McDreaming of Sinuses

Day 7 - Demise of Louis B Leaky

I wake up in Surgical Recovery. I don't have a window seat. Rip-off. From my "second row" bed I can see the panorama of Bondi Beach. Oh what I would give for that window view. That guy isn't even conscious yet, why can't I have his place? I must say this out loud, because now they move me. But back to my room.

My head isn't as "full" as it was after the first surgery. My nose is not packed. It feels like I have a bad cold. But I'm happy to get back to Jell-o and bendy straws! Hey, did I remember to order ice cream for lunch?

More later as the night nurse has arrived with my nigh-nigh shot!

McDreamy will fix it

Day 3 - 5 - Visitors

The word is out. I can taste the Jell-o. They know this.  So They want to come; to visit me in my tofu-pink room with the round bathroom and the flower vase picture that looks like Spanish cows at a fiesta.

I desperately need some conversation, so I agree. They come from all corners of the city, bearing Globe Banana Smoothies, flowers and jokes.  Ah, it's good to see you guys. And it's great to know that I wasn't the only person in the room on painkillers.

But now the nerve endings are starting to act up. I'm getting tired. Thanks guys for coming. Have a great Independence Day celebration. I welcome the Fentanyl shot in the butt, and drift off to the pain train.

On Monday, the surgeon who will plaster my brain in from the outside arrives to explain the procedure. He is McDreamy. He's 6 foot 4, blond, 40 ish with beautiful teeth.  Yup, he is going to plaster my brain in.

Technically, he is going to use my sinuses. The procedure sounds a little bit like icing a cake with a ginsu knife via a webcam. He can do the procedure on Wednesday morning. I have an entire day to drip brain juice.

Days 5 & 6 - Liquids

In the meantime, the nurses and I have a new obsession.  Liquid consumption.  And not the good kind even. We're not talking about white versus red or vodka versus gin martini.  We're talking about "How much liquid is in broth?  or Jello??" And what is with my new requirement of ice and bendy straws? Why do I constantly need a cold supply of near-frozen liquid sliding behind my crusty sinuses? Is this a factor of hormonal imbalance, or just a way to soothe those crusty sinuses? And I have to suck everything through the bendy straw. Those beautiful blue, elbow straws that transport the icy cold liquid from the glass bottom to that raw spot behind my nose. And oh so quickly.

And measuring. Everything has to be measured. In and Out. Yay. So my two days are ice, measuring, Fentinyl Pain Train and trying to stretch. I even got up on Sunday night and bugged the night nurse for a cup of tea. Feeling better, just in time for a new surgery.

On Tuesday night I board the Pain Train without my bendy straw, because no liquids are allowed, and I dream of McDreamy plastering my sinuses.

Tomorrow, surgery number two.

The Operation was a success, but...

The mission: Brain surgery to remove or drain a benign pituitary tumour. Vision was blurred by pressure by said tumour on the optic nerve. 

Time from first appointment to surgery: 2 weeks. 9 June until surgery on 23 June.

Expected hospital time: 5-7 days

Expected Recovery time: 2-3 weeks, until return to work.

The best laid plans.

I kept my sense of humour. I made a big joke about brain surgery not being rocket science (it isn't). I bit the bullet and accepted that I would be away from work without pay, and in the middle of the busiest part of the project. I named the tumour and toasted his demise.

Day 1: The Surgery and ICU

The surgery goes well. Tumour drained and no issues with interference in the brain. Whew! I wake up in Intensive Care, as planned, with ice chips and 47 lines and tubes in my body. Then they offer me the pain killers.

First up, morphine. Why do they always start with the harshest? We might give you a little nausea medication with that too.

What's that? Urrrrp. Oh yeah, vomiting is probably not a good idea. Sorry about that. Hmm, that may actually disturb the stitching holding your brain together.  Let's try another, with the nausea meds, how about some Endone/ Oxycodone? Urrrp. No, that's not good either.

Hey, now my head REALLY hurts. Pounding.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" 

"I'm not really sure... I see 1, but it's kinda double."

"HOW MANY FINGERS???!!!"

Wow, I didn't know there was a right or wrong answer. Are ICU doctors allowed to yell at you?

By now, I think it's about 10pm, but I can't be sure. Greg has gone home. I have ice chips and some waterlogged sponge-on-a-stick to suck on. I can't breathe through my nose.

The evening nurse, male, lifts me up onto the transport bed. We're headed to CT. Apparently the "double" thing is a problem. As I move over, a massive power surge hits each thigh and each side of my back above my hips. It's a 10 on the pain scale. But it's quick and it's gone. Like me, down to CT.

When I get back, they are discussing the pain relief options again.  I just want to sleep without dry mouth. There are 6-8 people around. Drawing blood, checking my reflexes, observations, blood gases. They find a non-morphine based one, and I sleep.

