At the end of May 2014, I experienced two days of weirdness in which I could barely walk. It was literally as though I had to mechanically force my legs to bend at the knees. I didn’t think anything about it other than I might have suffered a spider or tick bite. Based on my general life situation, I keep problems to myself. Not the best idea in the world, but it is what it is. After the second day any pain subsided—and after all, I didn’t want to miss the Indianapolis 500 on television. You can see exactly where my priorities were, no matter how bad I might have felt.
I was seemingly fine for the next few months. Just after Labor Day I received my annual flu shot and woke up the next morning in excruciating stomach pain. A visit to the Instant Care clinic in Richmond, followed by blood work and receiving an antibiotic, was then followed by a gallbladder ultrasound and a HIDA scan, both of which showed my internal organs to be functioning normally, as did a subsequent doctor’s visit that showed all of my systems were in proper working order.
On October 8, 2014, I experienced my first (to my knowledge) seizure. Luckily my father was home and heard and saw me making the noises. Because I had no history of them, a visit to the emergency room resulted in a CT scan of my head, a life-saving measure that showed a lesion/tumor in the frontal lobe of my brain. Because I went to college for several hundred years and possess a degree in psychology, I know that “tumor” and “cancer” are basically synonymous. From Marcum and Wallace Memorial Hospital I was transported via ambulance for the first time in my life directly to the new tower at UK Hospital, where I was admitted to the emergency department. After additional testing and such, I was placed in a room on the sixth floor of the tower and visited by many, many physicians from the neurosurgery department. This small, invasive thing inside my head had to be removed and promptly. Therefore I was kept in the hospital for the weekend, given enough medication to keep a horse calm, and the surgery was performed on October 13. I can admit without reservation that I was terrified at the entire prospect; when I left my room and was taken down to surgery for anesthesia, I didn’t think I was coming back. I guess I could have been a little more optimistic, being that UK is obviously one fine hospital, but I know enough about the brain to know that these things are never certain.
Interesting fact about my summer: during the course of this thing probably/possibly growing inside of my brain, I travelled to Florida, walked up the mountain at Cumberland Gap, and drove myself to and from Irvine many, many times. I guess I was blessed and lucky that I never experienced the seizure while behind the wheel or home alone.
I was discharged from the hospital on October 14, which seemed exceedingly premature. However, I was apparently medically ready, and they didn’t want to risk infection setting into the large, nearly ear-to-ear gash in my head. I felt pretty swollen after the surgery, but apparently I didn’t look nearly as bad as I could have. My head was patched back together with about forty-nine staples, give or take one or two (everyone else counted them—I couldn’t bring myself to do it). I didn’t really want to come out of recovery afterward; I felt nice and calm and sleepy and I only had to leave to have another MRI and to watch my Monday-night television shows: Fast N’ Loud and Castle. Also, I needed to see my family. I had many, many well-wishers during my hospital stay, and I am grateful for each and every person who visited or sent a card or left a message for me on Facebook. I would argue that your prayers were far more faithful than mine, considering I didn’t think I would survive having the craniotomy. I do have a piece of advice I have gleaned from this situation, however.
DO NOT IGNORE THE WARNING SIGNS TO BE FOUND WITHIN YOUR OWN HEALTH. IF YOU ARE FEELING ABNORMAL, TELL SOMEONE. For me, the signs only seemed to manifest themselves as a severe, persistent headache that stayed with me for the four days prior to the seizure. But I can only speculate on how long the tumor had been growing inside my head. I have driven myself to and from Irvine on numerous occasions; I was both lucky and blessed not to suffer a medical episode along the road to town.
As of now, it has been recommended that I undergo six weeks of chemotherapy and radiation in order to destroy the remaining cancer cells and prevent a recurrence of the tumor. Start date was determined later; however, I have been fitted for the radiation mask, which was an interesting experience. It was a warm piece of mesh that they laid out across my face; as it cooled, they made marks and performed another scan on my head. It was like a warm washcloth, but a completely different texture and result. And here is another fascinating wrinkle to my story—in the midst of all of this, I advanced from the top twenty-five to the top ten of a publishing contest. I literally had to email a manuscript to an editor while I was in the hospital, preparing for major surgery. However, I would gladly send the manuscript again from any location. It’s just an interesting story, especially if I was to win the contest and contract. Then again, due to my condition and the nature of my surgery, my timeframe in regard to when the manuscript was actually sent could be completely skewed; I may have already been discharged and sent home.Unfortunately I didn't win the contest, but I did receive a lot of positive feedback about my novel,
Love for Sale. And that type of validation is always nice to have.
My first radiation appointment is scheduled for November 10, and part of me is oddly fascinated about what it will entail. Radiation has been going fine so far, but I am extremely tired afterward. Then again, I was tired before, so I don’t know if this is a side effect, or merely leftover from my tumor and subsequent illness. The first two weeks of radiation and chemotherapy have gone fine, and I have (thankfully) not experienced the severe nausea that I had always associated with cancer treatments. The primary side effect seems to be fatigue; for the first time in my life, I am now a regular napper. It seems every afternoon I have to spend an hour or so in bed recuperating. The radiation mask locks me into place on the table and is a bit uncomfortable, but I take a pragmatic view of things—it could always be worse.
One of the more irritating after-effects of brain surgery—aside from the nearly ear-to-ear incision in my head—is the damage to my short-term memory. The doctors insist that my brain will continue to repair and heal itself as I recover, but for now I have even more trouble than usual remembering what or where I am. But if you don't see me writing much for a while, I have a good excuse.