fruzicle | Entries tagged with brain surgery

Shhh, don't tell.

For years I had an emplanted alien fetus in my body. Slowly it grew, out of sight of common knowledge. It was hidden in a dark, moist cavern within my skull, closed in on all sides by my nervous system. Iron-rich blood nourished it, pulsating around its intra-corporeal ovoid shape. It, in turn, sucked what it needed from my all-too-generous body, especially that nutritive soup in which it bathed. I was helpless to combat this alien species' inexhorable thirst for home and nurture.

No one knows when the aliens implanted me. Not even me. But slowly it grew and grew. No one knows either just what their purpose was. But I do have a little idea about that. I think it was there as a spy.

Through the years I became more and more curious. I wanted to learn everything about this planet they call earth. I studied the plants on this planet. I memorized names of every green and not-green thing I could. I worked diligently to learn how I could utilize the natural resources of the earth to help my body survive. I inserted myself into interpersonal connections, always hoping to understand which human behaviors gave me more access to the inhabitants--and their knowledge-- of this sphere. I did everything I could to fit in with the common Homo sapiens on this world, at least the best I could.

I researched the ways of the ocean, and the forces that create its currents and tides. I cached away information about the earth itself, its magnetism, seismicity, and vulcanism--information that could become crucial for an impending invasion. I inspected heavy tomes about bacterial and viral infection to learn what weakpoints the indigenous species had.

And always I watched the night sky. A vast frigid, icy expanse. Somewhere out there...what?

For decades I gathered information for the implanters. All those years the aliens kindled their offspring's development, bringing to sharply crackling life everything they would need to know about their next conquest: Planet Earth.

I also exhibited some unsual habits. Anyone really watching should have noticed. I shied from the heat. Not for me the baking of the human-form body in the sun. You would never find me willingly out on an August desert at noon. Instead, I preferred the blue ice chill of the far north. I loved ice cream and ice in my drinks. Any left over, and I would happily masticate those earthly, temporary solids. I suspect a significant challenge for the aliens was adapting their cryophilic minds, bodies, and babies to our temporate climes.

Of course I loved chocolate, but, who doesn't? I think that's probably irrelevant.

Finally, perhaps they decided that their implant had gathered sufficient information; It was time to harvest. A rescue mission was launched to release the now-grown embryo. To keep their espionage under wraps, the excision of the fetus was couched as a "medical" operation, not unlike a top-secret combat mission.

Their agents were men known colloquially as "doctors." Interesting how they were so much more intelligent than the common Homo sapiens with which this planet is rife. During the procedure they hid their bodies behind pale blue space outfits. A mini-sun was used to illuminate the birth of the alien. Some I never met. Others I saw only rarely. They kept the room cold, so cold.

And In recovery I craved ice, always ice.

Strange, I never heard what happened to the offspring.

Since its birth, I find I am seeing the world without the alien fog. I am seeing a world that was previously hidden from me. On the other hand, I sense some ideas fading out of my mind's grasp. What was that task I should have been doing?

I also have been strangely shunned. Nobody understands what I went through. They sense it was something other-worldly. But they don't want to get too close. Ordinary earth beings have been leaving me out of their usual activities. They know something occurred, though they know not what. They claim I'm now "too delicate." I'm not going to mention the truth about the aliens.

Maybe in time they'll consider me "healed."

In the meantime I think I'll go eat some more ice.

Benign a non-fatal condition. Although benign tumors will not metastasize or locally invade tissues, some types may still produce negative health effects. The growth of benign tumors produce a "mass effect" that can compress tissues and may cause nerve damage, reduction of blood to an area of the body (ischaemia), tissue death (necrosis) and organ damage. The mass effect of tumors are more prominent if the tumor is within an enclosed space such as the cranium. (Wikipedia)

In retrospect, I can discern what the symptoms* were. Though a general fog was keeping my awareness cloaked, I had been having regular headaches, vomiting, unexplained weight loss, and other unrecognized and under-appreciated symptoms for a full year before I went to a new doctor for completely unrelated reasons. I needed an annual check-up, albeit some five years overdue. My reporting of middle of the night recurring headaches got the doctor's attention however. "Let's send you in for an MRI," she said. "We'll check your sinuses; maybe they're infected. And you know, to rule out a brain tumor," she added with a sheepish chuckle.

