Dee (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
colorless_landscape) wrote2004-01-09 12:21 pm
colorless_landscape) wrote2004-01-09 12:21 pm
My personal story. Feel free to read and comment, or not, at your leisure.:D
The phone rang, and I picked it up.
“Cyndi, this is your mother.”
Uh-oh, I thought. Something is wrong. I knew that no-nonsense tone in her voice all too well. I was never what you could call a model child.
“Get some things in a bag, and get down here to the office. We’re admitting you to the hospital for more tests.”
Now I was starting to get scared. I had seen one of the neurologists my mom works for the day before, and they had done an MRI on my head. I could tell from Mama’s tone that something had shown up on it, and that it probably wasn’t good.
I hung up the phone, and told Amy, my six-year-old daughter, to get together anything she wanted to take to Papa and Nana’s with her as they were going to meet her at Grandma’s work. While getting my things together, I called my fiancé, Autie, who was at work at the time. I told him what Mama had said, and that I would call him back as soon as I was admitted to let him know what room I would be in.
I had been having problems for a while. About six months earlier, I had started having trouble with pressure and pain in my right hip. Then, I started having pain and weakness in my left shoulder and arm. More recently, my left leg and knee started bothering me with pain and weakness to the point that I was now walking with a cane. For the past week, I had suffered with severe nausea. I had seen my doctor several times over the past few months, but no one had ever put all my symptoms together and looked at them as a whole. With the onset of the severe nausea, Autie persuaded me to go see a different doctor, who decided to refer me to Dr. Smith, a local neurologist, just to be on the safe side. I still didn’t really believe it was anything too major. After all, I was only 32 years old, and had always been in fairly good health.
Once I was admitted, the normal battery of tests began, as well as a CT scans on my head. After everything was done, Dr. Smith came in to see me, and told me that they had found an abnormal mass on my brain stem when they did the MRI. At least now I knew why I was in the hospital. Dr. Smith called in a local neurosurgeon, Dr. Walpert, for a consult. After looking at all my test results, she ordered an angiogram of my head to be done the next day.
Once all the test results were in, the doctors determined that the mass was an angioma, a tumorous, irregular growth of blood vessels, and that it was operable. Dr. Smith and Dr. Walpert were both very patient with me, and explained as much as they could, although there wasn’t really that much they could tell me at this point. All they could tell me was that it was operable, that I would be scheduled for surgery the following Tuesday, and that the mass did not appear to be cancerous and should not return after it was removed. However, due to its location on the brain stem, they were unable to tell me if I would even be able to walk, talk, or do anything after the surgery, although they were confident that the chances of such extreme consequences were minimal.
My family and friends rallied around me. Mama and Daddy both came by to see me every day as soon as they got off work, as did Autie. My sister and her husband came by to see me, and so did my best friend, who has a severe phobia of hospitals. Two of my cousins called me on a three-way call so that I could talk to both Kim, and Missy, who had moved to Louisiana, at the same time. I wasn’t as scared once the calls and visits started. How could I be? So much love and so many prayers surrounded me. I could feel it when they visited or called.
Autie was the first to arrive Tuesday morning, followed closely by my mom, and, to my surprise, my cousin, Jennifer. We had recently found out that Jenn’s mom had a fast-spreading cancer and only had at best a few weeks to live, so I was very surprised, yet extremely happy, to see her. Then, Dr. Walpert came in to talk to us, patiently explaining the upcoming surgery and answering questions as best she could. Things started moving very quickly at that point, with people arriving, and phone calls coming in from people wishing me luck and prayers. Grandma called to send me her love, and also to tell me that my aunt, who had always been more like a sister to me than an aunt, was on her way. I lost track of all the people coming in. I lost track of all the people coming in. My dad came in at some point. By the time they came to take me down for pre-op prep, I was practically swimming in a sea of love and support, surrounded by many of the people in my life who meant so much to me.
After they took me down, my next clear memory is of waking up in the ICU with my mom on one side of my bed holding one of my hands, and my dad standing on the other side holding my other hand. I don’t think they realized how much that meant to me (they had divorced by the time I was 11). I felt like a child again, seeing Mama and Daddy both at my side like that when I woke up. I will treasure that memory forever. The next few minutes were filled with family filtering in and out to see me, offer their love and support, and see for themselves that I came through the surgery ok. I found out later that not only was my aunt, Eva, and cousin, Kim, there for me during my surgery on Tuesday, but that they flew to Louisiana to be with my other cousin, Missy, for her colon surgery on Friday. That just shows me how strong the family bond of love can be. I was in a lot of pain the next few days, but the love and support of my family made it easier to bear.
