An Apology Twenty Years in the Making

My childhood dog and best friend, Bubbles,
looking a little fresh and a little flat
up top. So sorry, sweetheart.

If you're just joining the party, I'd recommend reading my first post as a primer, which includes a few disclaimers and housekeeping items of note.

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Bubbles, I'm sorry for all the terrible haircuts I gave you when I was a kid. I was unwittingly unaware of the extent to which I made you look like the grizzly in The Great Outdoors, complete with a flat top that made you look as though you'd been scalped. I probably should have sharpened those clipper blades more often.

You deserved better, you poor thing. 

Thankfully, my neurosurgeon was a better barber to me than I was to you. Hopefully heaven has since procured a more accommodating stylist for that shaggy coat you had. 

When I found myself in the ER two weeks ago, flattened by seizures and the subsequent news of a brain mass, a brain biopsy was rapidly scheduled. 

And God bless the sweet ER nurse who had the wisdom to warn me early on that some of these neurosurgeons do not make for good barbers. 

And much like Mary after giving birth to Jesus, I "treasured up all these things and pondered them in [my] heart" (Luke 2:19) until it came time for the biopsy surgery.

I was wheeled into pre-op early Monday morning, with the occasional nurse scurrying in and out, the anesthesiologist poking his head in on occasion, everyone moving about quickly to get things set.  

And then walks in the neurosurgeon. Nice guy. I was a fan early on. He explained what would happen and what to expect, and then I shamelessly commented:

Doc, I hear word on the street that you don't make for a very good barber.

He got a little sheepish and smiled. 

I've always secretly wanted an excuse to shave my head. Who knows why. 

But I wasn't necessarily ready to lose all of it (or even a large swath of it) just yet in that moment just because some neurosurgeon decided to run errant with some clippers.

I really did not want to come out looking like my childhood dog post-op. 

Bubbles, on a non-buzzed day

And let me tell you, after surgery, nearly every nurse I had would walk in my room and marvel at how precise the surgeon had been with the incision, like some sort of stunning turn of events had occurred within the hallowed halls of the institution beyond just saving people from cancer. The daily headline might as well have read, "Woman Endures Brain Surgery with Nearly Complete Head of Hair Still Intact." He removed only - and exactly - the amount of hair he needed in order to make the incision and get the sample. I've been walking around two weeks now with ten staples in my head, but you'd never know it.

So, to my surgeon, tip of the hat to you. I don't know if it's because I said something or not, but either way, I'm glad you didn't leave me missing half my hair. Maybe that time is still to come and I'll finally get my secret wish to shave my head - but not for now. 

Thanks, Doc.

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Functional updates:

I'll try to carve out space in each post to provide updates on where I am in the process. So, if you're just here for the nuts and bolts, in the future you can slide straight here to the bottom and skip my idle wanderings above.

The staples came out today! Turns out it's a very underwhelming experience, getting staples out of your head, as advertised by my cousin who is a nurse. One by one, on down the line, the nurse popped 'em out and I didn't feel a thing.

I asked her if I could keep them once she pulled them out, and she gave me a very puzzled expression.

"I worked hard for these freaking staples, so yeah, I'd like the souvenir, please." 

She relented and gave me one. Bless her. 

Who knows what I'll do with it, but I'm sure I'll think of something while me and Flash keep our running office hours between 11:00 pm - 2:00 am tonight.

Energy-wise, I'm feeling a little better everyday. Balance still isn't stellar and my body doesn't totally feel like my own, but I'm able to still work and function independently. Sleep is still hit-or-miss at night, but I do seem to be sleeping for longer stretches, thankfully. I had a handful of friends visit over the weekend, the first I had anybody outside of family stop by. I found myself getting breathless easily just from all the talking at times, so I do find I have to pace myself a bit. 

I have a follow-up appointment with the current primary neuro oncologist slated for early next week, where we'll go over all of the updated pathology reports and keep gathering details on possible treatment options. I've essentially got dual tracks going between the two possible institutions I'll need to ultimately decide between. My family and I are methodically working through the facts, listening to options, and then we'll make decisions about who will ultimately be lead on my care.

Apart from sorting out my brain, I also need to sort out my knee. When the first seizure felled me at the gym, my right knee took a sizable hit, as I must have instinctively gone down on the one leg first to buffer the fall. It wasn't until I got out of the hospital that we noticed I had a pretty vicious bruise the size of a softball just below my knee. It's been awhile since I have seen those shades of black and blue. I think there is still some swelling, as it doesn't lock tight into place when I straighten it. I'll need to get an appointment scheduled with my primary care provider to see about possible imaging for that, as well, just to make sure there isn't something bigger going on there that we are overlooking.

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PS: Want to leave a comment? If you select "Anonymous," would you mind including your name directly in the body of your comment? That way I know who you are!