She's nuts, I thought. But dutifully I scheduled the MRI, making sure it was to occur on the following weekend, so as not to miss any work at school. I'm nothing if not responsible.

The following Saturday morning I made my way to the imaging center. Uncharacteristically, I got lost on the way. Boy, these directions are screwed up, I complained to myself.

"We got some good pictures," the technician commented as I left.

That's kind of an odd statement I said to myself as I walked out the door.

"Here, take this CD with the pictures," he said, and handed me the case. And I drove home, some ten miles down the very busy San Diego Freeway.

Once home, I saw my son taking a nap on the sofa and decided that sounded kind of nice. I sure had been "lazy" lately. I lay down, preparing to indulge. After resting for a few minutes, I called out to my husband, "Oh, by the way, I have a CD from the MRI. Maybe we should look at it."

He inserted it into the laptop and we clicked through perhaps three dozen shots of my brain. I was concerned by some large white areas visible in the scan. I went back to resting. He began to talk about asking the doctor about the scan next week. I got up to google brain anatomy. I was curious, but not overly concerned. Those white areas were weird, however.

An hour later, the phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered.

The voice on the phone said, "Hello. This is Dr. Martinez. Do you have a friend with you?" (Hmm, that's rather an odd question I thought.) She asked again, once or twice.

Finally I answered in the affirmative, "Yes, my husband is here."

"I want you to go to the emergency room Right Now. Do not drive. Have your friend drive you."

Somewhat dumbfounded, I agreed that I would do that. "Oscar!" I called to my husband. "They want me to go to the ER."

We took another look at the MRI photos. This time he spotted a large orange-sized circular area on part of the scan. It even appeared to be elbowing the other hemisphere of my brain to one side by as much as a centimeter. "Wow. You don't have to be an MD to see that that's not right." he commented. Later I learned that the white areas were totally normal. But the bulge was obviously not.

Did I panic? Strangely, no. Did he? Perhaps, but he kept it to himself.

So, the Saturday afternoon some four hours after the MRI, I was checked into the emergency room and then moved into ICU. When doctors came to check on me they offered, that since I hadn't had any symptoms, I probably had a menigioma, which would mean it was benign, would be 100% curable, and probably had been growing a long time. "Maybe five years!" they offered. We informed everyone we knew what I had. It was amazing to us how many people--maybe twenty or more--who reported to us that a friend of theirs, or a sister, or a workmate had had the same condition. When a vice principal at my school, a man I admire greatly, told me that he had had the same type of tumor twenty-five years ago in Israel, I truly took hope. If he can be as capable as he is now, then undoubtedly I will survive this myself. Perhaps it was knowing his history that empowered me to be calm and let the doctors take care of business, without me worrying.

By Monday I underwent a pre-operative angiogram to detect the exact location of the blood vessels in the tumor. This sounded easy-peasy. They would simply insert a catheter into the blood vessel in my upper thigh and thread it up into my brain (!) and take a look around. They would also inject some substance designed to block off blood flow to the tumor, thus making the surgery to remove it much easier and also to begin to starve the mass.

Much later I learned that the angiogram was far from being totally "easy-peasy," I ended up with bruises to my legs that lasted for at least two weeks after the procedure. Likewise, bruising from my two IVs remained even longer. It was the doctor who did the angiogram who commented that going into the brain was never to be taken lightly.

Tuesday I was scheduled for a three hour surgery to remove the brain tumor. I had begun to anticipate this event as salvation from that which was afflicting me. Four hours and forty-five minutes after beginning, the surgeons finished excising the 75mm growth. My husband, his friend Dr. Bill Braun, and one of my sons kept vigil in the waiting room. Unbeknownst to me, they were virtual basket cases of worry. Thank goodness Bill was there to keep them company, answer the myriad of questions they came up with, and more or less distract them.

