Walter

Over a year ago when I had my initial consult with Dr. Basta he gave me the impression that literally one half of my head would be shaved due to the fact I have small ventricles (brain holes). So he even brought up giving all my hair to Locks of Love. I got a get well card claiming to love me despite being bald (I think it was for cancer survivors) and a sweet friend knitted me a gorgeous scarf to use as a cover so my head wouldn't freeze in December. I even remember going in the day before my surgery to do blood work and get those nasty anti-MRSA cleaning pads and the volunteer who worked the hospitality table looked at me and my sheet then said "but you have such beautiful hair." I thanked her and shrugged my shoulders.

So it was a nice surprise to take my turban off and see that he or whoever shaved large patch of hair rather than a whole side of hair. The patch was completely coverable, so I thought.

However like a cute baby turns into a unruly teenager, my baby hairs turned into a wild mess of curly hair (I normally had straight hair). We named this mess Walter after a bum boyfriend my co-worker had. And Walter only got worse the longer he got. I had a student once. This student typically wore his hair in nice and neat corn rows, but every once in awhile he would show up to class with a feral, poofey, mane. Those were the days I typically had to call for a principal to come remove him from the class. His barbarian hair matched his mood. Looking back, I am amazed he manage to keep it together for most of the year because unmanageable hair puts me in a bad mood a lot!

Walter has been a baby 3 times now and by the second surgery I had perfected the Walter Hair Do.First I had to succumb to the curliness of Walter and start cheering for the rest of my hair to be curly. My hair reacted well to The Curly Girl Method suggested by two friends who dealt with curly hair. Walter also required me to pull 1/3 of my front hair into bobby pins. Then I have to strategically place those bobby pins over Walter to tame his ass down! If not, he will poke out any way he can. Oh and mornings are Walter's time to shine! I sleep on my right side, which is the side Walter lives. So he gets rustled, teased, and messied up all night long and I wake up looking like Big Foot just pulped on my head. Sometimes I catch Kyle looking up at him when he is suppose to be looking at me. When I fuss about it, Kyle laughs and says Walter is showing off today.

 

Say Hi Walter!

 

Luckily Walter has become a constant, but comical part of all the surgeries. And I remember it could always be worse. But if you ever come over in the morning do not be scared of the animal on the right side of my head.

Happy 31st Birthday! Enjoy Your New Nonprogrammable Shunt Valve! Part 3

So after dear sweet Diego left me at KU, I laid in the bed for 6 hours before a doctor ever entered info in the computer for treatment. By then pain killers were wearing off and anti nausea meds stopped working. I was puking with a 10 out of 10 headache, not a good combination. My adorable nurse kept apologizing for the delay and my non confrontational personality kept reassuring her that it was ok. After too many painful interactions, she proclaimed that she was going to go demand Dr. So and So get me some meds. Dr. So and So was a resident, and I would have to get used to numerous docs in my room because KU is a teaching hospital and I was on multiple services (neurology, neurosurgery, and cardiology and would add endocrinology before I left). By God, she did demand and he was in the room within 10 minuets. Never underestimate the power of a nurse. I now know they are the ones who really run hospitals like school secretaries are the true CEOs of schools.

I was set up with a Magnesium drip and Toradol for pain and anti nausea meds. The docs from all the services came by the next day and a Video EEG was ordered and an x-ray of my shunt was to be taken. OK, I may have scared a nuero surgery resident into the shunt x-ray because I was still skeptical of Basta's exit from the situation. That wide-eyed resident was fast in getting the x-ray machine into the room and getting an image of my shunt. That image showed my shunt HAD opened from a 2 to .5. Hallelujah! I wasn't crazy! The resident set me back to a 2.0 and became my new hero.
The older and wiser big-wig neurosurgeon came to the room and in a Brooklyn accent abruptly said we don't know why, but your shunt is opening on its own and we have to ship you back to Research to have Basta fix it. In my mind I was saying, hold on, you want ME to go BACK to the doctor that kicked me OUT? I immediately asked if they could fix it at KU? He explained that each shunt is put in on an individual need and the original surgeon is best equipped to fix it. Ok, that made sense to me and we hadn't had any problem with Basta's medical ability. He said he would call Research and hopefully get me over there soon. This was a Friday and I was still at KU on the following Tuesday. Obviously a phone call was forgotten and not made.

