So I have this thing about recording every. freaking. detail about major (and admittedly, sometimes not so major) events in my life -- I was a big time journal-er for many, many years (especially throughout high school and college) and absolutely love being able to read back through those MANY completely full journals and literally relive certain experiences, days, conversations, and so on, so vividly because of the detail I recorded. I've basically stopped journaling since starting grad school (it's very difficult to find the time, but I really want to force myself to start writing consistently again -- maybe being on leave this semester will allow me to implement that in a way that I can maintain once I go back to school), but I think this kinda sorta major event in my life warrants that level of insane detail once again.
In the words of my bilingual niece (when she was a toddler): uno, dos, three, GO!
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After that first horrible awful week in December in Michigan when the plan was to stay there for surgery, the decision to return to Utah completely shifted my mood -- like, went from dark, pissed off, bitter as hell, tearful, probably pretty damn miserable to be around to puppies, rainbows, hugs galore, and me basically sweating glitter. When I finally arrived back in Utah on January 4th, it was actually slightly disgusting how ecstatic I was to be here -- the day I got back, I had taken a nap on my couch after some early-morning traveling, woken up in that confused "I just traveled, where the hell am I right now" daze, looked up in a half-conscious stupor from my pillow, and saw a sliver of bright blue sky between my balcony and the apartment building next door. I smiled to myself and, literally out loud (with no one else in the apartment!) said, "Oh my god, I love my life." As if we needed any more convincing that coming back here was the right decision.
My first couple days back were wonderful -- I was so happy to be here, so happy to be with my friends again, back in my office on campus, and so on. By time the weekend hit, my anxiety about the surgery, which was scheduled for the following Thursday, was steadily rising. I think it's safe to say that it really hit its peak on Sunday, when I found myself trying so hard to engage in conversation and fun activities with my friends, but honestly was having trouble keeping my mind on what we were doing, and instead wandering every few minutes to my worries about the surgery, the outcome, potential complications, and the like. I tried to keep myself as distracted as possible over the next couple days, but often found myself lost in worry, bursting into tears at ridiculously tiny things, not sleeping, and generally just feeling incredibly agitated and overwhelmed. My dad and stepmom arrived in SLC the day before surgery and, though I was so relieved to have them here, the fact that they were here really made the reality of the surgery sink in (their presence, plus the fucking ridiculous stickers/blue marker on my face -- see the "almost go-time" post for an explanation of that if you missed it. Not gonna lie, I'm still a little bitter.). We went out for a late lunch/early dinner, hung out around the apartment for a bit, I had a beyond helpful and amazing 20 minute phone call with my friend's sister who just happens to be one of the big-shot nurses/coordinators in the neurosurgery department (see? serendipity!), and then Emilie came over and she and I took a drive to what we refer to as "the therapy spot" for some last minute freaking out/comforting. I got home around 11 that evening, did a bunch of little last minute chores, and went to bed around 1am. I, not surprisingly, didn't sleep for shit for the few hours before my alarm went off at 4:45am.
Being my ever-controlling self, I was internally freaking out when we didn't walk out of the apartment until like 5:48am (I was supposed to be there at 6). Being my over-reactive self, I wasn't terribly surprised when we arrived at like 6:03am and were, of course, just fine. Given the normal chaos of pre-surgical "stuff," it was ridiculous for us to be there that early anyway -- my surgery was scheduled to begin at 7:30am, but that hour and a half was basically just a whole lotta waiting. When we initially arrived, there was no one at the front desk and four or five of us waiting (impatiently! You could feel the agitation). Celia (my stepmom) calmly suggested that we sit down until someone appeared, so we did for a few minutes before a nurse finally came out. The nurse explained to the waiting family members how the patient tracking board worked, and then she took all of us back at once to assign us to rooms. Celia stayed back in the waiting room (and that final hug produced tears from the stepmama I always view as hardcore as hell = more reality! bah!), and my dad and I went back to what they oh-so-calmingly call the "holding area."
I changed into my super sexy gown and then waited. And waited. And waited. And omg waited. It was seriously at least 30-40 minutes before anyone came into my room, as my poor dad and I sat there, pretty much in silence, tapping toes, wringing fingers, and so on. I was sure at that point that my surgery would be delayed starting, so was beginning to stress about that.... but then once folks started coming in, everything exploded at once. I signed a bunch of consent forms (including one to give my tumor to the Huntsman Cancer Institute post-pathology report... hell yeah bitches need to research that shit!), got my first hand IV started, met and talked with the anesthesiologist and his resident, and got a (stressful) detailed rundown of the how the day would go (no new info, it was just kind of one of those "jesus god, I KNOW, let's just do it" moments). As they prepared to wheel me down to the OR (no joke, at like 7:25... I love punctuality), they gave me some sort of mild sedation that, while it didn't really take away much anxiety, was at least a fun little trip right before all the crazy. ;)
I don't remember much about being in the OR -- what I do remember is that the room itself didn't look anything like I expected it to (I was envisioning a Grey's Anatomy-type OR, and this was much smaller and brighter) and there were a LOT of people doing various things in preparation. I remember wishing that everyone in there had said hi to me (which only 2 did) because I was really overwhelmed with the idea of being "a surgery" instead of a person, but the two nurses who were directly getting me ready were incredibly kind... and my friend's rockstar sister managed to make the time to come in and say hi right before they put me under which I appreciated so, so much. They gave me some pure oxygen through a mask for a few minutes, reminded me to actually breathe (I have an odd tendency to breathe really shallowly and basically unintentionally hold my breath for a few seconds at a time when I'm really freaking out), and that's the last thing I remember about being in the OR. They gave me anesthesia through an IV and didn't tell me when they started pushing it (which I was thankful for, because I would have panicked -- I was terrified about the anesthesia portion of this whole situation), so I remember absolutely nothing between them giving me the oxygen mask and then waking up several hours later.
What I know about the actual surgery process: for the sake of the patient’s sanity and (I’m sure more importantly) the ease of the staff, they do the vast majority of prep after you’re anesthetized… when I woke up, there were tubes everywhere and the only thing I was conscious for was the one IV in my hand. I know that I was face down for the surgery (but again, they do all of the positioning once you’re out which I’m so grateful for!), and that my head was locked in place with what’s subtly called a “skull fixation device.” This device has 3-4 metal “pins” that are screwed into your head to keep it absolutely still during the surgery. They have lots of pretty impressive gadgets they use during major surgeries, like special blankets that simultaneously keep you warm while also stimulating blood flow in your skin. I was (obviously) intubated during the surgery, though I have no idea what cool contraption allows you to be simultaneously intubated and face down (my understanding was that I had a little “face hole” similar to a massage table… worst massage ever).
I officially had a posterior fossa craniotomy (go ahead and google images with that search term if you're freaky like me and are fascinated by that kind of thing... if you're easily grossed out, I'd recommend against said googling!), though I think, technically, I actually had a craniectomy, since they didn't replace the piece of skull that was removed. Apparently, the vast majority of my surgery was just gaining access to the tumor – my parents received updates throughout the surgery (which, I think, only ended up lasting about 4 hours), including an update that I had handled the anesthesia well, that things were progressing as expected, and around 11am, that they still hadn’t gotten to the tumor yet. Once they did reach the tumor, though, my understanding is that it was only about 45 more minutes until they were totally finished.
....part II (the waking-up experience and the rest of the first day) will be posted shortly. I know you're on the edge of your seats. :)
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