When I woke up from surgery I guess I was giddy. Maybe it was the drugs. I began to talk a blue streak. I was cracking jokes a mile a minute. (Still my favorite: Since they removed a large mass from my head, I was told I had operating room air in my head. They would solve this by having me breathe pure oxygen to replace atmospheric nitrogen with oxygen. Henceforth I declared myself an official "airhead.")

However, it required a lot of energy to talk, so I made an effort to choose my words very carefully. No way was I going to say "Hand me that thingy." I knew I had to make my words count. So I would say, "Hand me that green sippy cup on the top of the table on the right side of the room by the window and hold it for me while I drink." For this reason I used a lot of what most people would consider "big words." It was all about trying to be concise. Meanwhile my entire family spent the proverbial 24/7 attending to my needs. In the middle of the night I could express my wishes simply by croaking the word, "ice" and one of them would leap to my aid. They also spent most of this time with their cell phones permanently attached to their hands. I was ready to complain until I realized they were making a valiant effort to inform the world of my new situation. Meanwhile, in spite of having my head wrapped in gauze, mummy-style, they all turned to me constantly asking how to spell various words. We all concluded nothing had gone wrong with my language abilities!

I spent the following week sucking in pure oxygen, beginning to eat soft food, and starting physical therapy. My co-teacher came in to visit two days post surgery. "Can I bring you some In-N-Out?" he offered helpfully. As scrambled eggs were the only thing I felt I could manage to chew, I politely turned him down. I appreciated the thought, however!

"I won't be back at work until after the first of the year," I informed him. Privately I was thinking Yeah, right, like that's going to happen. He informed me later that he was thinking exactly the same thing. By the Monday after my surgery, they sent me home. As we left the hospital, one doctor remarked that I may have had the tumor "for twenty years!"

Going home! Hallelujah! I hadn't slept a wink the whole time I was there. No, it was not about noise or interruptions, though those occured constantly. The one unintentional thing I think the surgery did remove was the brain cells that told my body to sleep. I hoped that would resolve itself. As long as it didn't, I knew I wouldn't be able to manage a full time job, even if everything else was fine.

In the days immediately following my surgery, I was exceedingly dizzy when sitting up. I needed training and practice to manage to walk by myself. Writing was physically difficult. Remembering the names of common things like "elephant" or "accordian" were initially impossible. They showed me pictures and I had to identify them. But, No, they never asked me, "Who's the president?" or "What year is it?" But they did always ask me what the date was. I cheated a bit by reading the nurses' board in my room. But they were happy because I was "utilizing my resources."

At home I made extremely rapid improvements. Though at first I was unable to negotiate the traverse to the bathroom in the middle of the night or take a shower by myself, I soon began to go on one mile walks in a nearby wild area with one of my sons. I was going to get over this thing! I was determined! I continued to tell my co-workers that I wouldn't be back at work until after the first. They, and my students, responded with overwhelming attention and concern. Meanwhile, believe it or not, I began to plan the remodeling of a bathroom in our home. I was going to make use of this time off from work! At the same time, I was prohibited from driving. I was definitely getting better, but it was obvious that I had a long way to go.

Along about January I was facing the dilemma: do I really want to go back to work? My husband (delusionally) thought I was perfect. (That's what husbands are for!) I sensed that I was not. I still wasn't sleeping. I became exhausted after a busy day. I didn't want to imply to my co-workers that I was busily improving our home, and in fact having the time of my life with such projects, but I didn't want to come back. I settled on telling them that, "I was eager (I used that word!) to come back, as long as it was only for two days a week AND that I would be gone for two different two-week periods to participate in pre-planned foreign travel." I knew that sounding eager to come back, but presenting them with an impossible suggestion, would take care of the "When are you coming back?" question. Meanwhile, I was better, though not at 100%. My improvements were so dramatic, yet so gradual, it was difficult to see them. How to predict how I would feel by April? By June? By next September when school would gear up again? On any given day I felt pretty good, but had a nearly impossible time predicting the future-- six months down the road.

I did agree to teach summer school. I finally bowed out of my job at my regular school. I visited today (June 9th) and contemplated that it was pretty fun to be there. But full time? I still can't predict just how well I would do with a forty hour per week commitment. I am hopeful that by September I will be fit as a fiddle. But who knows? All I know is how I feel today. All I can do is be optimistic.