The first few weeks were the hardest because, due to the damage from the angioma which had started bleeding, causing basically a mild stroke, and then from the surgery itself, I was unable to do much of anything for myself, including walk. When I was finally able to walk, I had to rely on a walker for balance and support for several months before “graduating” to a cane which I still rely heavily on and may have to use the rest of my life. My endurance is shot, so if I am going out in public, I still have to use a wheelchair if there is going to be a lot of walking involved. I am still undergoing intensive therapy to try to regain as much strength, control, balance, and endurance as possible. I have faced the fact that I may never be “back to normal”, and where I am now may be as good as it gets.
Autie has been so wonderful to me, taking over the household chores until I can do at least some of them myself. I’ve come a long way, but there is still much I can’t do at this point, like mopping, vacuuming, and preparing full meals. He has taken on those chores without complaint. I thank God every day for him. I don’t know what I would have done the last few months without him. I am truly blessed to have him in my life.
I still battle with depression at the slowness of my recovery, but there are things which help me keep my spirits up. The main one is the knowledge that God, in His wisdom, never gives us more than we can handle, although we may not see that at the time, and He always, ALWAYS, gives us a great support system. I have come to realize what a great support system I have in my family. Also, I have always been a huge Elvis fan, and, on the days when the depression is worst, I turn to my CD’s of his gospel music. The sound of his beautiful voice singing of God’s love never fails to lift my spirits by reminding me of all the love I have felt from my family and friends the last few months. It also helps remind me that, even in my loneliest hour, I am never truly alone, because God is always with me, and that He loves all of us...even me.
finit
Update #1 01-09-04
In the last year and a half since the surgery, very little has changed. My physical therapy and occupational therapy have been discontinued, because I have regained as much control and use of my limbs as I am ever going to. My daily, and really even long-term, goals now basically encompass pain and tremor management, for which I take two different types of muscle relaxers on a daily basis. They help a lot, I guess, although the pain is never truly gone, and my arm and leg continually shake, regardless of what I try. (If you've ever seen the way someone who has had a stroke or who has Parkinson's disease shakes, it is that type of tremors I suffer from, but only in my left arm and leg.)
I also suffer from visual difficulties caused by nerve damage to the left side of my face. Because of the deadened nerves, my left eye muscles have weakened, and are no longer able to properly contro; my left eye. Without extensive surgery, there is no way to correct this, and even that would not guarantee a resolution, so I deal with double vision and a loss of peripheral vision on the left side on a daily basis. If I am tired or sick, these effects increase exponentially. This is probably the hardest thing to deal with because it affects everything I do.
I have some, though very little, use of my left arm and leg, so I will never again be able to walk without, at the very least a cane. I still rely on a wheelchair for shopping excursions and the like. I am able to do enough things for myself and my daughter that I still feel "useful", but I will never be able to prepare a full, home-cooked meal on my own again. Thankfully, Amy (my daughter), who is 8 now, is very independant, and she is a BIG help. Luckily, this all happened after she was at an age where she can bathe and dress herself, and she helps out with the cooking, even preparing her own meals if she decides she wants a microwave pizza or something of that sort! It's almost as if our roles have become reversed, because, many times, she will help me, if I am having trouble doing something due to my physical limitations, and she worries about me falling constantly because my lack of control of my left leg naturally affects my balance and coordination. She is more of a treasure than she could ever know!
The other thing that helps me through the days, especially while Amy is at school, is our little dog, Penny. She is half Daschund, half Chihuahua, and she stays inside . She keeps me company during the day, and, even though she can't talk, never fails to make me feel better. If I fall or anything, she is always the first one there to "check" on me, though I don't know what she thinks she could do to help! Still it makes me feel better just having her near. And, if I am hurting, she somehow seems to know, and curls her warm little body up next to wherever I am hurting, as if to say "I'm here. I'll make it beter."
Life isn't perfect, but at least I do still have a life, and for that I am grateful. Yes, I still battle with depression many days, but, all in all, I can't complain too much. Things could have turned out much differently, and I wouldn't be here at all! And, as they say, I get by with a little help from my friends! :D (Corny, I know, but oh-so-true!)