During this weekend KU was playing in the NCAA basketball playoffs and championships (and this was back when MU and KU were in the Big 12 conference). Furthermore, I had a Video EEG scheduled, and when you have a Video EEG done, little probes are literally cemented to your head and you are unable to shower or change clothes. So the clothes I was wearing upon arriving, were the clothes I was wearing when KU was fighting for the championship title. Unfortunately, I was wearing an over-sized bright golden MU shirt, so every nurse or doc gave me a "are you kidding me" look before getting to business. In Kyle's eyes, my unplanned alma-mater spirit in the the throws of the rival made up for flirting with Diego.

47 electrodes cemented to my scalp to see if I was having seizures at KU Med. 

 

Also at KU they don't threaten Bed Alarm they mandate it for those who pass out. It was the middle of the night and like always my bladder was full. I thought I would be sneaky and run to the bathroom real quick before anyone saw me. So I lowered the bed rail, put on my fashionable yellow hospital socks with white grippers, gather all the cords and wires and put one foot on the ground to lift myself and all of a sudden I am deafened by an alarm. After 30 seconds of alarm, a voice comes over a speaker in my room, "Miss April, do you need to use the restroom?" my nurse's aid, Ebony, asks in her divatastic voice. What do I say...do I admit to getting out of bed? Do I lie? Do I just stay quiet? My heart was racing and I began to sweat. I felt like I was kid caught stealing lip gloss at the Walgreens cosmetic counter. And how did they know I was headed to the bathroom? Was there a camera in my room? I sure was scared to admit my sin to Ebony, but I did. She came into the room and flipped on all the lights while nodding her head in disappointment. The whole time she was helping me pee she gave me a prophetic speech about why the hospital has me on Bed Alarm. The speech involved lawyers, nurses, doctors, my personal safety, God's plan, and that she didn't want to clean up the blood if I cracked my head open on the floor. By the time she tucked me back into bed, she had me convinced that Bed Alarm was my best friend. I really enjoyed Ebony and her sassy but caring attitude. That attitude will be the highlight of my stay at KU! When I got to leave she claimed she would come visit me at Research, but never did probably because she was straightening out other stubborn patients.

It was three days after Dr. Brooklyn had said he was going to send me back to Research. Still confused on why I was at KU, a headache began again. I was confident my shunt had opened again, so during "rounds" I went bat-shit-crazy on a poor neurologist who was trying to brainstorm other possible explanations for the syncope. A friend was visiting me during this fit, and he quietly backed himself into the corner frightened by the unleashed April while Kyle just let me go. I had been in 3 hospitals for nearly two weeks and this doctor was trying to find yet another reason why I passed out when the evidence was obvious! URRRRRG! The neurologist and I both ended up in tears, but the x-ray machine was back in my room showing the shunt had opened up for a third time depleting my brain of CSF. The neurosurgery team showed me their Magic Magnet Machine when they reset me. I had an iPad on the table and the Magnet Machine started blinking indicating a magnet. They also put the machine over my phone and headphones. All of these electronics had magnets in them. No one was willing to say if that was the cause of the shunt opening up, but it struck up an interesting conversation about electronics shunt patients use and if they interfere with the setting. If a programmable shunt valve is the preferred valve, they should be made with less sensitivity to common magnets.

Kyle was fed up with the lack of communication and called Basta's office and left a message with his nurse explaining the proof that the shunt had opened two other times and asked what were we suppose to do. Within minuets she called him back. I wasn't involved with the conversation, but Basta had been in surgery and was going to call KU as soon as he was out, and within hours I was at Research with preoperative orders to not drink or eat.

He had become a trigger for my panic, so I was very nervous about seeing him again. He came in and said "you took a little detour getting here, huh?" I was speechless to that remark, but I think that comment made my anger beat down my panic and I didn't have a panic attack in front of him. He continued with, "I hope you understand I needed you to go home and have another episode to verify a shunt malfunction." Once again I was speechless. "I didn't want you to have an unnecessary surgery." Still biting my tongue, because if I didn't either an attack would hit or I would mumble something incoherent out of anger; neither would get me closer to leaving the hospital. He explained the he didn't know why it was malfunctioning, but the valve needed to come out. He suggested a set valve that was not manipulated with magnets. I quickly agreed and he said he would see me in Pre Op.

