I realized when I posted pictures the other day of Ralph and Claudia's 53rd wedding anniversary, that I haven't written anything here since early last year.
How odd, right? Then I remembered.
Right now, in July, last year, was when I was recovering from this:
I had emergency brain surgery last June to replace part of a shunt in my head that had failed.
Luckily, Rob realized a headache I was having was worse than my regular kind and he believed me when I told him to take me to the hospital. Shortly after we arrived in the ER I became unresponsive. The neurosurgery team happened to still be in the building and they cracked my head open in the middle of the night.
When I woke up the next day in the ICU, I had no memory of the headache, the ride to the hospital or the ER. And I was completely high on major awesome drugs, so from my perspective it was not a bad way to almost croak. It was hella less painful than 18 hours of labor ending in a c-section. (Thank you, childbirth for helping me keep life and death stuff in perspective.)
28 years ago, I had a bad headache. Like the nagging kind, that just wouldn't go away. I went to a doctor, who decided I was a stressed college student, wife and mother to then 18 month-old Jennifer. I was 23 years old and in perfect health. Other than the ridiculous headache, I had nothing wrong with me and in fact, rarely even got headaches. I was just a normal, busy young adult.
After 3 weeks of missing work and school, seeing doctors in the university student health clinic, seeing an eye doctor, and visiting the ER, my headache progressed to the point I repeatedly banged my head on our apartment floor because that actually seemed to help the pain.
I remember doing that.
Then Rob scooped me up and took me back to the hospital.
After taking another look at me in the neurology clinic, I had an emergency shunt for hydrocephalus put in my head. I was in the hospital for 3 days, then sent home to teach myself how to read again.
A short time after my first brain surgery, my long time childhood friend Leslie, came to visit me. I hadn't seen her 6 years and a lot had happened during those years. Rob and I got married, we had baby Jennifer, and we transferred to BYU in Utah to continue our studies. We had this picture taken during her visit. My hair had grown back enough from surgery that I was able to cut it short without my fresh scar being obvious.
Luckily, Rob realized a headache I was having was worse than my regular kind and he believed me when I told him to take me to the hospital. Shortly after we arrived in the ER I became unresponsive. The neurosurgery team happened to still be in the building and they cracked my head open in the middle of the night.
When I woke up the next day in the ICU, I had no memory of the headache, the ride to the hospital or the ER. And I was completely high on major awesome drugs, so from my perspective it was not a bad way to almost croak. It was hella less painful than 18 hours of labor ending in a c-section. (Thank you, childbirth for helping me keep life and death stuff in perspective.)
28 years ago, I had a bad headache. Like the nagging kind, that just wouldn't go away. I went to a doctor, who decided I was a stressed college student, wife and mother to then 18 month-old Jennifer. I was 23 years old and in perfect health. Other than the ridiculous headache, I had nothing wrong with me and in fact, rarely even got headaches. I was just a normal, busy young adult.
After 3 weeks of missing work and school, seeing doctors in the university student health clinic, seeing an eye doctor, and visiting the ER, my headache progressed to the point I repeatedly banged my head on our apartment floor because that actually seemed to help the pain.
I remember doing that.
Then Rob scooped me up and took me back to the hospital.
After taking another look at me in the neurology clinic, I had an emergency shunt for hydrocephalus put in my head. I was in the hospital for 3 days, then sent home to teach myself how to read again.
A short time after my first brain surgery, my long time childhood friend Leslie, came to visit me. I hadn't seen her 6 years and a lot had happened during those years. Rob and I got married, we had baby Jennifer, and we transferred to BYU in Utah to continue our studies. We had this picture taken during her visit. My hair had grown back enough from surgery that I was able to cut it short without my fresh scar being obvious.
After the surgery, the doctor explained at my first check-up that I was very lucky. In the days proceeding my drama, a nurse at the same hospital went home early with a really bad headache. She took aspirin and went to bed. She didn't wake up. An autopsy showed she had the same thing I presented with days later. Because it was a fresh tragedy in the hospital, staff were still thinking about that when I showed up with my exploding brain.
The surgeon explained I was a walking miracle because I had the headache for so long. After 3 weeks of gradually building pressure, the expectation was that I might not wake up at all after surgery, and if I did, it was 100% certain I would have permanent brain damage. In fact, Rob was told in the waiting room to prepare himself for the possibility I would require long-term nursing home care.
It was bad.
And then I woke up after surgery and I repeatedly said to everyone who came into my room, "See? I told you I had a headache."
I was such a medical phenom, a parade of medical residents and students came to see me in my hospital room.
Even though I was only days out of high-risk surgery, my ego was still strong enough that I didn't think to question why a line of perfect strangers wanted to ask me what my earliest life memories were, what my favorite color was and what I thought about the state of politics at the time. Why wouldn't people want to know what I thought about practically everything? I was obviously the most fascinating person in the joint, right?
It wasn't until weeks later, that I figured it out.
They didn't care about me, they cared that I was walking, talking, and alive!
The fact I lost my ability to read like a speed demon didn't bother anyone in the hospital. It took about a year for me to be able to comfortably read with good comprehension. But after that, no problems with my head.