And maybe plan another house improvement project!

Before. Waiting in the ER to be admitted. Notice hair, long bangs, length to cover ears and down to nape of neck. Notice attractive hospital gown. (pukey green.)

Evening after angiogram. They were going to have me fast for a second day, but I protested! You can see I look a little fatigued. A box of mac and cheese sits on the hospital tray next to me.

Son Eric feeds me post-surgeryI am reclining, following doctor's orders not to lift my head. I am hooked up to a star warsian jumble of hoses, wires, and IVs. My head is now wrapped in a swami-like turban of gauze.

A therapist holds my safety belt as I give walking a try with the help of a walker. Fortunately, by the time I left the hospital less than a week later, they had swiped my walker and even told me I didn't need a cane. However, they were all constantly admonishing me not to fall.

Eric, whose profession is police officer, provides some solidarity by shaving his own head to match mine. (Such buzzed hair is not unheard of for cops.) A gift, a stuffed toy seal pup, rests on my right shoulder while Eric affectionately rests his head gingerly upon my left.

My son and I as of yesterday. We both have more hair!

And a little bit better view of me taken at Easter. My hair is silvery and perhaps 2" long.

To view entire album of related photos, visit this flickr link. Warning, Some photos may be more graphic regarding incisions than you may be ready for!

Additional notes:

*SYMPTOMS:
After the surgery, my brain fog began to lift. I realized that I had had the recurring night-time headaches for more like six months, rather than the two months I initially told the doctor. I also had experienced morning sickness-like vomiting sessions on random occasions. My memory wasn't what it once was, but whose is? What really should have been a red flag was the fact that, without trying, I had lost thirty pounds within the year leading up to the discovery of my tumor. I remembered an episode a year previous in which I felt very ill at an evening get-together that couldn't be explained by a common flu bug. I even thought back to a hiking situation nearly five years previous in which I had had uncharacteristic altitude sickness at 4000ft elevation.. As an experienced high altitude (9000-14,500 ft elevation) hiker, that was unthinkable. Why the heck had I not questioned any of these things? (Especially the weight loss!) Lest you suddenly feel that maybe YOU have a brain tumor, they did give me one bit of advice. It is headaches in patients who previously are unaccustomed to having them that triggers their concern.

My new nickname at home is "The New Mer." (Mer rhymes with fur and is their name for me.)

I have three sons and a husband. At least one of them, and usually all of them, were there the entire week. The only exception was my son who lives in Germany, who broke his usual habit by calling every day.

My hair grew in from the bald shave I had. My husband and multitudes of other people have complimented me on my style. When hubby would jokingly compliment me and ask who my hairdresser was, I would respond, "Dr. Jackson." I have trimmed my hair twice since it has grown in and I am keeping it ultra-short. I love it!

Final note: I must thank neurosurgeon Dr. Robert Jackson, his assistant Darren Johnson, PA; Dr. Kwa, Dr. Goldberg and a huge team of experts for so expertly saving my life, as well as my brain function. I would be remiss if I didn't mention Dr. Karen Lau for sending me in for the MRI in the first place. One moral of the story: Be happy you live now. Get yourself to the best hospital you can if you face a similar medical emergency.

Moral #2: Be sure you have medical insurance!

As promised some weeks ago, here is the photo of Kris and me at Istanbul Grill.
We are celebrating my 61st birthday on December 6th. (with hubby, of course.)

. 20131206_204800 v2

As a stark contrast, compare to this photo of me from the evening before I went in for brain surgery. (Taken Oct 4th, tumor was removed Oct 8.) It was taken in the very same restaurant, the very same table, (At the time we were completely unaware of my tumor (benign.)