I am a question asker and had become very fond of learning about my nurses and their stories. My nurse that day was a woman who shared her story when I asked. She had contracted Hep C (I think...it was the deadly kind) from a patient. As a result, her life would be cut very short. Luckily she was chosen to be in a research study that included 32 weeks of aggressive chemotherapy. Her and 1 other patient survived the 32 weeks out of 18 people. She was able to work only half days, but she did it with grace. Her story and a story I just heard this Xmas of a high school friend fighting lymphoma for the 3rd time makes me remember that IT CAN ALWAYS BE WORSE! I was not going to die from a shunt malfunction, and my kids will have their mom once all this crap is over. I am very thankful that I never, in this whole situation, had to look death in the eye. I pray for those who have had to think about their own mortality.
  
The next morning came and I had to wait and wait until Basta was done with all his scheduled surgeries. They came and got me around 4 pm and I got gitty because it was all about to be over. This was a stark contrast to my mood when they came to get me this December. In Pre op he used the Magic Machine and saw that my shunt had opened a fourth time since the transfer to Research. He assured me it would be a lot less invasive than the shunt fitting. Meanwhile, I couldn't decide if it was sad or comforting when the Pre Op and OR nurses recognized me from the original fitting. Ultimately I decided it was comforting and to allow myself to feel taken care of.

Everything in the surgery went smooth. I was the only patient in the Post Op so I talked it up with my nurse. She was pumping up nursing programs in the area. I always wanted to be a nurse, but Kyle rolls his eyes every time I bring it up. Just like I roll my eyes every time he brings up being a teacher instead of an attorney. When Basta came in to see me I told him that tomorrow was my birthday and I asked him if he would send me home as a present. Indeed, he sent me home at 9am the next morning less than 15 hours after my surgery. That day Kyle got a text from Dr. Blanner wishing me a happy birthday and he hoped I am enjoying my nonprogrammable shunt valve.

I don't know why I went through this elaborate parade of hospitals, doctors, and diagnoses. However, I learned that nurses work hard and deserve more money and vacations than they get. Also I learned a people have to listen to their own body and fight to get the proper treatment even if that means scarring residents and driving neurologists to tears. And it doesn't hurt if you have one good doctor in your corner!

Happy 31st Birthday! Enjoy Your New Nonprogrammable Shunt Valve! Part 2

So..."last time on The Brain Saga" I was passing out a lot, magnetic paint could be the problem, The Magic Magnet Machine helped, and I was heading home from the hospital. The cliffhanger was that magnetic paint in fact DOES NOT have magnets in it.

Well after 24 hours of being home, my body did it again. The syncope was back. I was like a spineless rag doll, sit her up and see her fall. I pulled another stubborn bathroom stunt while Kyle ran an errand and had a swollen face to prove it. Of course I didn't tell Kyle about this incident or the hospital fall until his nerves were more calm and he could handle my ignorance. So a call was made to Basta and Research ER was our destination again. Since it was 10am on a random Thursday, the waiting room was empty, and just like before I went down in the BP chair...Deja Vue. The prodigal team showed up with the Magic Magnet Machine to see what setting the shunt was on. Surprisingly, the reading was 2.0 right where it should be, and as fast as they came into the ER room they left completely washing their hands of my case. "It is not the shunt, you need to contact your neurologist to find out the cause" I remember Basta saying as he packed up the Magic Magnet Machine in its accompanying suitcase like a hit man packs up his guns after a hit. Seeing I was very confused, scared, and panicked he offered, "maybe our office can call your neurologist to speed up the process" and he and his foxy NP disappeared.

Here, I recollect my emotions with great detail. ABANDONED would be the adverb to sum up how I felt. ABANDONED ABANDONED ABANDONED...I can't scream it enough. I was passing out with no assumed reason and no doctor trying to help us. And the doctor who had just fixed me the exact same week was telling me to leave the ER and make an appointment with a doctor who I hadn't seen in over 6 months. How was I going to get to the car without going unconsciousness, let alone live until I could get into the neurologist's office. Tears, moans, sweat, tremors, hyperventilation all came from my body. This time my panic was not going to publically hide. I signed the discharge papers in a fit and quickly evacuated the ER.

With my van seat reclined all the way back, I called my neurologist's office telling them the situation in an emergent manner (they probably thought I was a mad woman) and they could only offer me an appointment 2 weeks in the future. I may have laughed out loud at that notion? Now, Kyle is the epitome of a caring husband, but he couldn't be by my side every minuet of every day. Plus my headache was creeping back up to a 10 out of 10 on the pain scale.

