A friend told me that they though in all honesty that the Blog seemed a little over the top, and that they would never put so much personal information on the Internet, but maybe that's because they are just a more private person. I can respect that point of view, but I don't consider this as me putting a bunch of personal info on the Internet. OK, I know I am, but the Internet isn't what it used to be. You can find everything in print, audio and video media on the Internet, so what's the difference? Granted, this isn't a published New York Times best selling autobiography you're reading here, but for me, if I'm going to take the time to write something for others to read, I might as well make it worth reading. Some of those autobiographies that have been bestsellers had their success for being completely honest, with raw details and vivid descriptions.
So...I have neglected to tell you about the surgery itself. Obviously, and thankfully, I have no recollection of the actual surgery, but I do recall the moments before and everything after. I made it a point to remember the O.R. because I wanted to write about it. But let's back up a little before that to when I arrived at the hospital.
We stood in line as a few other patients had arrived at the same time. I looked at older couple in front of me and wondered which of them was the patient and what they were having done. To the left of me was a group of chairs and a television. We were on the top level of the large building, and from where we were you could see down to the ground level. There were many plants, glass and wood, and plenty of sunlight. I assumed that the group of chairs was where my family would wait for me, and I imagined them sitting there together waiting to hear the news of how things were going.
We were sent through a set of double doors and down a hall into a private room, where I was asked to change and they did some tests. After saying goodbye to Mike, Kerry and my Aunt Betty, the nurse led me to another area which I assume was the opposite of the recovery room, let's say the prep room. There, I was visited first by the anesthesiologist's assistant, the anesthesiologist, my neurosurgeon and a nurse. They then wheeled me into the O.R. This was by far the creepiest part of my experience. The room was huge. The first thing I noticed was the metal table on the far wall covered in bright blue paper and about 70 silver tools that looked like different shaped scissors. The placed me in the center of the room under three large overhead lights, kind of like the ones at the dentist, but about five times the size. To the right of me was another table, I assumed they would move me there for the procedure since I'd have to be face down. There were about seven people int he room busily getting things in place and doing I wasn't sure what. They injected something into my IV, so I knew my awake time was limited, I tried to keep looking around to absorb the room and get a good look at it, because before long...
I opened my eyes to find myself in place that looked like the the "preparation room". At first, I thought I was still there and had dozed off. The anesthesiologist's assistant was next to me saying "Kristin, you're in the recovery room. You're at Evanston Hospital and you just had surgery." I couldn't believe it. I responded, "They already did it?" "Yes" she replied. For a minute, I forgot I had been in the operating room and wonder if I would even remember if I hadn't made such a conscious effort. She checked my pupils and asked me a few more questions, but I immediately began my own tests. In my head did math problems, spoke in Spanish, recalled states and capitals, thoughts of my family members names and birthdays, ran through the recipe to prepare tuna casserole, thought about my mom and became sad, thought about my kids and became happy, wiggled my fingers and toes, I focused on a nurse across the room and on the name tag of the doctor talking to me...everything worked, intelligence, emotions, I wasn't paralyzed, deaf or blind. I then sighed in relief, my brain was still functioning. Then I felt the pain, my God, it was unbearable. They had given me Dilaudid through my IV but I don't think it was doing much, because the pain I was feeling was excruciating.
I was supposed to spend one hour in recovery and go to my room in the ICU; I spent 6 hours there waiting for a room to open up. I don't remember much since I slept most of the time. They took me for a C-Scan before taking me to my room, and I remember asking them to be very careful when moving me because I had just had brain surgery, I'm sure they found that amusing, but I was in such pain, the though of being moved was almost too much to handle. They assured me that would be very careful, but I was certain that my pain was far worse than anyone else could had ever experienced, and that moving me might kill me. I made eye contact with one of the lab technician's that tried to communicate more than I could with my scratchy voice (from being intubated), and he promised they would be careful. On three, they slid me over to another table, and I really didn't feel a thing.
Eventually, I finally made it to my room in the ICU, where I was accompanied by my sister, aunt and Mike. Much of the time there was spent trying to get me comfortable as I went in and out of consciousness. I find it hard to believe that it was just a week ago, and that I am now sitting on my couch getting ready to take a shower and then take the kids to the library. The human brain is truly amazing, along with science and medicine, especially when things work out like they are supposed to. I'm so relieved that things did, having been there when they didn't, and so grateful that my biggest complaint is some neck pain and a headache that I can deal with by taking ibuprofen. Well, that and a pretty ugly hairdo that can easily be covered up and a scar no one will really see. In the grand scheme of it all, I have a lot to be thankful for.
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