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.