We drove into the garage and I got out of the van with mad gusto! As I entered our laundry room I went down. Kyle was near and ready, so I don't think I hit the ground with the typical head/shoulder combination. What had come of me? I was laying on the dirty ground of my laundry floor looking up at Kyle who looked so helpless.

Through this we had indirect, more friendly support from our family doctor Dr. Blanner (for those Raytown grads, yes that Chris Blanner ;) and he shared an office space with my neurologist. Kyle called him hoping he would talk to the neurologist and get me a quicker appointment. I am not completely clear about what happened behind the scenes, but I think Dr. Blanner was communicating with Basta's office and my neuro's office trying to get them to help me. The Nuero wanted Basta to turn down my shunt setting and Basta wanted to blame it on my healthy heart or a undiagnosed autonomic condition (seemed far fetched). The bottom line was that neither doctor was going take control of my care. Poor Blanner, he was probably really second guessing his decision of taking me on as a patient after his residency. In medical school do they prepare students to care for panicked mothers who pass out when vertical. Especially when her specialists were being no help?
However, he and Kyle didn't think I should be just passing out at home, so Dr. Blanner admitted me into Lee's Summit Medical Center if for anything, to control the pain in my head. I was very skeptical about going into another hospital, but I was forcefully talked into it and the smart LSMC staff met me at the van with a horizontal gurney. Therefore, we avoided one of the ritual syncope episodes. After getting to my room without passing out, they stuck telemetry pads on my chest and pumped me full of pain killers and ant-nausea meds and I slept and slept and slept.

I recall waking up to begin to go down to have a Tilt Table Test to see if my heart was causing my symptoms. Kyle inquired about what was included in the test, so the nurses explained I would be put on a table that tilts to induce syncope. Both Kyle and I said skip that...I could make that happen simply by sitting up. Luckily the nurses relayed our concern and the cardiologist came to me, I sat up with telemetry pads, and I passed out, and my heart showed no signs of distress.

Meanwhile, Dr. Blanner was getting me transferred to KU Med's Nuero floor. For the trip nurses filled me up with pain killers and anti nausea meds and two EMTs paraded me through the hospital and put me in an ambulance with John Knox Village written on the side (another instance where I am living the life of an elderly person). But there was a nice surprise in the ambulance named Diego!! Now picture Dora the Explorer's cousin, Diego, except this Diego had hit the gym and cut his hair and he wasn't rescuing animals anymore. He had moved onto rescuing stinky, greasy haired 31 year old women high on Dilaudid. Needless to say he was a nice distraction to my headache. "Oh sure Diego, I will take some oxygen for the ride!" "Oh sure Diego, I will take another warm blanket." I would say while trying to not puke everywhere from the surprisingly very bumpy ambulance ride. The whole transport to KU is a story in itself, there was The John Knox Village ambulance and Diego and Freddie. He was the ghettofabulous security guard that met Diego and me in the KU ambulance bay. He graciously asked me how I was doin', but then he whipped out a metal detector and scanned me for what I assumed was weapons or bombs then he pat me down looking for more weapons. Hell, I couldn't even use the bathroom by myself let alone plan a deadly attack. This was probably a safety protocol, but caught me off guard and interrupted my flirting with Diego. For the record, Kyle is very aware of my infatuation with Diego the EMT and understands I was high and couldn't help myself.

Happy 31st Birthday! Enjoy Your New Nonprogrammable Shunt Valve! Part 1

I have talked about surgery #1 and surgery #3, but there was an unforeseen surgery in between those two. Being removed from the situation it makes me laugh thinking about it; however, Kyle and Mom would not agree. In the Spring of 2012 my health was great. I had healed and I was enjoying the relief the shunt offered. No headaches, no pulsations, and my palpadema was correcting itself. A week after Henry's 3rd birthday, I was taking a warm shower and felt light headed. This happened time to time because of low blood pressure. I got out and called for Kyle and he helped me to the bed and I recovered quickly. The next day I went to work (I co-taught a pre-K class and had only been back for a month) and I had a mild headache. It was lunch time which meant a lot of bending up and down to pull off yogurt caps, open zip lock bags, and pour peach juice out of plastic containers. As I sat down to eat my lunch I felt wacky, and BAM! I went down to the ground hitting the right side of my neck and head. I woke up and had six little 5- year-olds looking at me. You would think they would ask if I was ok, but no...they are 5-year-olds and they were not aware of why Ms April would be sprawled out on the ground. One little boy, Hunter, held his pudding down to me and asked " Miss April, have I eaten enough of my healthy food to eat my dessert?" I just tell him yes and sneak into the office near by. My co-teacher really didn't know what to do with me; hell...I didn't know what to do with me. They called Kyle and he came and picked me up.

