Watching the sun come up over the waves of the ocean, snow-covered mountains, six-hundred thread count linens at a five-star hotel with mimosa in hand ... all worthy endeavors. Watching the sun's first rays hit the ER parking lot after an ambulance ride and a night spent in the hospital is, however, a life experience I could pass on.
I apologize if this post is full of typos and such. I am literally squinting at the computer screen. I may have just typed squidding at the pewter tween but I cannot be sure. But my vision is just starting to improve and I have been itching to get to my keyboard and type something I could proofread, even just a little. What can I say, proofreading calms me.
I apologize if this post is full of typos and such. I am literally squinting at the computer screen. I may have just typed squidding at the pewter tween but I cannot be sure. But my vision is just starting to improve and I have been itching to get to my keyboard and type something I could proofread, even just a little. What can I say, proofreading calms me.
First some Good News: We have just emerged from the month-long holiday coma brought on from too much food, drink, and merrymaking. I would like to say that I let go of all expectations of having a "perfect holiday" and just relaxed and enjoyed all aspects of a MAGICAL season but that is not really my speed. I did, however, manage to tone it down a notch and tried to do less presents, fewer expectations, more joy (or more eggnog, which is really the same thing). Considering I was not sure in November 2007 if I would kick it before Holiday 2008, I consider this year extra credit.
A big thank you to the M family for hosting a fabulous Thanksgiving feast. Great hosts, great food, better company. We all enjoyed it so much. Cost of two premade pies that I managed to burn (apple) and undercook (pumpkin): $20. Not having to stick my own defenseless arm into a naked turkey cavity and pull out a sack of juicy alien turkey bits: Priceless.
To the other M family, as always, it was so good to celebrate with you on Christmas Eve. We love our party tradition and hope we keep it up for years and years. Our one disappointment this holiday was that nobody got caught making out in front of the bathroom, but there is always 2009.
Much gratitude to the S parents for cooking a Christmas dinner consisting strictly of meat and potatoes so that Jeff did not die. Since I organized a Christmas Eve menu of vegetarian offerings, we were all more than a little concerned that Jeff would not survive until Christmas morning on only eggplant. If my husband had a dietary slogan, it would be that Meat is Murder ... Tasty Tasty Murder. So thank you for bringing his lipid blood levels back up to a healthy 96.99% on Christmas Day. He was starting to look a little pale.
Finally many thanks to the E family for hosting the entire family at your New Year's Eve bash. We had so much fun in your gorgeous home ringing in the New Year with all the little noisemakers (pun intended). You throw a great party and we were thrilled to be a part of it (don't let the sleeping couch lump indicate otherwise, midnight was way past his bedtime).
Now The Bad News: It genuinely never occurred to me that even if doctors declined to operate on the brain tumor that, at some point, emergency brain surgery might be needed to mitigate complications from the tumor, such as internal bleeding or increased intercranial pressure. Murphy's Law of Being a Patient dictates that this will happen at 2 AM on a Saturday.
A big thank you to the M family for hosting a fabulous Thanksgiving feast. Great hosts, great food, better company. We all enjoyed it so much. Cost of two premade pies that I managed to burn (apple) and undercook (pumpkin): $20. Not having to stick my own defenseless arm into a naked turkey cavity and pull out a sack of juicy alien turkey bits: Priceless.
To the other M family, as always, it was so good to celebrate with you on Christmas Eve. We love our party tradition and hope we keep it up for years and years. Our one disappointment this holiday was that nobody got caught making out in front of the bathroom, but there is always 2009.
Much gratitude to the S parents for cooking a Christmas dinner consisting strictly of meat and potatoes so that Jeff did not die. Since I organized a Christmas Eve menu of vegetarian offerings, we were all more than a little concerned that Jeff would not survive until Christmas morning on only eggplant. If my husband had a dietary slogan, it would be that Meat is Murder ... Tasty Tasty Murder. So thank you for bringing his lipid blood levels back up to a healthy 96.99% on Christmas Day. He was starting to look a little pale.
Finally many thanks to the E family for hosting the entire family at your New Year's Eve bash. We had so much fun in your gorgeous home ringing in the New Year with all the little noisemakers (pun intended). You throw a great party and we were thrilled to be a part of it (don't let the sleeping couch lump indicate otherwise, midnight was way past his bedtime).
Now The Bad News: It genuinely never occurred to me that even if doctors declined to operate on the brain tumor that, at some point, emergency brain surgery might be needed to mitigate complications from the tumor, such as internal bleeding or increased intercranial pressure. Murphy's Law of Being a Patient dictates that this will happen at 2 AM on a Saturday.
I suppose by definition brain surgery should be considered "emergency surgery" but there is scheduled brain surgery as in:
"We are going to resect your tumor. Here are the risk/benefits. Do you have questions? Go home and pack your bag."
