but I was more sore from the screws in the halo than the divot in my skull.
After the spaghetti (which also tasted as if Jesus Himself had made it) I rested and tried not to move too much so I wouldn't disturb the IV. My bed was almost supernaturally comfortable. Though the matress was thin, it had these pumps that'd continually adjust to support your body in whatever position you were in. I could also control the TV (I think -- morphine's a hell of a drug. At one point I'm sure I thought I could control Prince Charles and/or the weather in Peru) from my bed. It was pretty sweet. If it wasn't for the whole sickness/surgery thing, I'd get one for home.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Watch What Happens When I Press...Here!
The operating room didn't look like I thought it would. The predominant colors were white and gray, but I was expecting something...brighter, I guess. There were about six other people in the room that I could see, and all of them had a particular job they were getting ready for. The anaethesiologist and his student assistant gave me a shot to get things moving.
One thing you don't hear about very often is that you're going to be awake during the surgery. This is to make sure they don't do something that'll turn you into a country music fan or vote for Sarah Palin. So while I was getting anaesthesia, I wouldn't be out the whole time. They could and would be giving me something to make me forget about it though. So I had that going for me.
I got all warm and calm and they put a little tent up to cover my eyes. Probably for the best. There was classical music playing somewhere and we were off to the races.
They kept asking me questions. First, to make sure I was cognizant and second to check the progress of the anaesthesia. The questions were pretty basic -- stuff like "what day is it?" and "what's your wife's name" as well as whether or not I felt anything. I felt calm through all of it.
Because of the drugs, my memory of the actual surgery is a little hazy. One thing I remember quite clearly is the sound of my skull being opened. It sounds pretty much like you'd expect -- kind of a wet crunch and a crack. It didn't scare me and I didn't freak out. They were talking to each other and doing their thing. I could've been at the beach as far as I was concerned. I just kept talking and answering questions. Hopefully the line of questioning was on the up and up. I probably would've sung like a canary on all sorts of topics and had no memory of them afterwards. You could learn a lot about someone.
It took some time to get to the tumor, but when he did I remember there being some comments. Stuff like, "Here's the first sample" and so on. They sent it to a pathologist. I remember thinking that the fucking pathologist better be in the goddamn room next door and not across town. I also remember wondering how it would be presented to him/her. Would it be in a jar? Raced across town in an Igloo cooler? In some guy's hand?
I don't know how long it took for him/her to check it out, but the doctor asked me if it'd be okay for them to get another sample of the tumor for future reference and so students could study it since it was so rare.
Well, since you have the hood up, why the hell not? I said sure. If it would prevent anyone else from having to go through this, I'm all for it.
At this point the doctor reiterated that I should tell him if I felt anything. I did. It felt as if there was a thick string connecting my ears and someone was plucking it. It didn't hurt and it didn't make me piss my pants or anything, but it's not something you'd really like to experience if you can help it.
I said "Hey!"
Things got real quiet.
The doctor calmly asked if I was alright. I replied that it was fine, but it felt as if someone was tugging on the aforementioned string. He took a deep breath and said "okay." Things progressed without incident.
I don't remember much after that, but I do remember being wheeled out of the operating room, thanking everyone for doing such a great job. I have no idea if it was polite and classy or more like Motley Crue leaving the stage after a concert. Probably the latter. "Thank you! Goodnight Tulsa!"
One thing you don't hear about very often is that you're going to be awake during the surgery. This is to make sure they don't do something that'll turn you into a country music fan or vote for Sarah Palin. So while I was getting anaesthesia, I wouldn't be out the whole time. They could and would be giving me something to make me forget about it though. So I had that going for me.
I got all warm and calm and they put a little tent up to cover my eyes. Probably for the best. There was classical music playing somewhere and we were off to the races.
They kept asking me questions. First, to make sure I was cognizant and second to check the progress of the anaesthesia. The questions were pretty basic -- stuff like "what day is it?" and "what's your wife's name" as well as whether or not I felt anything. I felt calm through all of it.
Because of the drugs, my memory of the actual surgery is a little hazy. One thing I remember quite clearly is the sound of my skull being opened. It sounds pretty much like you'd expect -- kind of a wet crunch and a crack. It didn't scare me and I didn't freak out. They were talking to each other and doing their thing. I could've been at the beach as far as I was concerned. I just kept talking and answering questions. Hopefully the line of questioning was on the up and up. I probably would've sung like a canary on all sorts of topics and had no memory of them afterwards. You could learn a lot about someone.
