The Craniotomy

 

 

I was taken into the operating room. It was big, cold and full of doctors, nurses and anesthesiologists busy at work, each doing their own thing. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stood quietly as Dr. Ready, my neurosurgeon, positioned himself beside me. He announced my full name, age, and the procedure they were about to perform. When he was done speaking, everyone went back to work.

My arms were strapped down at a 45 degree angle. The nurses, one on each side of me, simultaneously inserted intravenous needles in my arms. I felt pain in my left wrist and looked over to see what it was. In order to get a real time pulse, they were sticking a tube deep down in my wrist. I told them it hurt and the doctor replied, “Yeah, that one hurts.” Then everything went black.

The next thing I remember is opening my eyes and seeing an orange plastic sheet covering the length of my body. It was held up by square brackets about a foot above me, almost like a plastic coffin. I assumed it was to keep my body warm but I’m not sure. The top of my head was the only part exposed.

Before the surgery began I was wearing a gown, but now I noticed the gown was gone and I was covered with a blanket. I don’t remember when they took the gown off but my only thought was, “I hope I wasn’t naked in front of everyone!” I was more concerned about everyone seeing me in my birthday suit than having a piece of my brain cut out.

My head, raised in an awkward position, was screwed into a metal halo. The halo was bolted onto the table to prevent my head from moving. My skull had already been opened up and I heard the sound of suction inside my head, not with my ears but actually inside of my brain.

I had two female anesthesiologists. Dr. Connie stood back and was in charge of injecting the medicine in me. Dr. Anna sat in a chair beside me, holding my hand the entire time. A corner of the orange plastic sheet was lifted by my head in order for her to see me. She was young, kind and her job was to never take her eyes off of me. Together they did a great job of making me as comfortable as possible.

After assessing my surroundings, I realized there was something in my mouth. The best way to describe it is that it was the shape of a whoopee cushion, only smaller. It filled my mouth from side to side, top to bottom and held my teeth apart about an inch. The little tab that makes the sound on a whoopee cushion was laying deap down the back of my throat. Air was being pushed into this little mouth contraption and blowing down my throat. All of a sudden my gag reflex kicked in. Anna tried to calm me down and told me to breath through my nose. I tried but could not stop gagging. Tears were running down the sides of my face as I heaved. My head was screwed in place and my arms were strapped down, so the thought of vomiting and choking to death was going through my mind. I heard Dr. Ready ask if I was coughing because he could see the tiny movement through his microscope. Anna told him I was gagging so he instructed her to remove the dreadful contraption from my mouth. As soon as she did, I was able to breath and relax. I would have to say that was probably the worst part of the procedure, from what they allowed me to remember.

Dr. Anna kept me calm and reassured me I was doing well. We were speaking when out of the blue I started feeling anxious, almost to the point of panicking. I told Anna and she relayed the message to the other anesthesiologist, Dr. Connie. I saw Dr. Connie standing with a syringe in her hand and watched as she pushed down the plunger and the medicine flowed down the tube and into my arm. All went black.

Once again, my eyes opened. I don’t know how much time had passed but I felt discomfort. I told Dr. Anna and she began massaging my neck. The massage felt good on my sore neck but it wasn’t the source of the pain. She moved her hand along my neck and shoulders as she asked, “here? here? here?” None of them was the right spot. She then reached over to the top of my chest by my collar bone and pressed down. Bingo! I asked, “Yes. What is that?”

A thick tube was inserted deep into a large vein by my collar bone in case of a hemorrhage. This vein led directly to my heart and in a worse case scenario, blood would be pumped directly in to supply my body and brain with donated blood.

I asked how long it had been since we started and they told me approximately four hours. I was uncomfortable from laying in the same position for so long and I became agitated. I told them I had enough and to close me up. I thought I would have been happy with however much of the tumour they had removed, I was done. My eyes closed.

I was calm the next time I opened my eyes. I was still in the same position but I was relaxed. I layed and waited….and waited…..and waited as the surgeon cut away pieces of the tumour. All of a sudden, my entire left side jerked. I immediately told Dr. Anna and was happy because I knew it was a sign that we were almost done. Dr. Ready had touched a healthy part of my brain, the part that controls the motor function on my left side, hence the movement. If he went any further, he would have damaged healthy neural connections in my brain. Eyes closed.