VS.
"We are going to resect your tumor. Here are the risk/benefits. Do you have questions? Go home and pack your bag."
VS.
"Holy shit! You need to come in RIGHT THIS SECOND and we are going to open your skull with a spork and a nail file and give you a leather strap to bite on for the pain! None of our surgeons are here now but our janitor is very bright and we are pretty sure he can handle it once he finishes unclogging that toilet!"
This past weekend, I had been feeling off and exhausted for quite awhile. I attributed it to the fact that the kicking, writhing, snoring five-year-old that visits Jeff and I in bed at 4 a.m now has a rather bulky accomplice in his new stuffed child-sized T-Rex and there is no room at the bed inn for me. Thanks Santa! Note: I did not think about sleeping arrangements when I bought him (the giant dinosaur, not the kid). As penance for my lack of parental foresight, I feel like I have forfeited the right to complain about the whole situation.
This past weekend, I had been feeling off and exhausted for quite awhile. I attributed it to the fact that the kicking, writhing, snoring five-year-old that visits Jeff and I in bed at 4 a.m now has a rather bulky accomplice in his new stuffed child-sized T-Rex and there is no room at the bed inn for me. Thanks Santa! Note: I did not think about sleeping arrangements when I bought him (the giant dinosaur, not the kid). As penance for my lack of parental foresight, I feel like I have forfeited the right to complain about the whole situation.
Saturday arrives and I am feeling like the Grim Reaper and my vision is blurry. Normally I am 20-20 but suddenly it seemed like everything was covered with a grimy film. I was squinting at words on my computer screen and watching TV was giving me a headache. I suggested maybe I needed some fresh air so we drove to a local park and went for a walk through the woods. My husband noticed I was off because I was so alarmingly quiet.
I had plans that evening with one of my favorite people to meet at a restaurant for dessert after our kids were in bed. While getting ready, I was feeling a little wobbly but Jeff encouraged me to go, thinking a night out would perk me up. I left the house and once I was lost en route (a common occurrence even before brain issues) - and late - I discovered that my Blackberry was not working. Insert your favorite curse words here; this is an interactive blog. My poor friend was waiting patiently on me while leaving semi-threatening voicemail that I could not listen to until later. Sorry G!
Dessert was painful. I was feeling awful and conversation was difficult for me. We left and I realized once I was back on the road that I could not make out the street signs. I could not READ THE SIGNS. I could see them but could not discern the words or letters. And I had NO PHONE to call for help. Awesome. And I was all out of curse words, so I took it to the next level and burst into tears, which did not help the sight situation.
I tried my best to get pulled over. Ironic because several weeks before I got a ticket for going forty-something in a thirty-something and had no idea I was even speeding seeing as I was leaving my house in a hurry because the carbon monoxide monitor was going off. But that is a different post.
I had plans that evening with one of my favorite people to meet at a restaurant for dessert after our kids were in bed. While getting ready, I was feeling a little wobbly but Jeff encouraged me to go, thinking a night out would perk me up. I left the house and once I was lost en route (a common occurrence even before brain issues) - and late - I discovered that my Blackberry was not working. Insert your favorite curse words here; this is an interactive blog. My poor friend was waiting patiently on me while leaving semi-threatening voicemail that I could not listen to until later. Sorry G!
Dessert was painful. I was feeling awful and conversation was difficult for me. We left and I realized once I was back on the road that I could not make out the street signs. I could not READ THE SIGNS. I could see them but could not discern the words or letters. And I had NO PHONE to call for help. Awesome. And I was all out of curse words, so I took it to the next level and burst into tears, which did not help the sight situation.
I tried my best to get pulled over. Ironic because several weeks before I got a ticket for going forty-something in a thirty-something and had no idea I was even speeding seeing as I was leaving my house in a hurry because the carbon monoxide monitor was going off. But that is a different post.
I pulled over on the highway and put on my hazards and sobbed. And waited ... for help? What do I do? It was clearly not safe for me to be driving but it was 10 pm and I had no cell phone and no On-Star and no clue what to do. I did not want to pull off on an exit because I had no idea where I was and did not have any phone numbers without my phone. So I waited and waited and waited and no police. I gave up and drove the entire way home, sobbing, with my hazards on, going no more than 20 mph on the highway.
I made it home and came in and told my husband, "I cannot see. I think we need to call the neurosurgeon."
And he was all, "Are you sure?"
Because he knew calling the neurosurgeon would mean going to the hospital. You don't call a neurosurgeon at 10 pm on a Saturday night unless you really, really, really want to go to the hospital. Because they are mean like that and will make you. And my husband knows that despite the fact that I have a dossier full of medical notes and MRI scans, I would rather be flogged by raw pork chops and forced to wear purple Crocs in public for the rest of my existence than go to the hospital in the middle of the night on a weekend.