Jeanie the night nurse comes in a couple times to make sure I'm improving. In the morning, Dr McFatherly comes in and explains that I have an air pocket on my brain. It was probably caused by the drain in my back installed to relieve the pressure.  It's done the opposite, and sucked air directly into my brain.  They clamp off the drain. Air in the brain can dry your brain out. That's not good. I need a nice moist brain. They send me to CT again on the way out of ICU and into my regular private room.

Day 2-3: This both Sucks and Blows.

The second CT shows the air pocket is getting smaller. My head hurts less, but laying in the same position is starting to take its toll. The muscles are tightening and the nerves in my legs are getting irritated. I still can't breath through my nose, because of the lovely packing. But now, the wonderful folks from the kitchen have brought the world's best tasting Jell-o for my enjoyment.  Well, maybe it's because I haven't eaten in 48 hours.

On Saturday, Mark the ward nurse pulls the packing from my nose.  It takes about an hour and enough g-force to launch a space shuttle. Afterward, I can actually tell what flavour the Jell-o is.

Shortly after the packing comes out, I can feel the dripping. Slow, methodical in the back of my throat. Comes toward my nose if my head is moved forward.

In the meantime, we are still experimenting with pain meds. Pethidine/ Demerol is up next. It relaxes me and takes the pain away, but I have weird dreams. I want to put the pain on a "pain train" and then have it pull away.  Then I sleep.

They give me a specimen jar to capture anything that comes out of my nose. We are looking for a brain fluid leak. It is clear with a yellowish halo. After a few captures, I'm pretty sure that's what I'm looking at. McFatherly comes in and concurs. He needs another surgeon to plug the hole. This really blows.

Hey, does anyone want to see my brain tumor?

You know it's gonna be a good day, when that's how you start it.

I told my bosses last Thursday.  On Friday, I told my staff. Now you see, I work in Technology.  Mostly a bunch of 20- 30 something guys who are always ready with the one-liners.

I whip out the MRI films.


So you know (not cancer) how I haven't been able to see very well lately? Well it turns out, benign 23mm tumour or cyst is pushing on the optic nerve not cancer.


You have to throw in the not cancer about three times. The words brain tumour seems to freak people out.

Let's see what wikipedia has to say about a tumor/ tumour:

A tumor or tumour is commonly used as a synonym for a neoplasm (a solid or fluid-filled (cystic) lesion that may or may not be be formed by an abnormal growth of neoplastic cells) that appears enlarged in size.^[1] Tumor is not synonymous with cancer.

It is the last line that I think causes confusion.

Pituitary tumours  like the one I have are benign (non cancerous).  They don't even use the word "usually."  They just ARE.  We just take it out because it's squishing everything else up in there, and could eventually make a mess. (Those are the technical terms.)

Why would you say that?
I have been studying neuro-linguistic programming for the past few months, even prior to the tumour.  This is the somewhat controversial study of using how people speak (and you think) to produce a "map" of one's experiences to better understand and communicate.  It helps you answer questions from "Why would anyone say that?" to "Why would anyone wear that?" The reason?  Because everyone has different experiences, so they react to the same information differently.


I REALLY appreciate EVERY ATTEMPT at listening, telling jokes, and ESPECIALLY all the folks who have posted for me.  But....This would explain some of the comments I've received about my impending brain surgery.


Ahem.


"My Grandmother had that, and she was fine."  I refrained from asking if she was still around.
"Oh, yeah, I have to have an MRI on my ankle." Yeah, cuz that will require BRAIN SURGERY
"At least they caught it while it was small." Uh - how do you know if that's considered small?
"I had an MRI the other day.  They said I was fine."  Well guess what? I'm not!
"Benign is good." Yes it is.
"I'm sure everything will be fine." Really? Are you a brain surgeon? How do you know?


"Oh my goodness."  This is probably closer to the most appropriate.


What would you say?
Or more to the point, what should you say?  I just told you I have a brain tumour, and I have to have brain surgery in two days. 


Here are some tips. (This list is with apologies to anyone to whom I recited one of the above, or similar, platitudes.)

1. Don't say the first thing that comes to your head. Pause.
2. It's not about you. Or your Grandmother, or your ankle.  For 30 seconds think about the person in front of you.
3. As a default, say, "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?"
4. Listen. Sometimes people have to repeat back what they heard in order to believe or understand.
5. If you don't want details, don't ask. When in a learning process, people will dump.
6. Follow up on the offer to do something.  This could be as simple as going to lunch.
7. Help the person stay positive. But don't offer empty platitudes as above.
8. At some point you will have to excuse yourself from the conversation. Politely change the subject to something you know the person likes. (eg "hey did you see the game last night?") or just say, can we talk about this later, I need to run.  It's okay, we understand not everyone is obsessed like we are!

