March 29, 2022
I joke about having brain surgery, but I don’t think a gamma knife procedure really counts. There’s no incision, after all, no messy organs spilling out, and, most important, no blood.
And, I don’t remember most of it.
When I asked why they use Xanax before the procedure rather than lorazepam, they said, blithely, “Oh, we find it works better for us.” I filed that away, under Find out more about this. Guess what? “Some people have also reported memory loss or blacking out and not remembering what happened for several hours.” So says a description I read today of what you can expect to feel with Xanax (healthline).
Here’s what I remember of yesterday.
An upscale waiting and prep area. A wonderful, cheerful nurse who let me drink ice water! (No food or drink had been allowed after midnight, under penalty of canceling the procedure.) Swallowing an oblong blue pill. Chatting as the usual intravenous line was inserted– learning that a gamma knife procedure cost somewhere between $85,000 and $100,00, and that the hospital center where I was being treated did everything they could to be sure all people could be treated. Meeting Dr. Neurology, a short-ish, quiet man wearing jeans and a sports coat. Mark being dismissed, told they would call him to return for me. Mack the Knife somewhere– in the hall? Was something being put around my head? Getting into a futuristic chair and being pushed as I drifted away.
Being helped onto a table. The first bang of the MRI then…. Being helped off a table — did I almost fall into Mack the Knife?– and an amused (bemused?) comment by someone (who else was there?) about how out of it I was. Something about planning. (Where was I? Was I sitting? Lying down? Would they huddle up like a football team to strategize?) Drifting off again. Being moved onto another table and obediently scooting up the table. (Could I see anything?) Feeling something being done to my head but not exactly my head, a sense like one I had when I was a kid, turning a winged screw to tighten my roller skates around my feet. Commenting that it would be so nice to have a pillow under my neck and gesturing to the empty space beneath my neck. (Did I whack someone with a drug-induced expansive gesture?)
Being told no, the frame would hold my head. (Was it a man who spoke? A woman? I don’t recall a face. Was that because my eyes were covered?) Drifting away. The table sliding backwards, away from people. Feeling cold. Asking for a blanket. (I remember being sure to be polite. After all, these people had my head screwed down….). The tabling sliding toward people, a blanket being tucked around me, then the table sliding away. Drifting away. Someone saying we were done. Being back into the room where we started. Bandaids on my forehead. Mark in the hallway outside my room holding a big cup of coffee for me. The nurse. Instructions and papers. Dozing all afternoon on the couch with a headache, ibuprofen, acetaminophen. Dinnertime.
I’ve got a small headache today and two pinprick-size spots, so small they don’t warrant being called wounds, on either side of my forehead. The back of my head is a little numb from the anesthetic they used to attach the frame.
And, the lesion in my brain was zapped; no others were found. That’s the idea, Mack the Knife had said during our pre-procedure meeting. Find ’em early and take care of them before they grow.
So, shall we have a moment of awe at what science can do?
Several minutes of thanksgiving that I can benefit from it?
Ongoing gratitude for the miracle of being alive?
Seedling by adege
You are amazing–how you can write while you are going through this is beyond me.
Thank you for taking us along with you.
And know that many are praying.
Peace to you my sister.