Chapter 30: Tumor won't kill me today

Laura Ann Photography

Friday, March 20, 2020: Waking up in the ICU, Minneapolis, MN

I am currently 15-hour post-op. Please excuse the many spelling and grammar mistakes below. It is quite challenging to type with my hands covered in IVs and wires (picture below).

Well friends, family, and all other mysterious but wonderful readers, today this update is coming to you from my ICU bed, where I spent the night post-op following my second craniotomy, for partial brain tumor resection.

Yesterday, I arrived at the hospital shortly before 5am to check in for my second brain surgery (first one was 6 short weeks ago. In the midst of the current COVID-19 pandemic, visitors are not allowed into the hospital and most elective, non-essential surgeries have been postponed to save hospital beds and resources for the expected influx of CoVId-19 patients, so some areas of the hospital, like the surgical pre-op area, was eerily quiet.

I checked in for surgery and started the day with a CT and MRI of my brain, so the neurosurgeons would have current images to work off of. Unlike my first craniotomy, I was less nervous this time (Once you’ve been though one brain surgery, the next doesn’t’ seem so bad! I think my 30 minutes of MRI machine meditation helped, too) so I did not want any calming/sedating medications prior to surgery (don’t worry, I was under full general anesthesia during surgery and don’t remember a thing). However, I do remember arriving into my operating room and meeting my fabulous team there. The operating room looked like something from the future. There was another MRI machine in the OR so the surgeons could get real-time images. One of the lead surgical nurses, Stephen, quickly became my new friend. I joked that being in the OR brought back nightmares of how I used to be constantly yelled at as a medical student for scrubbing in wrong! My medical friends will understand this and likely start sweating jut thinking of it.

Stephen and I talked about our favorite foods (mine – anything covered in pesto) and he left a note in my chart with restaurant recommendation for the best pesto sandwiches nearby. These small acts of kindness make everything better.

My surgery lasted around 5 hours but was apparently quite successful. I am waiting for another glorious MRI this morning to find out exactly how successful it was. This surgery was riskier than the first one I had because it was longer, more extensive, and more invasive. I knew going into this surgery I had around a 4-5% chance of a massive side effect like a stroke, massive bleeding, etc. But, that meant I had a 95-96% chance of not having those thing happen and instead, getting enough tumor removed to extend my life and avoid nasty chemotherapy and radiation so I said to my surgeon, ‘let’s do it!”

Following surgery, I work up alone in the PACU recovery area but felt remarkably ok apart from some fatigue and nausea. My fabulous ICU nurse was the same nurse I had after my first surgery and I was so grateful to see a familiar face and make some inappropriate, morbid jokes with her right off the bat. By 3 hours post-op, I was again bugging the team to remove all of my excess monitoring lines and IVs so I could get up and walk around. My legs and feet sill work just fine, woohoo!

Overnight, I was expecting to be kept awake by incessant beeping of my heart monitor for having a very slow resting heart rate like last time. Unfortunately, this did not happen which likely means I am not in as good of shape as I was las time I was here. I will take this as motivation to get myself back in better Cross Fit shape as soon as my activity restrictions are again lifted.

This morning, I immediately gulped down a disgusting mug of “coffee” (the fancier hospital coffee shop is closed due to COVID-19) and called my family. It is very odd having no visitors here, spooky quiet…. for now, but unfortunately, I doubt it will stay this way for long. Thanks all for continuing to do your part “flattening the curve.” :)

I was a little sad to wake up alone this morning in the ICU mid-pandemic with only a mug of horrible coffee and a gruesome new head scar to keep me company, but then I reminded myself of one of my new favorite quotes from Thich Nhat Hanh in his book “The Art of Living,”

‘When you wake up in the morning, you can choose how you want to start you day. I recommend you start the day smiling. Why smile? Because you are alive and you have twenty-four brand new hours ahead of you. The new day is a gift of life offered to you. Celebrate it and vow to live it deeply. Vow not to waste it. “

I hope this quote helps you as you find yourself waking up to spend another day inside, distancing yourself from many things that likely usually make you smile. I walked into the hospital alone yesterday morning knowing I had a 4-5% chance I would not leave this place as the self I once knew.

But guess what, I survived! We will survive this wild world too. This new day is a gift. Vow to live it deeply! I FaceTimed my family and my morning nurse even brought me a freshly brewed cup of coffee. If that isn’t a sign that we can face this day, I don’t know what is.

The team even thinks I’m doing so well post-op that I can go home today! Hooray! See you all soon (virtually, for now…).

Fondly,

Courtney

© CB2020