surgery

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Lasering of the brain

April 18, 2010 in Update by admin | Comments

Doing fine after the gamma knife laser surgery on my brain. I even have some super-flattering photos to share.

Here I am with three ponytails (one’s in the back) just to make me look extra cute. Okay, it’s really so the surgeon can screw the frame into my head where the hair is parted without having to go through hair or shave any of it off. You can see the two front screws going into my forehead.

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Here they have put a dome on my head. I don’t remember why, but I guess it was necessary at the time.

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The goofy smiles are because you’re always supposed to smile for the camera, right? And I was on some meds….

This photo is after the procedure. They put me in a hospital bed and fed me…a big magenta flower? I don’t remember the flower. I probably ate it.

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My neurosurgeon and a physicist monitored the whole procedure. The physicist checked in on me all the time, very comforting. They were very pleased and said they were confident it was a success. The MRI in July will give them more data about the results.

The nodule was in the balance area of my cerebellum, and I have had no balance problems since the procedure.

Today is my brother’s birthday. Happy birthday, Doug!

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Gamma knife surgery pending

April 15, 2010 in Moments, Update by admin | Comments

Apparently there is a colon cancer metastasis in my brain about 1cm in diameter, and it is growing. The news was hard to hear. I was sent to a neurosurgeon for a plan of action.

Sooo, tomorrow I go in for gamma knife brain surgery. No cutting, just lots of laser beams aimed into my head, killing whatever is at their point of intersection — in this case, the metastasis in my cerebellum.

I will be able to go home the same day. Brain surgery has come a long way.

On a happier note, we are adjusting to a new puppy in our household. Molly is a ten-week-old golden retriever. She joins Jesse the bichon and Romi the cat. The housetraining is a pain, but she has given us many laughs during the two weeks we have had her.

Molly and pals

Molly and pals

Our cat likes dogs, so that adjustment has been smooth. Jesse the bichon was not too sure about Molly for a while but is playing with her now.

Also fun: Cliff and I just got back from visiting the elementary school where our daughter teaches art. They are having an all-school art show this evening, and we were very impressed with the kids’ artwork. Our son showed up too, so the family was all together.

On brain surgery eve, all is well in our household. And Romi the cat is at the keyboard, supervising my writing.

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From stage I to stage IV - late June 2008

July 26, 2008 in Update by admin | Comments

Three lingering spots on my right lung, which my oncologist had attributed to non-cancerous origins, had begun to grow a bit.  I was send into surgery on June 30, 2008, to have the right lower lung lobe removed.

In one day, I went from thinking I was free of colon cancer to learning that I was in stage IV.

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Backstory: Hearing the words - 10/17/05

July 21, 2008 in Update by admin | Comments

I was on call as a hospice chaplain when my life took an unexpected turn. I’d had a baseline colonoscopy at age 50 and it was clear. Now, at 53, I found myself having another rather hastily-scheduled colonoscopy due to the presence of blood.

After the procedure, the surgeon told me he had biopsied a small but suspicious mass in the sigmoid colon. He scheduled me for surgery in three days.

On the day of surgery, I wasn’t nervous and was in good spirits. Although I had received no medication yet, I was blissfully oblivious and in a nice, self-protective state of denial. When the hour drew near, I was wheeled into a holding area immediately outside the operating room.

The surgeon came in, and my husband moved to the foot of the bed to make room for several medical staff. The surgeon sat down beside me and said gently, “The path labs are back, and I’m very sorry to tell you that you have cancer.”

I was stunned. I had done some chaplain work in a hospital, and I felt for him, having to give me this news.

It’s all right,” I said. “It’s okay.” Then I stopped myself. My first reaction as a caretaker was to take care of the surgeon, but even I knew that I did not need to be comforting the doctor.

I asked the surgeon what stage the cancer was.

He said, “We won’t know until Thursday, when we get the path report after surgery.”

My eyes sought my husband of many years, who is the love of my life. He was too far away to hold my hand, so we could only share a gaze. I realized that I might be leaving him and our children.

The wall behind him began to tilt, the room to spin slowly. It was strange to see it and know that my brain was creating this slow whirlwind to protect me from the impact of the devastating news.

I spoke up to no one in particular, “Now would be a good time for some of that medicine that relaxes you before surgery.”

I didn’t realize that a nurse was standing at the head of my bed, with my IV line in one hand and a syringe in the other. Within seconds, my surroundings seemed to swim and melt together. I was immediately wheeled into the operating room, transferred to a table with an enormous overhead lamp, and put under.

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