After all the long wait, after Eric’s careful and repeated shaving and washing of my head, after the neurosurgeon approved of the pictures of my scalp and the plastic surgeon saw it and gave the green light, a date for the surgery was set. Eric had to shave my head and wash it with an antiseptic shampoo a few days earlier. Then, I had to get a PCR test, and it had to be negative; I had to eat my last meal at midnight; and we had to get to the neurosurgery floor at 6 AM for pre-operation.
I was anxious for the entire time. What if we did something wrong? The surgery could be a disaster. I could have an infection. What’s more, there was another cause of anxiety. I had to go to the very same hospital where they’d done all the previous treatments: surgeries, intravenous antibiotics, anti-seizure meds, emergency surgeries, and potential emergency surgery that ended up in discharge, they all had been accompanied by hospitalization and an IV.
We arrived promptly at 6 AM. They weighed and measured me and changed me into a robe. They put me on a stretcher, placed an IV in my arm, and rolled me into the operation room. I was very cold. They put a lot of warm covers over my body and took off my glasses. Minutes later, I was asleep.
I woke up feeling drowsy. I was outside the room, and Eric was holding my hand. He left, and I was moved to the ICU. I hated it; it reminded me of the recovery room, where I’d spent two long days after the previous surgery. There weren’t fake walls and glass doors covered with curtains, as in this one. And you could hear constant yells and moans there, while a calming silence reigned here. But the atmosphere was just the same. I was relieved when they moved me to a regular room.
I spent my last and best three days there. No EKG cables, no Oxygen monitors, no pressure cuffs, no constant sounds, and three very kind and efficient male nurses. Once the blood stopped coming out of the drainage, the plastic surgeon cleared me for discharge. I could go home, hopefully for good! I hadn’t infections or nightmarish complications. Despite all my fears, nothing had happened to me. I could go out after a mere four days of stay – a dream come true, and a surprise to me.
I’ve been home for a month. The only effects are tiredness, low blood pressure, high heartrate after exercise, and a difficulty reading that tires my eye. And probably they will go away over time. Every now and then, I think how mild they are, and I marvel at the lack of fulfillment of my worst fantasies. And I smile.
I was anxious for the entire time. What if we did something wrong? The surgery could be a disaster. I could have an infection. What’s more, there was another cause of anxiety. I had to go to the very same hospital where they’d done all the previous treatments: surgeries, intravenous antibiotics, anti-seizure meds, emergency surgeries, and potential emergency surgery that ended up in discharge, they all had been accompanied by hospitalization and an IV.
We arrived promptly at 6 AM. They weighed and measured me and changed me into a robe. They put me on a stretcher, placed an IV in my arm, and rolled me into the operation room. I was very cold. They put a lot of warm covers over my body and took off my glasses. Minutes later, I was asleep.
I woke up feeling drowsy. I was outside the room, and Eric was holding my hand. He left, and I was moved to the ICU. I hated it; it reminded me of the recovery room, where I’d spent two long days after the previous surgery. There weren’t fake walls and glass doors covered with curtains, as in this one. And you could hear constant yells and moans there, while a calming silence reigned here. But the atmosphere was just the same. I was relieved when they moved me to a regular room.
I spent my last and best three days there. No EKG cables, no Oxygen monitors, no pressure cuffs, no constant sounds, and three very kind and efficient male nurses. Once the blood stopped coming out of the drainage, the plastic surgeon cleared me for discharge. I could go home, hopefully for good! I hadn’t infections or nightmarish complications. Despite all my fears, nothing had happened to me. I could go out after a mere four days of stay – a dream come true, and a surprise to me.
I’ve been home for a month. The only effects are tiredness, low blood pressure, high heartrate after exercise, and a difficulty reading that tires my eye. And probably they will go away over time. Every now and then, I think how mild they are, and I marvel at the lack of fulfillment of my worst fantasies. And I smile.
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