Garden of Dandelions

When I don't feel like writing, or drinking white chocolate mochas, you know things are bad.

Thankfully this morning, I sipped away on my cup of white chocolatey goodness in our backyard gazebo, and, well, you're reading this aren't you?

Telling people I needed a skull biopsy elicited quite a few cringes and replies of, "Yikes! How the heck do they do that?!"

And I would repeat what my neurosurgeon had told me (minus his super cool accent), "So, they'll just make a tiny incision back here and take out a little sample of bone to send off. Not a biggie."

Uhhh...that tiny incision required 13 staples in the back of my head. I feel like that's a semi-biggie. I was sent home with after care instructions for a craniotomy!

And I call "Bologna!"...or "Baloney!"...however you want to spell it, I call it. We know those hospital shows don't give a completely accurate picture of medical life. And I now know their depiction of the doctor/patient dialogue the day after surgery is f-a-k-e. The patients in the shows are well rested, sitting up comfortably in bed, able to carry on a perfectly normal conversation about how their surgery went, blah, blah, blah.

I was in a complete fog when the doctor and discharge nurses came in yesterday morning. I could barely hold my head up to look at them standing next to my bed. My glasses hurt and I had to wear them crooked so the stem wouldn't rub my incision, cocking my head to the side to keep them on while the nurses spouted off "do's" and "don't's", med directions, follow up appointments, etc. Finishing with, "Any questions?".

"Yeah. Huh?" I thought. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and have David roll me out to his truck. Which is pretty much what I did, thanks to the wheelchair they brought us.

Let's back up a bit, however, to before my surgery. Reese took a driving class last August and finally finished all her required driving hours last week for her restricted license. All we had to do was pop into the Driver's License place and trade her paperwork in for her license. "So, can you take me Tuesday?" she asked over the weekend.

"I am getting a HOLE drilled into my SKULL on Tuesday. So, no," I said.

"Oh. Then can you take me Wednesday?"

I still haven't answered her.

David. Bless him. He really is the best caretaker. He spoils me on a good day, and even more so on some of my worst ones. He's had to rearrange his travel schedule, calls, and meetings, on top of taking care of everything around the house and with the kids. And he does a better job than I do. Which doesn't make me jealous. At. All.

Now that I've sung his praises, I feel like it's ok to poke fun of him. Just a bit. He's always been super patient with the kids. But not so much so when it comes to waiting on things. Food at a restaurant, appointments starting on time, or surgery starting when it's scheduled. We sat in my little pre-op room for over 4 hours yesterday. Waiting. He still had some work to tend to, but when that was taken care of, he 'bout drove me bonkers.

He chatted it up with any doctor, nurse, tech, anesthetist who popped their head in. Being his usual, jokey self.

After one such encounter he turned to me and said, "Wow, he's not very jokey."

"He's a brain surgeon," I replied. "Not really a hallmark of their personality."

Next, he wondered aloud if he should have my surgeon take a look at his poison ivy while we were there. I contemplated calling security.

But I just shook my head and responded, "You're a mess."

"Am I? Because you're the one lying in that bed."

Touché.

We played pool and basketball against each other on our phones to pass the time a little. But he quit after I beat him at both.

"Last time I saw you in a hospital, you were having Tate," he reminisced.

"I know. It feels weird to be in a hospital without a baby."

"I'm sure there's one around here you could have," he suggested. Great. I wouldn't need to call security after all, they'd come on their own if someone overheard that comment.

The nurses finally descended upon us and said, "Ok, here we go. Time for good-bye hugs and kisses."

Why did they have to use the word "good-bye"? Cue the tears streaming down my face. Even if I had been ready to kick him out one minute prior. And even though it would only feel to me like I'd been away for 5 seconds when all was said and done. For my next surgery, I'm just going to have David say, "I'm going to the vending machine to get a Diet Coke" instead of "good-bye". I'll handle that much better.

When I settled into my room for the night, and David headed back home to run kids around, I reached up to push my hair out of my face and gasped, What were all those plastic wires doing hanging out of my head?! 

You guys! It was my hair!

Whatever they had to coat it with to ward off infection makes it disgustingly crunchy, cement like. Now, I don't consider myself to be a terribly vain person but when they said I couldn't wash it until Sunday, I wanted to assume the fetal position and cover my ears. I look like Medusa. Sorry, no photographic evidence. Because I'm pretty sure David would get his hands on it, and send it out as our Christmas card this year.

Or the kids would make bad hair day memes out of it for all eternity.

They're supportive like that.

Speaking of supportive, I don't take medication regularly. An Excedrin now and then is pretty much it. So these pain meds are doing a number on me. I went down to the kitchen last night with my water bottle and literally forgot how to use our ice machine/water spout on the fridge. David and the girls yelled "Stop!" before I spilled water all over the floor after pushing the wrong button twice. They then proceeded to double over with laughter.

David went to throw something away and said, "Who got into the kitchen trash?"

Drue chimed in, "That was Mom...she was trying to find the bathroom!" And they all doubled over once again.

I'm keeping notes on all the ways I've been wronged.

At least they balance it out by being sweet. Tate sent me to the hospital with some of his favorite squishies and a small stuffed animal to remember him by. Reese gathered all the little "pink" items she could from her room and left them for me with a note. Cue more tears.

They normally cover holes in the skull with titanium mesh, but my surgeon left mine open in case I did need radiation. David is already making quips about this new hole in my head, "Now I can say, 'It went in one ear...and out your hole'!". Good thing he can cook.

I gathered my crunchy, Medusa type locks into braids before leaving the hospital so I wouldn't turn all the staff into stone on my way out. Peace Out KU Med. Until we meet again.

Which could be sooner, rather than later, if my skull mass is a benign fibrous dysplasia, like my neurosurgeon is thinking. Now that he's seen it in all its glory. I should find out tomorrow or the first part of next week.

Again, THANK YOU for all your prayers. This was my first surgery ever. And it hasn't exactly been a walk in the park. When my meds start wearing off and I think, "I cannot do this" God gives me strength and I know is saying, "But I can". So I'm able to put one foot in front of the other.

And perhaps even relearn how to use our ice maker.