20131004_190532

Even though the photo is out of focus, I think you can see from my stance that I am tired and wan.
Perhaps I should mention that it was the end of a typically long and tiring week at work. Maybe all this time I thought my job was exhausting, it was really the effect of having an alien tumor in my head.

emo_snal put together a nice photo story of my experience having brain surgery for a benign brain tumor called a meningioma. I will post it behind a link because the photos of the incision, though stapled and stitched, across my head gives some people the heebie jeebies. But have at it!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/commissariat/sets/72157636665680946/

Since this is

emo_snal's flickr account, I can't post comments directly to his account. However, here are some of my comments:

First picture shows me showing off my "ET" finger. It is clasped in something that somehow measures my oxygen (I believe.) I don't quite know how that would work, but the glowing finger is pretty entertaining.

Next we see me with a sharpie arrow printed on my forehead to indicate which side of the skull they should open. This was done by my neurosurgeon himself right before surgery. Having heard more than a few horror stories of people who got the wrong leg amputated (or some such travesty) I whole-heartedly approved of his action.

prepping for surgery. Notice I still have hair. I got my new coif in the operating room. They claimed buzzing my head cost $50 a minute. They also ordered the nurses to give me an antibiotic shampoo--in my bed!--before surgery.

2 of my 3 sons (plus my husband) were by my side throughout the 1 week hospital stay. Notice Eric shaved his head in solidarity with me. He's a cop, so this wasn't completely out of 'uniform' for him. (Son #3 lives in Germany presently)

Eric feeds me. (post surgery.) I don't know quite why, but I found it hard to open my mouth very wide. In fact I still do to some degree. At that time I also found that my food had to be relatively soft, like a tender meat loaf. I ate a lot of scrambled eggs while in the hospital.

Showing off the chamsa that was given to me by some colleagues from work. Of course I couldn't see it there, but my husband could, and he enjoyed it. (Thanks Dorit and Sara!) Chamsa: a hand- shaped print or sculpture that serves as a good luck token.

If you look closely you can see the oxygen line that I have leading directly to my nose. I learned that after they took out the tumor, there was left a space in my brain. It consisted of blood and the atmosphere from the operating room, which naturally contains quite a lot of nitrogen. Breathing the pure oxygen helps exchange that nitrogen out of there. This is what led me to refer to myself during that period as an "air head." Hey! No comments about the rest of the time!

-11. Here you see me about three days post surgery. I have gotten over the worst of the post surgery horrible feeling. I have been encouraged to sit up. I am eating a gift of some sugarless candy that someone gave me. (Thanks SuSon!) And you can see how waif-like and thin I look. Those hospital gowns are pretty hideous looking. But I discovered that when you put on a second one over your back in addition to the first one which is put on over your front, you look like you're wearing a traditional Nigerian robe. As such, I didn't mind them at all! In one of those photos it looks like I have a severe paunch. That is simply where all my electronic monitoring devices are gathered. Fortunately, no paunch. (In fact I had lost about 30 pounds over the last year. Wow.)

12. Gruesome view of stitched and stapled head after the bandages came off. I am talking to someone, possibly the son in Germany, on the phone.
13. As per my wish, Eric picked up the hand mirror at a drug store on his way over one day. Otherwise I had no way of seeing how I had turned out.
14. I must finally be feeling a lot better here. Notice the "purple heart" a friend gave me. Thanks Cindy!

I think all the nurses liked our family quite a lot because they all helped me quite a bit and we were all pretty accommodating to the needs of the nurses. Apparently a large percentage of their patients are not such easy customers. A good number of the nurses were men. Far from being shy about that, I soon learned to take the almost complete lack of privacy in stride. All those medical people have seen EVERYTHING. Nothing fazes them-or at least they hide it admirably. It also helped that when my male nurse was standing right over me as I peed in the toilet, the gown completely draped in front of me. Score!

Hello All once again,

Today 11/12/13 marks the five week anniversary of my surgery. Most of what I said in my last post is still basically what's going on. Surprisingly, my neurologist actually had an e-mail address posted on his card, I posted a note to him that way asking a few questions. Amazingly, he answered, THE VERY SAME DAY. Even twice!