“Cyndi, this is your mother.”
Uh-oh, I thought. Something is wrong. I knew that no-nonsense tone in her voice all too well. I was never what you could call a model child.
“Get some things in a bag, and get down here to the office. We’re admitting you to the hospital for more tests.”
Now I was starting to get scared. I had seen one of the neurologists my mom works for the day before, and they had done an MRI on my head. I could tell from Mama’s tone that something had shown up on it, and that it probably wasn’t good.
I hung up the phone, and told Amy, my six-year-old daughter, to get together anything she wanted to take to Papa and Nana’s with her as they were going to meet her at Grandma’s work. While getting my things together, I called my fiancé, Autie, who was at work at the time. I told him what Mama had said, and that I would call him back as soon as I was admitted to let him know what room I would be in.
I had been having problems for a while. About six months earlier, I had started having trouble with pressure and pain in my right hip. Then, I started having pain and weakness in my left shoulder and arm. More recently, my left leg and knee started bothering me with pain and weakness to the point that I was now walking with a cane. For the past week, I had suffered with severe nausea. I had seen my doctor several times over the past few months, but no one had ever put all my symptoms together and looked at them as a whole. With the onset of the severe nausea, Autie persuaded me to go see a different doctor, who decided to refer me to Dr. Smith, a local neurologist, just to be on the safe side. I still didn’t really believe it was anything too major. After all, I was only 32 years old, and had always been in fairly good health.
Once I was admitted, the normal battery of tests began, as well as a CT scans on my head. After everything was done, Dr. Smith came in to see me, and told me that they had found an abnormal mass on my brain stem when they did the MRI. At least now I knew why I was in the hospital. Dr. Smith called in a local neurosurgeon, Dr. Walpert, for a consult. After looking at all my test results, she ordered an angiogram of my head to be done the next day.
Once all the test results were in, the doctors determined that the mass was an angioma, a tumorous, irregular growth of blood vessels, and that it was operable. Dr. Smith and Dr. Walpert were both very patient with me, and explained as much as they could, although there wasn’t really that much they could tell me at this point. All they could tell me was that it was operable, that I would be scheduled for surgery the following Tuesday, and that the mass did not appear to be cancerous and should not return after it was removed. However, due to its location on the brain stem, they were unable to tell me if I would even be able to walk, talk, or do anything after the surgery, although they were confident that the chances of such extreme consequences were minimal.
My family and friends rallied around me. Mama and Daddy both came by to see me every day as soon as they got off work, as did Autie. My sister and her husband came by to see me, and so did my best friend, who has a severe phobia of hospitals. Two of my cousins called me on a three-way call so that I could talk to both Kim, and Missy, who had moved to Louisiana, at the same time. I wasn’t as scared once the calls and visits started. How could I be? So much love and so many prayers surrounded me. I could feel it when they visited or called.
Autie was the first to arrive Tuesday morning, followed closely by my mom, and, to my surprise, my cousin, Jennifer. We had recently found out that Jenn’s mom had a fast-spreading cancer and only had at best a few weeks to live, so I was very surprised, yet extremely happy, to see her. Then, Dr. Walpert came in to talk to us, patiently explaining the upcoming surgery and answering questions as best she could. Things started moving very quickly at that point, with people arriving, and phone calls coming in from people wishing me luck and prayers. Grandma called to send me her love, and also to tell me that my aunt, who had always been more like a sister to me than an aunt, was on her way. I lost track of all the people coming in. I lost track of all the people coming in. My dad came in at some point. By the time they came to take me down for pre-op prep, I was practically swimming in a sea of love and support, surrounded by many of the people in my life who meant so much to me.
After they took me down, my next clear memory is of waking up in the ICU with my mom on one side of my bed holding one of my hands, and my dad standing on the other side holding my other hand. I don’t think they realized how much that meant to me (they had divorced by the time I was 11). I felt like a child again, seeing Mama and Daddy both at my side like that when I woke up. I will treasure that memory forever. The next few minutes were filled with family filtering in and out to see me, offer their love and support, and see for themselves that I came through the surgery ok. I found out later that not only was my aunt, Eva, and cousin, Kim, there for me during my surgery on Tuesday, but that they flew to Louisiana to be with my other cousin, Missy, for her colon surgery on Friday. That just shows me how strong the family bond of love can be. I was in a lot of pain the next few days, but the love and support of my family made it easier to bear.