Forgive my foggy recollection, but I believe I went down again at home, so Kyle called the neurosurgeon on call, and I ended up back at Research's ER. We walk in on a Friday evening and the waiting room is packed, which frightened Kyle because I was a ticking time bomb. I could go down at any moment. We checked in and sat with 30 other eager patients. After 5 minuets, a nurse called me back for a preliminary BP, temperature, and heart rate check. I started feeling wonky again and I told the nurse I need to lay down. However, before she accommodated me, I went down. I was startled awake with 50 wires attached to me, and a nurse scolding me "if you don't want me to rip your shirt off, you need to corporate." What? Why is she yelling at me? Kyle came back and reassured the nurses that they could stop the emergency code red response and that I was temporarily fine, but needed to lay horizontal. After the nurses left, I gave Kyle a high five and he asked why? I said because it was the first time my crappy health condition was a positive. My syncope (fancy talk for "passing out") bumped us up on the 2 hour wait we were looking at in the waiting room. He wasn't really seeing any humor in our situation.

ER ran CTs, blood tests, urine tests, and EKG on my heart. All they could gather is I had a UTI and that could cause a headache and syncope. However, they weren't real confident in that diagnosis so they slapped a red "fall risk" band on my wrist sent me up to the 6th floor until my neurosurgeon could see me on Monday (two days away).

Once I got in my room the admit nurse was asking all the typical questions and while I sitting up, I blacked out again until Kyle could get me horizontal in the bed. I think I freaked that nurse out because she threatened to put me on "Bed Alarm". I was not to get out of bed without someone in the the room with me. I agreed, but I wasn't seriously going to ask someone to come in the room so I could use the bathroom. Well, that stubbornness bit me in the butt. I talked Kyle into going home, and the IV fluids began to fill my bladder in the middle of the night, so I got out of bed to use the restroom. A few minuets later I woke up laying on my right side in the middle of the bathroom with my underwear at my knees, my hospital gown wide open, and the IV pole laying across me. Tile impression marks were on my cheek. Scared of the elusive "Bed Alarm," I picked the pole and myself up, pulled my underwear up and ran to my bed before anyone saw me.

The next day, the neurosurgeon-on-call saw me and claimed my scans looked clean and that it was NOT the shunt malfunctioning. When we asked him some benign questions, he became very bothered by us and rudely offered to take the whole shunt out. We shut up, so he would leave the room as quick as he entered. Thanks to our family doctor, I learned you can request a doctor NOT to round to you, so that is what we did with him. Shunt, heart, and brain were ok...could a UTI really keep causing this?

Meanwhile, our family doctor came to the hospital as a visitor and brought his newborn daughter. Despite my track record, he let me hold her, but while I was sitting. After about 10 minuets of baby, I managed to safely pass the baby off to Kyle before I blacked out again (if you are counting, this is about the 8th time in 3 days).

Monday morning came and Basta and the gorgeous NP swooped in from a vacation. I explained all the passing out and headaches. When I sat up for the duo to do a basic neurological exam, another impeccably timed syncope episode occurred causing me to go right into Dr. Basta's chest. This was the third time I managed to pass out into him or the accompanying NP. Kyle put me horizontal like a trained aid and probably gave them an "I told you so" look. But during the previous conversation, I dropped a possible piece to the puzzle. The classroom I taught in was covered in magnetic paint. Now, you may ask why does that have to do with anything? Furthermore, I hope you are ready for a CSI: Miami moment. Since getting the shunt, magnets had become as hostile to me as nuts are to Moe. The shunt valve was opened (allowing more fluid to drain) and closed (allowing less fluid to drain) with a MAGNET! I was warned of magnets and dutifully traded my fridge magnets with double stick tape. During the surgery, he set me at a middle setting and after two weeks of nausea and dizziness we decided that the valve was draining too much and needed to be closed a bit. So Basta revealed his Magic Magnet Machine. This contraption could adjust the valve setting through my scalp. Amazing, huh? He simply put it up to my valve and the Magic Magnet Machine closed the shunt through magnetic force. This was AWESOME because it was a noninvasive way to fix my over-drainage. Now apply that knowledge to the idea of a magnet-drenched classroom I spent 6 hours a day in. Waaa-laaa! a possible answer? Maybe not an answer, but a hint. They got the Magic Magnet Machine down to my room and sure enough my setting had moved from a 2 to a .5 (meaningless to the reader, I know). So basically the valve was open so much it was depleting my brain of CSF; thus, the brain was collapsing on itself. He adjusted me back to a 2.0 and made me stay in the hospital for another 24 hours. And it proved to be a solution. My work was very willing to put me in another room and I hadn't passed out in over 24 hours. I was ready to move on until one of my engineer-oriented friends questioned the actual ingredients in magnetic paint. After hours on Google, I realized magnetic paint is made with water based paint and rust flecks, no actual magnets. Well crap! There goes that hypothesis, but I was getting better and that is all that mattered.