He said that no, I should not be driving yet. This is contrary to what my husband Oscar has been saying, so I'm very grateful for the backup from the doc. Oscar kept saying that the doctor hadn't prohibited me from driving, therefore I should drive. I think this is more a demonstration that Oscar wasn't in the room when all the discussions occurred about driving. Fortunately, my son Eric was also aware of the prohibition, so I had that back-up, too. It has to do with the chance of me suffering a seizure while driving. I am, in fact, actually on medication to help prevent seizures. (Keppra) You can imagine what a disaster it would be to have a seizure while operating a car. No, I haven't had any seizures, but apparently it is a standard concern for brain surgery patients. Keppra also can make you more unsteady on your feet, so that also may contribute to the driving concerns.

Here is the e-mail I sent to him:
Dear Dr. Jackson,

I'm wondering if you can approve me for driving? Since my Oct. 8th meningioma surgery, I've been making excellent progress on my recovery. I feel my only significant area that needs some improvement is my stamina.

I am suffering with insomnia. (Advice?)

I also have what I would call varicose like veins above my left temple. They are sore and unsightly. Do you have advice about that?

It is about 5 weeks post surgery. Shall I refill my Keppra prescription? I believe I was told I would be on it for three months.

Of course, I must thank you immensely for your expertise in treating me!

Here is the text of his first reply to me: No driving yet, refill your keppra thru pharmacy. Gradually begin exercise program, walking, pilates, yoga, etc at 6 weeks post op, that may help sleep. Veins are ok, no treatment indicated at this time.

I responded:
Thank you so much for your reply!!! I am already walking over a mile nearly every day--and have been since quite recently after returning home from hospital. I've cut out all caffeine. I was taking a benedryl (or two) at bedtime to help with the sleep but I think I will quit because I suspect it is increasing my unsteadiness, which had disappeared until just recently. Again, thank you so much for the reply!!!

And finally his second answer:

Great to hear, it takes 3-4 months and up to a year for your brain to fully recover from having such a large tumor.* Your ahead of schedule so far, keep ip the good work.

I find it kind of cute, (especially as a teacher,) that such a brilliant and talented neurosurgeon still is having a little trouble with the whole your/you're thing. As long as he knows his brain business, I'm certainly not going to quibble about the missing apostrophe! Of course we all have inadvertently put in a homonym while typing, not because we don't know the difference, but because it happens.

*Tumor had been reported to be "the size of an orange."

I had hoped to begin to use all this time I now have on my hands to drive to the grocery store, to drive around collecting ideas for our bathroom remodel- which I hope to be supervising since I'm not at work,or visiting work...without being able to drive I am somewhat stymied.

Note on the varicose-like veins in my forehead. They show, and they are somewhat painful. The hair which should be growing in is not, in a patch aft of or behind the veins. (Not under.) Hopefully, eventually it will. Because of my still very visible and unsightly scar (including scabs (yuck!) I am wearing knit hats and interested in knitting a few more to better round out my wardrobe. A green knit hat just doesn't cover all occasions!

I still get up at 5:30 most mornings out of habit, perhaps 6:30 on weekends. My insomnia is still a major pain. Oscar and I generally wake each other up whenever the other wakes. So unfortunately he is waking with a need to visit the toilet at 3 a.m. and I wake as a result. Or vice versa. After that we both toss for about two hours. I'm afraid part of the answer is probably separate bedrooms, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to do that! I might, though.

I'm hoping to go to school this Friday morning for Kabalat Shabat. It is one of Oscar's every-two-week days off, so he can drive. As much as I've been getting up early, it will be a challenge to get out the door to get there before 8 a.m. However, everyone at school from the faculty, admin, students, and parents have all been SO supportive of me, I feel I owe it to them to check in. I'm afraid I will be mobbed. But I have to do it sooner or later. And, as I mentioned earlier, remembering the prayers and beautiful, minor music was instrumental in getting me through the hardest part of my recovery. I owe it to myself to hear it all again in person.

I am now stating that my recovery has reached a point where it is less obvious. I assume and hope that improvements are still occurring. My walking is steady, my speech is perfect. My son and I walk about a mile nearly every day, either up a very steep hill or on a trail.

