Life after brain surgery

In two words: It stinks! I had the long gruesome 10 hour surgery. Thankfully, I slept through most of it. Yes, I did say most. When I woke up in ICU the day after my surgery I could not feel my right arm. I was told I was moving it. I couldn't feel it. I couldn't really feel much of my right side.

I do remember being incredibly cranky. I couldn't control the TV. Couldn't see it, actually. My eyes were screwed up. They would alternate putting a cover over each eye one at a time with some medicine to help them heal. I know people came in and out. I shooed my family out quickly. They asked questions. They talked too much. Even though they said it didn't, I still felt like their presence demanded conversation. I really wasn't feeling to chatty.

The steroids had stopped. Before my surgery, I had an IV. This IV was my enemy and friend at the same time. It allowed them to give me wonderful medicine that took the pain away. At the same time it allowed them to give me the very evil steroids. I was told the steroids were to help keep the tumor from growing any more before the surgery. I knew they were necessary. I still hated them. Every few hours the nurse would come. She would plunge the steroids into my IV and within seconds I burned all over. It only lasted a little under a minute. But for that time it felt as if my whole body was on fire on the inside. Yeah, I didn't sleep through this. To make it worse, this stuff made my body's natural insulin levels go whack. So they had basically turned me into a diabetic. So now I also has to get my finger pricked. A lot. All my fingers looked like they had tried to cuddle a porcupine. I'd rather the steroids. This pricking of the finger stung. For a while after it was done.

I still had an IV. A couple actually. I had also aquired a very fun feeding tube. It went down through my nose and into my stomach. The entry place for this tube was hung above my head. People, this is not a fun way to be fed. You're just laying there in bed and WHAM! Your stomach now has contents where there were none.

So doctors, nurses and other medical professionals fluttered in and out of my room. I liked them. It was like they expected my crankiness and they didn't try to talk all nice and sweet to me. That really annoyed me. Removing a tumor does not remove years from my life, turning me into a child. Quite the opposite. I feel a bit on the old side.

A speech therapist came in one day. Aparantly they do more than speech. They teach you how to eat and stuff again. She gave me a piece of crushed ice. My throat didn't work so well and I thanked God ice melts. Then I cursed under my breath because the feeding tube had obviously moved in for a while.

It really started getting fun from here. My throat was starting to heal up from being raped by a tube and I was starting to be able to talk again. I am sure the staff on rehab thanked the staff on ICU for the gift of me...with my found voice.