IIH

According to my "homebound" status, I am not allowed to leave my home. There are three exceptions, the first one is to go to doctor's appointments...fair enough. Second, I can leave to attend church, another fair excuse. However the third exception shows that the "homebound" status is designed for patients in the 59-90 age group. I can leave to get my hair done once a week. Yes, to get my hair done. Humm...being 31 and a mom of 3 my hair is really unimportant, let alone in a time of illness. However, this exception reminds me of both my grandmas who go/went to the the "Beauty Shop" once a week to get their hair washed, teased, and set with a gallon of aerosol hair spray. This hair appointment was non negotiable; snow, cancer, travel, holidays would not keep these ladies from their weekly hair routine. So this status gave me a nostalgic giggle. I have been to doctors offices, a spa, a friend's house, a Christmas program, a school assembly, and Panera in the past week, so needless to say, I failing at the "homebound" status.

IIH or Idiopathic (reason unknown) Intercranial (in the skull) Hypertension (high pressure in brain vessels) is a odd condition. Basically my brain was unable to absorb the CSF properly, and the collected fluid causes my brain to swell. Some doctors have linked it to my first bout of viral meningitis. They say the virus changed the chemistry of my brain to where the brain lost the ability to drain my brain properly. Nothing can really determine the cause though. IIH occurs usually in women during "child bearing age". Here is the kicker...it occurs mostly in morbidly obese women. Now, I enjoyed food in my 27 months of pregnancy, and I wasn't too proactive in losing the baby weight. So I am definitely heavier than I was when I was 20. I thought of myself as soft, chubby, round, but not morbidly obese. Also this indication made me feel like I brought this condition on myself. If I would have lost my 20 pounds of baby weight I wouldn't have this condition. After talking with a 2 neurologists and the neurosurgeon they reassured me that my baby weight was NOT the culprit. Also I was not morbidly obese (but like every woman I would like to be thinner), so my paranoia settled.

IIH caused painful head pulsations with change of position, coughing, blowing up balloons, and BMs. Mornings were hard because hours of laying horizontal would only defer any drainage and my brain was the fullest in the morning. Also I would have random debilitating headaches; however, I was very lucky because a lot of suffers have these headaches constantly. Last, my optic nerve behind my left eye was swollen (Papilledema). The Papilledema was the most concerning symptom because that could lead to blindness. Like Basta once told me "you are not going to die from IIH, but you could go blind." So that symptom was the reason for the aggressive treatment.

First, I got on a drug called Diamox. This drug was suppose to act as a brain diuretic. It annoyingly made my fingers and feet tingle, but I could handle that. However, I had constant nausea and itching with the med. I felt like I was pregnant woman allergic to everything. And another non serious side effect was since it was a carbonic anhydrase inhibitor, it caused an offensive taste when I drank any carbonated drinks. Once again, VERY non serious, but just odd adjusting my diet to eliminate carbonation. We have eliminate all nuts form Moe's diet and carbonation from Mommy's diet. Furthermore, the drug was not doing anything to help the fluid retention. My lumbar punctures were still showing opening pressures alarmingly high. So the next step was the Ventricular (brain holes) Peritoneum (stomach lining) Shunt (drainage system) to direct the extra fluid from my head to my stomach where the fluid could be absorbed. I remember breaking out in tears in the neurologist's office when she suggested the VP shunt. She assured me that I would get relief and save my eye sight. She proclaimed the procedure would be easy. She had patients whom only missed a few days of work for the procedure. That made me think "OK, I can handle the most commonly done brain surgery that would put me down for only a week." So the referral was made to Basta.