It's harder to tell if my problem solving abilities are steadily improving. I do the crossword puzzle in the newspaper every day and at least I can observe how much of it I get done. That percentage has increased to the point where I'm able to do all but perhaps one block of it. Note: this is not the New York Times crosswords, but an easier one. It is significantly harder than what they label "easy" crosswords. I do know that I am shying away from the harder Sudoku puzzles. But then I had kind of made a conscious choice to stick with the more enjoyable, easier ones a while back.(BTS-- before tumor surgery) My ability to solve operating-the-smart- phone and its operational dilemmas is as bad as ever. But note, this is not something I ever was any good at. I think it's an age thing. I also am very aware that my stamina, i.e. strength, needs a lot of work.

I have two major bugaboos presently. One is I'm not sure I should be driving. That wasn't a problem as long as my son Kris was here because he became my chauffeur. But he left today for about a week in the bay area for a job interview. I'm now faced with feeling pretty good but feeling reluctant to drive. I am being medicated against seizures. The thought of having a seizure while driving is somewhat daunting. Nobody ever told me not to drive. I'm going to have to ask my doctor, but he's a very busy guy who I haven't seen since before my surgery 4 weeks ago.

Bugaboo #2 is I've had a continuing problem with insomnia. Fortunately, all the time I am sleeping, the sleep has been high quality. The last two nights I even had real dreams. But I typically lie awake for 2 - 3 hours before falling asleep and also after being awakened from a deep sleep at 3 in the morning. To improve my sleep I have tried to make sure that I walk every day, have cut out all caffeine, and even taken a benedryl before bed. I decided the benedryl actually wasn't working, or if it is, it only kicks in about 6 hours after I take it. Yesterday I took one benedryl at about 3 in the afternoon and another one at 10 p.m. before bed. That worked pretty well. I really don't want to become dependant on drugs for sleep or anything.

The one positive (?) note from all my insomnia is that I have had time to ponder at length (in the middle of the night!) many topics. A few notes from that department which we will title Middle of the Night and other Issues

I think we all feel slightly sorry for everyone who lived in past centuries. I now feel more like they probably generally enjoyed their lives as much as we do ours. The big advantage to living now is the amazing advances that have been made in medical care. People have undoubtedly been having the same meningiomas (benign brain tumor) that I had for millennia. The difference, of course, is that they either didn't know they had it, or couldn't do anything about it. Though I was virtually symptom free, the danger with these is that they grow until they are pushing healthy brain tissue way over until it is dangerously cramped. We did read that the first successful meningioma surgery was done around 1835. That was before the use of anaesthetic and before the awareness of antiseptic procedure. So some poor guy had his skull cut open without anaethesia and under non-sterile conditions. Yikes! Another scary thought: people in less developed parts of the world still face this disadvantage. That may well include people in first world countries whose doctors are not as skilled as those we have in Orange County, California.

The worst I ever lay awake was the two nights after the surgery. I finally found that the only thing that would ease my intense misery was mentally repeating the Jewish prayers we say at school. I later told a home health care person who asked my religious faith that I was Jewish. I really had wanted a rabbi to come visit me the next morning in the hospital. I still don't feel overwhelmingly religious, but I certainly can attest to the value of repetitious, soothing sayings. I imagine it is the same for Buddhists or reciting the rosary, or anything along those lines.

One of my doctors was a parent from the school I work at! We wouldn't have known that except that my husband was wearing my school staff sweatshirt when this guy walked in.

One of my sons is now in beginning stages of dating one of my nurses. (!) As soon as I met her, I felt she was a keeper. Let's hope they have a good run!

I must mention that the families of our Jewish school have outdone themselves in providing food for our family. Lots of chicken and even more rice. Amazing.

I will quit writing now before I put you to sleep. (Oooh, maybe that's what I need!)

But it bears repeating that I'm incredibly thankful for having retained (apparently) all my skills.

Until next time, Julie

P.S. My hair is now about 1/2 inch long on top of my head. It is much shorter on the back of my head, which contradicts what I've always claimed about which part of my head grows hair the fastest.. I have an approximately 1/2 inch wide naked scar that goes backward from the midline of my hairline, curves back about 3 inches, and curves back downward to just above my left ear. If I get a photo, I will post that behind a cut. Stay tuned!