I am a manic needleaphobe and bloodaphobe and the hospital sends me into such a tizzy it takes days to recover. When I found out I was pregnant, I immediately began worrying about 1) having to have an IV during labor 2) a needle in my spine during the epidural and 3) the fact that childbirth is bloody and I thought I would pass out in the middle and then I might have to have even more IVs and spine needles! It was all I talked about for months. Until about the sixth month when I read a book about what can go wrong during pregnancy and then I started worrying that because I ate tuna sashimi three years ago, my baby would be born with flippers (he wasn't). You can see why my husband is so eager to knock me up again.
But back to Saturday: I go upstairs to wash my face (this made sense at the time) and my husband calls the neurosurgeon. The neurosurgeon on call is not the doctor who has been following me and when he calls back I am pleased to find out MY REPORTS ARE MISSING FROM MY CHART. Are you kidding me? I mean?! So he gets the three-minute cocktail party version of my diagnosis and current symptoms.
His response, "I need immediate evaluation ... blah blah ... the concern is that the tumor is changing ... blah blah ... or hemorrhaging ... blah blah ... intercranial pressure ... blah blah ... come in right away. How long until you are here?"
I made it home and came in and told my husband, "I cannot see. I think we need to call the neurosurgeon."
And he was all, "Are you sure?"
Because he knew calling the neurosurgeon would mean going to the hospital. You don't call a neurosurgeon at 10 pm on a Saturday night unless you really, really, really want to go to the hospital. Because they are mean like that and will make you. And my husband knows that despite the fact that I have a dossier full of medical notes and MRI scans, I would rather be flogged by raw pork chops and forced to wear purple Crocs in public for the rest of my existence than go to the hospital in the middle of the night on a weekend.
I am a manic needleaphobe and bloodaphobe and the hospital sends me into such a tizzy it takes days to recover. When I found out I was pregnant, I immediately began worrying about 1) having to have an IV during labor 2) a needle in my spine during the epidural and 3) the fact that childbirth is bloody and I thought I would pass out in the middle and then I might have to have even more IVs and spine needles! It was all I talked about for months. Until about the sixth month when I read a book about what can go wrong during pregnancy and then I started worrying that because I ate tuna sashimi three years ago, my baby would be born with flippers (he wasn't). You can see why my husband is so eager to knock me up again.
But back to Saturday: I go upstairs to wash my face (this made sense at the time) and my husband calls the neurosurgeon. The neurosurgeon on call is not the doctor who has been following me and when he calls back I am pleased to find out MY REPORTS ARE MISSING FROM MY CHART. Are you kidding me? I mean?! So he gets the three-minute cocktail party version of my diagnosis and current symptoms.
His response, "I need immediate evaluation ... blah blah ... the concern is that the tumor is changing ... blah blah ... or hemorrhaging ... blah blah ... intercranial pressure ... blah blah ... come in right away. How long until you are here?"
There is some discussion of calling an ambulance but since we live thirty minutes from UMD, he said local ambulance service will not take us that far, so the determination is made that if my husband is alright to drive, he can drive us and I will be admitted through the ER.
I took this in stride and started packing my purse with my standard hospital necessities. Antibacterial hand gel. Check. Insurance card. Check. Defunct cell phone. Check. Granola bar (though I have been instructed not to eat or drink in case there is surgery, I pack it anyway because I am an optimist). The only remaining detail is the sleeping child upstairs, who at last check, does not like to be left home alone.
I called my mom and report calmly, "We are on the way to the hospital. My vision has suddenly declined and my tumor might be changing or bleeding and I need to be seen right away."
I took this in stride and started packing my purse with my standard hospital necessities. Antibacterial hand gel. Check. Insurance card. Check. Defunct cell phone. Check. Granola bar (though I have been instructed not to eat or drink in case there is surgery, I pack it anyway because I am an optimist). The only remaining detail is the sleeping child upstairs, who at last check, does not like to be left home alone.
I called my mom and report calmly, "We are on the way to the hospital. My vision has suddenly declined and my tumor might be changing or bleeding and I need to be seen right away."
She replies that she and my dad are on the way to stay with Ethan and do I need anything?
"No." I say, "No. I'm good ... and ... just ... rmaspolxxmsmd ... [sobs] ... or arjdmicmcxaoakd ... and ... smaicdollllmphhhhhhhhh. OK?!!"
