The Last Wine O'Clock

I've made a decision. One that may not be popular or easy to understand. But I've been pondering it for a few months now. And it's definitely the right time.

I'm giving up drinking alcohol.

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Before the bets start and the cries of "you tried this before," ring through the planet, let me explain.

I moved to Tasmania to enjoy the outdoors and kick a few more goals here than I could possibly kick in Sydney (insert league v AFL joke here). So far that hasn't happened. My job has been much more stressful than I would have thought, and the friends I've made to date, like to relieve their stress with a beer or wine after work. Couple that with a $10 taxi ride home from the pub, and it's just become TOO. DARN. EASY.

Living the dream, you say? Mates, cheap booze and cab? Well hang on Skippy, it's a bit more than that. You'll remember that I have this little condition called panhypopituitarism. That's right, not even Google spell check knows that one. It means my body doesn't make or regulate 5 chemicals, two of which are essential to live. Only in the last year have I been able to feel normal-ish by taking the supplements I've had prescribed after pain-staking 8 hour long tests and clinical trials.

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Since moving to Tassie, I've been a little off-kilter, more stressed, more agro and anxious and less satisfied with my life and my goals. On the days I don't meet the mates at the pub, I come home tired, with no self-discipline to do anything else, and the days I do meet them, nothing on my list gets done. I want to see if cutting out booze will make a difference.

No, I don't want you to donate money to a cause, and certainly don't buy me "days off:" That's not the point. It's about me meeting my goals and taking steps to do so. I won't put a time limit on this, but I have a goal in my mind. It may take a week, a month, a year, or forever. However it long it takes me to work out alcohol's place in my life.

It won't be easy. Now more than ever we live in an alcohol fueled culture. People who don't drink are seen as prudes or judgemental of those who do.  Trust me, you are quite welcome to find your own alcohol medium. And be a prude? Yeah, I'm pretty sure I was this way before alcohol ever touched my lips.

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What can YOU do? Just treat me as normal! When it's your shout, be okay that I'm getting a Lime and Soda or Ginger Ale. Keep the chiding down on Facebook! Nothing's changed. I'm still me. I'm just not drinking.

Last wine o'clock. I made it a good one. Thank you present from my last client for getting the project in on time. 2015 Coldstream Hills Pinot Noir.  Seriously, if this is the last alcohol I ever drink, I will die a happy woman.


Updates on how it's going coming up!

A New Courage

Fear. It paralyses. It makes you sit on the sofa and sob. While watching reality shows.

Or it can cause you to "fight or flight" as in "Hey, there's a lion. He's licking his chops and walking towards me....RUN!!!!!"

Four years ago my body lost the ability to automatically "fight or flight." I cannot handle even the stress of an illness like gastro or minor oral surgery without taking additional replacement hormones called hydrocortisone. It translates into Cortisol, a hormone normally produced under orders of the pituitary gland. Mine is a withered piece of useless tissue and all my pituitary-ordered hormones must be replaced via medication.


Physically, I'm capable of functioning on the supplements, but I've had this mental aversion to risks since the surgery. I have been gripped by a single fear.

What if my body can't respond to the stress caused by life?

Before my diagnosis, I had a list of 50 things I wanted to do before my 50th birthday. I still managed to achieve half of a slightly modified list, most of which was planned before my surgery. But since then? Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Nyet. Sure I started a company, closed it, became a full-time employee. All things to continue my existence, not enhance it.

In 2013, I revisited an exercise I'd forgotten about: the Franklin Covey Personal Mission Statement.  

I'd last completed this around 2007.  My life had changed significantly since then, and it was time for an update.

I completed this exercise, and then BAM! Another significant life change. The break-up of a long-term relationship.

These things happen in life. But for me, it was back to the sofa with ice cream and all seven seasons of the Gilmore Girls.

An invitation to participate in a medical trial gave me a surge of optimism, but was followed quickly by losing three friends gone-too-soon, and a medical emergency at home.

The biggest positives have been my career, and after 2 and a half years, I've purchased my first property in Australia. And of course the ever-present support of friends.

So now what? Now it's time to swing back into action. I've discovered Franklin Covey's The 5 Choices and plan on using these to implement Operation: No Fear.

For the next week I will operate without fear to work through my "Big Rocks". If these outcomes are successful, and there is little doubt they will be, I will be in the position to further achieve things that are important to me.

I'll keep you posted!

A month of Teetotalling

It started as a little challenge from two friends. 

"Hey, we're doing FebFast for kids with alcohol and substance abuse problems. Are you in?" 

Hmm...A month without alcohol? 

Let's face it. I'm a "celebrating" kind of person. The weekend? Couple of drinks. Cricket? Couple of beers. Dinner? Couple of wines. But I have learned my limits, and I try to stay within them.

After a quick scan for special occasions, this seems feasible. Only Valentine's Day and anniversary. No major parties or birthdays. "Yup, I'm in."

Admittedly, it's only February, the shortest month of the year. And I am great at fundraising for causes I believe in. Perhaps a challenge will do me good.

I signed up, paid my $25 for Ted Noff's and committed to finding other ways to wind down from my day, week, life. I didn't commit to saving money or losing weight. I decided to see if these things would just naturally happen.

Week 1

At first, I thought the first week would be the hardest. On 1 February, we were attending the cricket. But I cruised through without a beer, instead allowing myself the calories of fizzy drink or two. On Saturday 4 Feb, moved house, with two friends, who are doing the FebFast with me! No break down there.  6 Feb, the Super Bowl. Nothing. 2 x Six packs left in fridge. Nada. Virgin margaritas enjoyed. Loved the intention of doing it quietly and actually for the cause.


Week 2
Starts off kinda badly.  My partner comes home from terrific news, and we have a cold bottle of bubbles in the fridge.  I pay $25 to have a day off to celebrate with him. Facebook is all a-twitter or Twitter is off its face or something.  The social mediacs believe a change in relationship status is coming, as I am particularly vague about the reason for my "day off". The rest of the week passes without incident, including Valentines Day, where we share a bottle of non-alcoholic wine on the Harbour.

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!