The doctors explained that what happened to me was rare. No one at my age, with no medical history, should have that happen to them. And, they told Rob and I, the average lifespan of a shunt was 7-10 years. I would have to expect another brain surgery to replace the shunt every decade the rest of my life, and that each surgery was considered high risk.
Oh swell!
I went through it once, and now had a whole lifetime of repeats to look forward to. Goody for me.
But of course, that is not how life turned out.
It took 26 years for my shunt to fail. And in between, I had only had a couple of neurological check-ups, so take that pre-existing condition insurance gurus.
Occasionally during those 26 years Rob and I talked about what would happen if the shunt failed. Depending on the age of our kids at the time, we made different tentative plans on who could watch our kids while I was in the hospital, and how I would manage my imaginary recovery.It was like a chronic illness was hanging over my head, but I wasn't sick and nothing ever happened. What a way to live.
The surgeon explained I was a walking miracle because I had the headache for so long. After 3 weeks of gradually building pressure, the expectation was that I might not wake up at all after surgery, and if I did, it was 100% certain I would have permanent brain damage. In fact, Rob was told in the waiting room to prepare himself for the possibility I would require long-term nursing home care.
It was bad.
And then I woke up after surgery and I repeatedly said to everyone who came into my room, "See? I told you I had a headache."
I was such a medical phenom, a parade of medical residents and students came to see me in my hospital room.
Even though I was only days out of high-risk surgery, my ego was still strong enough that I didn't think to question why a line of perfect strangers wanted to ask me what my earliest life memories were, what my favorite color was and what I thought about the state of politics at the time. Why wouldn't people want to know what I thought about practically everything? I was obviously the most fascinating person in the joint, right?
It wasn't until weeks later, that I figured it out.
They didn't care about me, they cared that I was walking, talking, and alive!
The fact I lost my ability to read like a speed demon didn't bother anyone in the hospital. It took about a year for me to be able to comfortably read with good comprehension. But after that, no problems with my head.
The doctors explained that what happened to me was rare. No one at my age, with no medical history, should have that happen to them. And, they told Rob and I, the average lifespan of a shunt was 7-10 years. I would have to expect another brain surgery to replace the shunt every decade the rest of my life, and that each surgery was considered high risk.
Oh swell!
I went through it once, and now had a whole lifetime of repeats to look forward to. Goody for me.
But of course, that is not how life turned out.
It took 26 years for my shunt to fail. And in between, I had only had a couple of neurological check-ups, so take that pre-existing condition insurance gurus.
Occasionally during those 26 years Rob and I talked about what would happen if the shunt failed. Depending on the age of our kids at the time, we made different tentative plans on who could watch our kids while I was in the hospital, and how I would manage my imaginary recovery.It was like a chronic illness was hanging over my head, but I wasn't sick and nothing ever happened. What a way to live.
This go-round, I was out of the ICU in 24 hours and out of the hospital the day after. One night on the hospital neurology floor was enough for me, thank you very much. That place was packed with patients. I had no idea there were so many ways brains can fail.
Once again, at my first post-op appointment, the doctors said I was very lucky. First, I was alive. Second, they didn't have to replace the full shunt, just the plastic tube that runs from my head down my torso and ends in my abdomen. So my brains didn't get scrambled at all and I could read and write and complain like normal with no problems.
Yay me!
Our family hair stylist came to the house and gave me my first post-op hair cut in our living room. She artful did an extreme comb over to cover the back and side of my shaved head. Not too bad at all, I say.
Once again, at my first post-op appointment, the doctors said I was very lucky. First, I was alive. Second, they didn't have to replace the full shunt, just the plastic tube that runs from my head down my torso and ends in my abdomen. So my brains didn't get scrambled at all and I could read and write and complain like normal with no problems.
Yay me!
Our family hair stylist came to the house and gave me my first post-op hair cut in our living room. She artful did an extreme comb over to cover the back and side of my shaved head. Not too bad at all, I say.
For the first couple of months, whenever we went out in public Rob was on Trump duty (trust me, it was a funny joke back then, before the elections) to pull my hair flap back into place whenever the wind picked it up and exposed my fresh head scar.
Anyway, here I am a year later and all is well.
Oh! I forgot to tell you the very best parts of last year, besides my head scare:
Rob had serious neck surgery early in the year and I got to nurse him back to full neck function for three months. This is the Certificate of Awesomeness he got from Rachel, his occupational therapist on the day he was done with therapy:
Within 2 months of Rob getting back to work and enjoying life with his new neck, I had this surgery:
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| Before |
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| After |
Yep. The fine doctors at the Univ. of Iowa took 7 lbs. off my chest. Hands down, the best surgery EVER.
Unfortunately, 3 weeks after having breast reduction surgery, my head decided to explode. I ended up recovering from fresh chest wounds, a head wound and abdomen wounds (because they had to open my gut to anchor the end of the shunt tube) all at the same time. I was the talk of the surgery clinic for that day, for sure.
You may find fault with lots of things with our quirky family, but never let it be said we don't know how to maximize our yearly health insurance payment cap. Just think, 3 major family surgeries in ONE year, all under one fiscal payment limit.
Thank you,
Thank you very much.
Kiss, Kiss, all is well.