Perhaps others can suggest how they would have liked to be treated?

Tomorrow - hospital check-in!

It's not rocket science, BUT....

It started out as a simple act of age rebellion.  Ok, I know Five-O is coming up, and I know that means I will probably have to increase my reading glasses prescription. But entire words were disappearing off the computer screen. Perhaps that Lasik surgery was wearing off? I'll just pop into the eye surgeon and get it checked out.

On Thursday, 9 June, I sat in the ophthalmologist's office for an hour taking tests.  The good news:  eyes are healthy. Not-so-good news: definite vision issues. "Let's take some blood tests and an MRI, to see if we can find anything."

We were coming up to a long weekend. We didn't have specific plans, but being in hospital was not amongst the choices. Immediately, Governator Arnold Schwarzenegger's immortal words in Kindergarten Cop leapt into my mind.

They scheduled my MRI for Sunday on a long weekend. I guess if they need a to pay a technician to be there, they may as well schedule appointments! By noon on Tuesday I got the call from the ophthalmologist: the scan did indeed show a "process" in my pituitary gland region between my sinus and brain, most likely benign, but pressing on my optic nerve. It's a tumor.

By 2pm on Wednesday, I was in the office of Dr John Sheehy, a neurosurgeon. Mid fifties, a bit "fatherly," with a gentle demeanor, but definitely no McDreamy! His waiting room consisted of the standard loud receptionist, 47 copies of Architectural Digest, Golf Magazine, Cars and one curious copy of the RM Williams Outback Magazine.

"This won't do at all," he says.
"What?!" I stiffen, "Ohhhh, you mean this whole brain tumour business?"
He nods.
"What are you gonna do about it?" I enquire.
"I thought we might take it out."
"Sounds like a good idea to me."

At 23 mm (one inch) in diameter, consistent in colour and material, he suggests it may be either a "Rathke's Pouch Cyst" in need of draining, or the previously suspected pituitary macroadenoma.  Both benign. Both operations done through the nose. "How does next Thursday work?"

Hmm..lemme just check my schedule....yeah I can sandwich that brain surgery in between the steering committee meeting and my status report.


And then it hits me. 

WHAT THE F#$% ??


Deep breath. Wait a minute. I am SOOOOO gonna milk this!!! Almost everything else pales by comparison to this.


"Oh, sorry to hear your project isn't going well, but I HAVE A BRAIN TUMOUR."
Your kids have the flu? I HAVE BRAIN TUMOUR
No, I'm sorry, I can't give to your charity today. I HAVE A BRAIN TUMOUR.
You think you have a headache? I HAVE A BRAIN TUMOUR.
Honey, can you get me a glass of water, IHABT.....

So here's the thing. In 7 days, I will have brain surgery.  Oh yes, it is.  It's BRAIN SURGERY! The prognosis is good. 5-7 days in hospital, 2-3 weeks out of work. Full recovery, low chance of recurrence.

Please send your thoughts, good wishes and prayers, but no need for anyone to jump on a plane. If you're in Sydney, happy to see you when I get out of hospital.

Instead you can follow my thoughts over the next 7 days and beyond.  I plan to tackle this with my usual dry sense of humour. I hope this self-preservation tactic does not offend anyone. I am not trying to belittle the seriousness of the situation, but trying to keep my sanity as I face the first test in my race against mortality.

Probably should warn the operating theatre staff that bad jokes are my specialty.

24 days without alcohol

I'm giving it another shot.  This time, it's not for money. It's for me.  After the parties and the cricket of December and January, I (and my liver) need a break and a bit of weight loss.

At first I thought, I will be alcohol-free for the month of February.  But I knew I could not keep that promise, as my best friend will be visiting from the US from the 20th.  So, I decided to enforce the ban from 27 January (after Australia Day celebrations) and until 20 February. 24 days. Not even a month. Shouldn't be so tough.

Day 5 and I've already overcome massive challenges. The first challenge was a BBQ we hosted for people I did not know well.  The easy thing is to "relax" with a wine or beer.  Not so. Had to deal with every emotion as it came up. Evaluate every personality and use those communication skills!

The very next day, BBQ housewarming at the in-laws. And their well-stocked bar fridge. Like being in a hotel. If there had been a packet of $15 macadamias, I would have eaten them!  But still, I politely said no, and drank mineral water and diet cola.

Day 4. Champagne and cold beer in the fridge. 40C/ 104F outside. Inside with no air conditioning, the double brick kept the temp to around 26C/78F and I was thirsty. Then the carton of beer arrives.

So far, it's not about needing the alcohol feeling. It's about the habit. Party = wine. BBQ = beer.

A few more tests coming up. Friend's birthday at a pub. Super Bowl. Valentine's Day. But I can do it. Because I choose.