Brain Surgery: Final Thoughts Before the Day
If the lore around pre-op appointments is anything like that of rehearsal dinners for weddings, then I should be in luck. The more things that go wrong at the rehearsal, the better the wedding, right?
It was not an outright catastrophe, but it was definitely… spooky.
I’ve been using that word a lot lately. It fits.
They did not have my information in my chart, first of all. I found this odd (so did the admissions staff) because I filled out a whole packet of paperwork before the prior appointment with the impression that it would be put somewhere. But okay, the person I spoke to was pleasant.
“And you’re here for a… cerebral… cyst?”
“Ah. Yes. I like the way that sounds better than ‘brain tumor.’”
“I’m sorry… I just want to make sure it’s coded correctly.”
I told her the apology was unnecessary (and was confused about what it was for). Just trying to keep it light.
“Do you have any advanced directives?”
“No,” I said, with enough of an existential punch behind it that the other front desk associate laughed.
We then waited for an hour in the front lobby until I was called back for an EKG, blood draw, and chest X-ray. The EKG was quick and undignified. The blood draw was one of my better draws with only one stick and just a little digging around. One thing though: a roach fell from the ceiling light and the nurse squished it in the sheet stretched across the table.
“Pretty good omen,” I joked. Ha ha. Lite.
Then the chest X-ray. Quick, more dignified. We were making our way back across the front lobby to the room my partner was waiting in when we heard police sirens. We were near the Emergency Department, so I thought perhaps it was an escort. We made our way through the keypad locked door, and I settled back into the small exam room to wait for the hospitalist.
Over the intercom, we heard an announcement: the hospital was on immediate lockdown. For ten tense minutes, we listened for gunshots.
Luckily, the person responsible for the lockdown was subdued and arrested. I don’t have any other details.
Then we met with the hospitalist, who asked a bunch more questions that should have been in my chart, and told me that all my tests looked good and I was cleared for surgery.
Walking through the front lobby, everything looked as before, except for a police officer taking statements from the poor people who had still been in that front lobby when whatever happened went down.
I hope for no other ~events.~
People keep asking me if I’m nervous.
“Yes, of course I am.” Wouldn’t you be?
After my daughter goes to bed, I google my doctor and read his good reviews. I look up brain surgery survivors and look at their smiling faces, looking for signs that they are like me and I am like them. If I am going to think about it, I might as well focus on what could go right. A friend’s hyperfixation comes in handy, and she sends me videos of people who have had brain surgery and look and feel great now.
I’ve been making an effort to do nice things for myself. I’ve always been pretty good at that, but it’s been more harried in the last year, and there has always been the occasional tendency to hoard a precious thing and not use it. It’s why I have so many little bottles of nice infused oils and aged teas. I acquire them and then wait for the right time to use them…
It’s now. It’s always been now.
So I use the nice oils, and I use plenty. I buy the flowers when I go to the store, and I arrange them on the dining room table. I use the nice spices and the pretty coffee cups. I wear my nice jewelry and my nice clothes, even if there is no occasion but today. I read novels and light candles. I’m allowing myself to use the things I’ve accumulated, and that feels really good.
I went for one last run today. I look forward to doing that again. I focused on my breathing and how good my body felt while moving that way. I’ve done a lot of good work to get myself back to that place and I can do it again. It’s worth it and will always be worth it.
The other day, I was listening to someone talk about loving one’s body, and I realized I felt giddy with loving mine. I love this thing! It’s beautiful. I hate to have to put it through surgery, but that’s the treatment for epidermoid cysts, and I have the chance to get it out while it’s small and not causing symptoms like headaches or seizures or worse. I can do this difficult thing for this body that I adore. We can get through it.
I’ve also realized, as I round out nine weeks since finding out I even had a brain tumor… I’ve known about it and been waiting for surgery for longer than my recovery will take. And, looking back, it hasn’t been too terribly long. Not really.
I am getting little projects ready for myself. I had some photos printed from the last four months, and I’m going to add them to the enormous photo album I have going from my pregnancy and her first year. Maybe I can sort some baby clothes. Participate in a craft night. Maybe I can read and write and watch movies. One day at a time.
Her first birthday party (birthday get together, really) had ten adults and two babies. That was about as big as we had bandwidth for. It was a really lovely afternoon.
As I sit in bed the night before surgery, it anchors me. And so does the possibility that I might not just get back to normal after surgery, but I might even feel better. I might be walking around with fatigue or pain that I’ve just become accustomed to because of this interloper. And maybe after tomorrow, those symptoms will be gone. Who knows?
Well, me, a few days from now.