The first few weeks were the hardest because, due to the damage from the angioma which had started bleeding, causing basically a mild stroke, and then from the surgery itself, I was unable to do much of anything for myself, including walk. When I was finally able to walk, I had to rely on a walker for balance and support for several months before “graduating” to a cane which I still rely heavily on and may have to use the rest of my life. My endurance is shot, so if I am going out in public, I still have to use a wheelchair if there is going to be a lot of walking involved. I am still undergoing intensive therapy to try to regain as much strength, control, balance, and endurance as possible. I have faced the fact that I may never be “back to normal”, and where I am now may be as good as it gets.
Autie has been so wonderful to me, taking over the household chores until I can do at least some of them myself. I’ve come a long way, but there is still much I can’t do at this point, like mopping, vacuuming, and preparing full meals. He has taken on those chores without complaint. I thank God every day for him. I don’t know what I would have done the last few months without him. I am truly blessed to have him in my life.
I still battle with depression at the slowness of my recovery, but there are things which help me keep my spirits up. The main one is the knowledge that God, in His wisdom, never gives us more than we can handle, although we may not see that at the time, and He always, ALWAYS, gives us a great support system. I have come to realize what a great support system I have in my family. Also, I have always been a huge Elvis fan, and, on the days when the depression is worst, I turn to my CD’s of his gospel music. The sound of his beautiful voice singing of God’s love never fails to lift my spirits by reminding me of all the love I have felt from my family and friends the last few months. It also helps remind me that, even in my loneliest hour, I am never truly alone, because God is always with me, and that He loves all of us...even me.
finit
Update #1 01-09-04
In the last year and a half since the surgery, very little has changed. My physical therapy and occupational therapy have been discontinued, because I have regained as much control and use of my limbs as I am ever going to. My daily, and really even long-term, goals now basically encompass pain and tremor management, for which I take two different types of muscle relaxers on a daily basis. They help a lot, I guess, although the pain is never truly gone, and my arm and leg continually shake, regardless of what I try. (If you've ever seen the way someone who has had a stroke or who has Parkinson's disease shakes, it is that type of tremors I suffer from, but only in my left arm and leg.)
I also suffer from visual difficulties caused by nerve damage to the left side of my face. Because of the deadened nerves, my left eye muscles have weakened, and are no longer able to properly contro; my left eye. Without extensive surgery, there is no way to correct this, and even that would not guarantee a resolution, so I deal with double vision and a loss of peripheral vision on the left side on a daily basis. If I am tired or sick, these effects increase exponentially. This is probably the hardest thing to deal with because it affects everything I do.
I have some, though very little, use of my left arm and leg, so I will never again be able to walk without, at the very least a cane. I still rely on a wheelchair for shopping excursions and the like. I am able to do enough things for myself and my daughter that I still feel "useful", but I will never be able to prepare a full, home-cooked meal on my own again. Thankfully, Amy (my daughter), who is 8 now, is very independant, and she is a BIG help. Luckily, this all happened after she was at an age where she can bathe and dress herself, and she helps out with the cooking, even preparing her own meals if she decides she wants a microwave pizza or something of that sort! It's almost as if our roles have become reversed, because, many times, she will help me, if I am having trouble doing something due to my physical limitations, and she worries about me falling constantly because my lack of control of my left leg naturally affects my balance and coordination. She is more of a treasure than she could ever know!
The other thing that helps me through the days, especially while Amy is at school, is our little dog, Penny. She is half Daschund, half Chihuahua, and she stays inside . She keeps me company during the day, and, even though she can't talk, never fails to make me feel better. If I fall or anything, she is always the first one there to "check" on me, though I don't know what she thinks she could do to help! Still it makes me feel better just having her near. And, if I am hurting, she somehow seems to know, and curls her warm little body up next to wherever I am hurting, as if to say "I'm here. I'll make it beter."
Life isn't perfect, but at least I do still have a life, and for that I am grateful. Yes, I still battle with depression many days, but, all in all, I can't complain too much. Things could have turned out much differently, and I wouldn't be here at all! And, as they say, I get by with a little help from my friends! :D (Corny, I know, but oh-so-true!)