I am still not sure what I was trying to get out but it was probably the middle-aged equivalent of I WANT MY MOMMY!! Jeff is downstairs gathering all my brain scan films and medical records and hears the commotion and comes upstairs to calm me down. And I am all snot bubbles and red eyes and feral animal noises. Because it has just occurred to me that I might need EMERGENCY BRAIN SURGERY. Like ... tonight.
Before we left, I make it clear to all present that if I have to have brain surgery, I am to be transferred to Hopkins. Got that - Hopkins! Not UMD. Hopkins has a better program. They can LOOK at me, but no letting UMD cut (a minor detail I had never considered until that very moment). After repeated assurances and a quick bed check on Ethan, who through some miracle was sleeping peacefully through all of the phone calls and keening and inhuman noises, and off we went.
Now, if you have never had the pleasure of going to a big city hospital in the middle of the night on a weekend, let me tell you ... gunshot wounds, signs all over the place telling you to remove your jackets (in case you are packing heat, I guess?), bloody footprints all over the filthy linoleum. I take a seat with the bleeding masses and start rocking back and forth as Jeff checks us in and tells triage the neurosurgeon on call is expecting us.
"No." I say, "No. I'm good ... and ... just ... rmaspolxxmsmd ... [sobs] ... or arjdmicmcxaoakd ... and ... smaicdollllmphhhhhhhhh. OK?!!"
I am still not sure what I was trying to get out but it was probably the middle-aged equivalent of I WANT MY MOMMY!! Jeff is downstairs gathering all my brain scan films and medical records and hears the commotion and comes upstairs to calm me down. And I am all snot bubbles and red eyes and feral animal noises. Because it has just occurred to me that I might need EMERGENCY BRAIN SURGERY. Like ... tonight.
Before we left, I make it clear to all present that if I have to have brain surgery, I am to be transferred to Hopkins. Got that - Hopkins! Not UMD. Hopkins has a better program. They can LOOK at me, but no letting UMD cut (a minor detail I had never considered until that very moment). After repeated assurances and a quick bed check on Ethan, who through some miracle was sleeping peacefully through all of the phone calls and keening and inhuman noises, and off we went.
Now, if you have never had the pleasure of going to a big city hospital in the middle of the night on a weekend, let me tell you ... gunshot wounds, signs all over the place telling you to remove your jackets (in case you are packing heat, I guess?), bloody footprints all over the filthy linoleum. I take a seat with the bleeding masses and start rocking back and forth as Jeff checks us in and tells triage the neurosurgeon on call is expecting us.
Then we wait ... and wait ... and wait. Jeff checks with triage again telling them I am feeling worse and we are still waiting. More waiting ... after consulting with the triage nurse on a time frame (where IS that flippin' neurosurgeon that so urgently needed to see me?) we end up taking an ambulance to Howard County General with the decision that I need to be evaluated and that if I need to be transferred back to UMD for surgery, so be it.
The ambulance ride was relatively uneventful, as far as ambulance rides go. Though I swear one of the paramedics was flirting with me because he told me to bring my son to the fire station for a tour, which I think was only because he thought I was hot. What with my swollen tear-stained face, pajama pants and matted hair, I was hard to resist.
Howard County was a relative spa compared to UMD. And quiet. The ENT saw us right away and called the neurosurgeon at UMD (I don't think he was too pleased we left in pursuit of less urban and more mellow medical pastures). After evaluation, it was determined that I was stable and not in acute neurological distress and we were sent home, many hours later, at 7 am with instructions to follow up with my "real" neurosurgeon the next day. Also, see an ophthalmologist.
As a result of all this, my brain MRI has been scheduled at Hopkins this week (I was due in December anyhow, so am a week or so overdue, we decided to wait until after the holidays, assuming symptoms remained the same).
Howard County was a relative spa compared to UMD. And quiet. The ENT saw us right away and called the neurosurgeon at UMD (I don't think he was too pleased we left in pursuit of less urban and more mellow medical pastures). After evaluation, it was determined that I was stable and not in acute neurological distress and we were sent home, many hours later, at 7 am with instructions to follow up with my "real" neurosurgeon the next day. Also, see an ophthalmologist.
As a result of all this, my brain MRI has been scheduled at Hopkins this week (I was due in December anyhow, so am a week or so overdue, we decided to wait until after the holidays, assuming symptoms remained the same).
I saw the ophthalmologist today. My eyes look structurally healthy (yay?) so more neurological tests tomorrow to see if the visual problems are due to increased intercranial pressure. If so, that will need to relieved with a shunt. In my head. I imagine that hurts more than having a filling put in a tooth but I cannot be 100% certain of that. I do think you may get some good drugs with a head shunt. I am trying to look on the positive side. More later ... on work, boob, life. But now I am tired ... so it will have to wait.
1 comment:
Good Lord - what have you been doing with yourself? Have you been sleeping a ton? How do you actually feel now?
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