I opened my eyes. My head was comfortably laying down on the bed. I saw Dr. Ready standing beside me, wiping his hands. I remember telling him he looked much younger than he really was, something I would never have said if I weren’t under the influence of a heavy narcotic. I felt good and according to the nurses I was quite chatty, which is funny because for those who know me, the last word they would use to describe me is “chatty”.

I was taken to a recovery room, it was big and had many beds in it. I was parked right beside one of the nurses, where she was working on a computer. Even though I was awake, I had a hard time keeping my eyes open. I could hear everything and sensed a lot of tension and negative energy between the nurses in the room. Most of the nurses had left and I was stuck with the one banging angrily on the keyboard. At one point, she reached over, grabbed the tube that was still in my neck and yanked on it, trying to pull it out. She didn’t realize it was still taped to my skin and I grunted at her. I heard her say, “Oh!” in surprise. I replied annoyed, “Yeah! Oh!!” ? She painfully removed the tape then pulled out the tube.

They allowed Marcus to come in to see me for a couple of minutes. I asked them to let him stay longer, the room was half empty and there were no patients around me, but they said no and kicked him out.

I felt like I was in the recovery room for a very long time, I began to worry about my family worrying about me. I had thoughts of them thinking something had gone wrong and every time I asked the bitter nurse when I could see them she injected me with something that made me feel like I was in bliss, all worries left behind.
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I was finally taken to what was called “the step down room”. It was named that because it was one step down from intensive care. There were two nurses for six of us patients. My family was allowed to come in, two at a time. They weren’t allowed to stay long, just a quick kiss and they had to leave.

My hair was parted on the side and braided in three of the tightest braids I had ever had. They were still wet and dripping on my gown. I could smell the blood in them. A nurse later told Marcus that Dr. Ready had braided my hair before the surgery. I wondered where he learned to braid like that, then had a vision of him as a young boy in India braiding his mother’s or sister’s hair. I felt like it showed a softer, more compassionate side of him.

Marcus stayed with me the entire time, only leaving twice to go home, shower and check on Tristan. He would only leave me when Sonja or Tania came to sit with me. It was a tag team effort. He slept uncomfortably in a pull out chair right beside me every night.

Saturday, the day after the surgery, Dr. Ready came to check on me. He was surrounded by a group of interns as he went from patient to patient. He checked on the incision which started an inch from the front of my head, went to the back of my head and was covered with an ointment, otherwise exposed. He was so skilled, he only shaved about a centimetre of hair in width along the cut. When he asked me how I was feeling, I told him I had the odd sensation of champagne bubbles moving up behind my eyes. He told me that was normal, it was air that got trapped in my brain during the surgery finding a way out and it lasted a few days. He did a few neurological tests on me and moved on to the next patient.

I didn’t have an appetite for anything but knew I had to drink. Marcus opened up a can of ginger ale and gave it to me. I took a sip, then another and another until the can was empty. It was cool, sweet and the most delicious thing I ever had. My body needed sugar and fluids and that ginger ale hit the spot. I’ve had ginger ale since then but it never tasted the same as it did that day in the hospital.

The first time I stood up was to go to the bathroom. It was right by my bed, about ten steps away. A tall, sturdy nurse came to help me out of bed. My head spun as soon as I sat up and my legs weren’t working very well. Marcus held me up on one side and the nurse on the other. Together they assisted me to the toilet. I sat down and the two of them stood there in the small room, staring at me. I asked the nurse if she was staying, she said no, she just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to fall off and she left. When I finished my business, Marcus helped me stand up. As soon as he opened the door, the nurse was there to help Marcus walk me back to my bed. As we were walking, I started dry heaving from the anesthetic. I must have weighed a ton as I heaved and my legs dragged behind me. They got me back into bed safe and sound. I got a bit stronger every time I stood up after that incidence. Eventually, I was able to go by myself.

I was discharged on Monday after being seen by a neuro physiotherapist. She had to see me walk up and down stairs and showed me how to use a walker to make sure I would be safe at home.

As Marcus pushed me out of the room in a wheelchair, I passed a woman sitting on a bed, her husband standing beside her. She too was going to have brain surgery. She looked frightened and her husband concerned. I wanted to make her feel better, so when we made eye contact I told her she’ll be okay, it’s not that bad. The look on her face went from frightened to horrified. Looking back, I realize the reason for the change in her expression. She was looking at a pale young lady slouched over in a wheelchair with three braids crusted in dry blood. I had dry blood spots on my pajama and a huge stapled cut on my head. Seeing that would have horrified me too, but I meant well. ?