It took some time to get to the tumor, but when he did I remember there being some comments. Stuff like, "Here's the first sample" and so on. They sent it to a pathologist. I remember thinking that the fucking pathologist better be in the goddamn room next door and not across town. I also remember wondering how it would be presented to him/her. Would it be in a jar? Raced across town in an Igloo cooler? In some guy's hand?
I don't know how long it took for him/her to check it out, but the doctor asked me if it'd be okay for them to get another sample of the tumor for future reference and so students could study it since it was so rare.
Well, since you have the hood up, why the hell not? I said sure. If it would prevent anyone else from having to go through this, I'm all for it.
At this point the doctor reiterated that I should tell him if I felt anything. I did. It felt as if there was a thick string connecting my ears and someone was plucking it. It didn't hurt and it didn't make me piss my pants or anything, but it's not something you'd really like to experience if you can help it.
I said "Hey!"
Things got real quiet.
The doctor calmly asked if I was alright. I replied that it was fine, but it felt as if someone was tugging on the aforementioned string. He took a deep breath and said "okay." Things progressed without incident.
I don't remember much after that, but I do remember being wheeled out of the operating room, thanking everyone for doing such a great job. I have no idea if it was polite and classy or more like Motley Crue leaving the stage after a concert. Probably the latter. "Thank you! Goodnight Tulsa!"
Thursday, January 6, 2011
I Feel Pretty
If you're going to have brain surgery, you might as well do it first thing in the morning so you can get on with your day, right? More importantly, you want the doctors and nurses to be fresh and ready to go. Yes, they're professionals, but I don't want to be the third skull they're cracking open after a long day.
We got to the hospital early and they started to prep me. First I had to strip down to my boxers and put on the flattering gown. Next were compression hose. For those new to compression hose, they're white thigh-high tights that help prevent blood clots from forming in your legs when you aren't moving around and traveling through your system. As you can imagine, they're quite flattering.
Next was a quick shave of a section of my head (why not do the whole thing??) and, best of all, the halo. A halo is the poetic term for the medieval steel cage that goes around your head that is designed to keep you from moving during surgery. I get it -- one twitch from you and you wind up marching in place whenever someone turns on a microwave for the rest of your life. What doesn't make it into the TV shows is that they screw the damn thing into your skull. Read that last sentence again. There's not much they can do to anesthetize the area, either. So there's that.
Once I was all handsome and looking like an extra from a Marilyn Manson video, I met the doctor, the anasthesiologist (sp?) and Jackie, the absolutely awesome nurse who'd be wheeling me around for most of the morning. The anaethetist had a student with him. Did I mind if he observed the surgery? Why the hell not! Given the fact that I was in a baby blue dress wearing white tights and a metal cage on my head, I'd already lost any and all dignity. Bring the whole class!
They gave me the first of many shots, I said my goodbyes to my wife and family and I was wheeled down the hall.
We got to the hospital early and they started to prep me. First I had to strip down to my boxers and put on the flattering gown. Next were compression hose. For those new to compression hose, they're white thigh-high tights that help prevent blood clots from forming in your legs when you aren't moving around and traveling through your system. As you can imagine, they're quite flattering.
Next was a quick shave of a section of my head (why not do the whole thing??) and, best of all, the halo. A halo is the poetic term for the medieval steel cage that goes around your head that is designed to keep you from moving during surgery. I get it -- one twitch from you and you wind up marching in place whenever someone turns on a microwave for the rest of your life. What doesn't make it into the TV shows is that they screw the damn thing into your skull. Read that last sentence again. There's not much they can do to anesthetize the area, either. So there's that.
Once I was all handsome and looking like an extra from a Marilyn Manson video, I met the doctor, the anasthesiologist (sp?) and Jackie, the absolutely awesome nurse who'd be wheeling me around for most of the morning. The anaethetist had a student with him. Did I mind if he observed the surgery? Why the hell not! Given the fact that I was in a baby blue dress wearing white tights and a metal cage on my head, I'd already lost any and all dignity. Bring the whole class!
They gave me the first of many shots, I said my goodbyes to my wife and family and I was wheeled down the hall.
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