Surviving Brain Surgery

 

I am proof that life can change drastically in an instant! 

Almost two weeks ago, as I was leaving a coffee shop with my Mom, I had some sort of bizarre brain event… while we were having coffee and chatting, my Mom said that I was acting very strange, falling asleep at the table, speaking very slowly.  She said she kept asking me if I was ok. I do not remember any of that, but, I do remember telling her as we left, that my latte must not have settled because I was feeling a bit nauseous. Somehow though, I drove us home, although Mom said that I was weaving all over the road. I don’t remember any of that drive, either. Luckily we were only a few miles away, and we made it safely. When we arrived back at my house, Mom said I was very confused. She ran into the house to get Tom, yelling for him to come quickly because ‘something wasn’t right with Linda’. They weren’t sure what was happening to me, but, they knew I was definitely not acting like myself. Tom called for an ambulance, and, even though it was there within minutes, I have absolutely no recollection of that, nor the ride to the UW Hospital East. The first thing that I do remember (after getting into my car as we were leaving Grace Coffee Shop), was someone attaching a huge oxygen mask to my face in what must have been the ER. I didn’t know what was happening to me, I did not know where I was…but, I did hear people around me  talking about how high my CO2 level was…and, they were very concerned about that.  Tom told me later that the nurses and doctors were asking me questions and I was answering them, like, “What kind of coffee drink did you have, what is your Social Security Number? Which is so bizarre because my mind was not working in so many other ways, but I knew my social security number! 

Later that day, after all the blood tests and CT scans, and an MRI, the doctors began to have an idea of what was going on: I had something ‘growing’ inside my brain. At that point, they decided to transfer me to the downtown UW Hospital where the Neurosurgeons could work alongside The Infectious Disease Team there to determine exactly what it was, and how best to treat it. 

Late that night in the ICU, my Neurosurgeon came to introduce himself, and to tell me that the team of doctors had determined I had a tiny infectious abscess in my frontal temporal lobe, and that he was going to open up my brain and take it out as soon as he could fit me into his surgery schedule. Finally, after waiting another day, they were able to get me into an operating room, and I had brain surgery to remove the infectious abscess.

I remember laying on the operating table wondering if that was going to be my final scene, terrified, and praying to all the higher powers that be, to please let me live. So, when I woke up and saw the kindly face of my doctor, I was quite relieved. Giddy, in fact! 

I learned that the surgeon had successfully removed the abscess, which was tiny, but, deep within my brain. I also learned that the Infectious Disease Team already had the infectious material, and had immediately begun growing cultures from it, in hopes that they would soon know what the bacterium or fungus was. 

Three days later, they had the answers they were waiting for. They learned that I had a bacterial infection that was rare, but, treatable, so I was able to be transferred home under their ‘Home Hospital’ program, where the nurses and doctors would come to me, closely monitor me for several more days, and administer my twice daily antibiotic infusions. 

The nurses who came to our home to administer the infusions eventually taught Tom how to administer them, so that once I was officially released from their program, I could continue to get my infusions at home by nurse Tom. 

It is still early in my recovery, but, I am feeling good, slowly fighting my way back to ‘normal life’ (although I suspect life will never be the old ‘normal’ again). I already feel different in a myriad of ways…everything makes me weepy and everything makes me profoundly grateful to be alive. 

 I suspect that as some more time passes, and I am able to look back and realize how critically ill I truly was, that life will change even more. 

In an alternate Universe none of this has happened, and I like that concept. Unfortunately, my big, beautiful, (but, oh, so badass!) scar, reminds me that it definitely did.

And, I survived.