I went into his office and he gave a completely different road to recovery. Unaware of my panic disorder, he bluntly started asking me litany of questions: are you ready for your head being shaved, 4 incisions, a 12 week recovery, possible infection, possible seizures, possible muscle weakness, possible worsening of headaches, possible ..., possible...,possible... and the list went on and on. I completely understand why doctors have to lay out the worst case scenario to prepare the patient, but I was vulnerable because I was on the heels of my neurologist telling me that this procedure was not much worse than a facial (hyperbole...she really didn't say that). Luckily my panic doesn't manifest in public too much; however, it was going to come out one way or another. And as Basta was looking into my eyes for an exam, I went pale and passed out right into him. Ironically this would be only the first time I passed out onto him or one of his lovely NPs. Once after the initial surgery, I passed out right into his bustier NPs. I was glad she was in front of me because it was a soft landing (very inappropriate, sorry).

 

Rewind 2 1/2 Years

A quick time line of my "cluster of crap".

July 2010-Both Kyle and I get Viral Meningitis (the good kind). My recovery was much harder than his as he astounds the staff at University of Missouri Hospital with his 2 day recovery.

Jan/Feb 2011-I go into a Thyroid Storm due to an overactive thyroid. Racing heart rate and severe panic put me in the hospital.

May 2011-I get a headache so bad that I lost peripheral vision. In the ER the doc ordered a lumbar puncture/spinal tap and the opening pressure was extremely high and an MRI showed that my brain was swelling so much it was pushing on my pituitary gland. I got the diagnosis of Idiopathic Intercrainal Hypertension. I was put on medicine.

June 2011-We moved back to the KC area and thyroid levels stabilize and another lumbar puncture showed my CSF pressure stabilized.

August 2011- IIH symptoms come back with a vengeance. I get back on medicine and start having therapeutic lumbar punctures every 4 weeks.

November 2011-My neurologist refers me to a Neurosurgeon to get a VP shunt placed.

December 2011-1st surgery to place the shunt.

March 2012-I start randomly passing out. Looking back it was kinda funny...I went vertical, a second later I went horizontal. After a 2 weeks in three different hospitals, it was decided my shunt was malfunctioning due to a mechanical error in the valve. This lead to surgery #2 to replace the valve.

October 2012- I become Hyperthyroidic again. No one knows why.

December 2012- The shunt gets infected leading to bacterial meningitis (the bad kind) and results in surgery #3 to rip that shunt out.

Now pat yourself on the back for actually reading that boring time line.

Pulling and Praying

I had two appointments today. My neurosurgeon, Dr. Basta and my Infectious Disease Doctor, Dr. Brune. Two very gifted and healing doctors, who I am grateful to have. However, 2 VERY different personalties. As Dr. Basta himself said today "neurosurgeons have big egos." And I understand that when a doctor goes through 7 years of medical school and routinely sees the inside of patients' brains and spines he/she has to be confident, and in fact that confidence makes him/her a better surgeon. Actually, when my neurologist referred me to the neurosurgery group last November she warned me that neurosurgeons "are a special breed socially." She also defended them by saying "and that is how they have to be in order to be good surgeons." Dr. Basta embodies his own words, but today he must have been bored due to snowed out appointments. I knew he had let his guard down when he entered the room individually without his lovely ladies. Like I mentioned, he always with a group of nurses. Secondly, he simply sat down to chit chat like three girlfriends at a slumber party. I felt like he was going to prepare a Peppermint Soy Mocha for us. Our conversation weaved through his recent preschool drama, how cell phone customers get random texts, and preferences between the Honda Odyssey and Toyota Sienna mini vans. A helmet joke was even thrown out there in honor of my poorly placed scratch. We came up with a plan for what happens after the infection clears and he looked at me with all sincerity and said he truly feels bad for me. Wow...his ego bubble just exploded into a million little pieces. He is not just a surgical machine held up on a holy pedestal. He has true sympathy for his patients, and that is helpful to know because it makes him much more approachable.

Once the conversation was flowing, I asked about the extraction of the shunt. "How did you get this 4 foot long device out of me head?" He replied with "I pulled and prayed." He continued saying he was getting antsy waiting for the CSF lab results in the OR, so he asked himself how easy would it be to get the valve out? So he wedged something under a something and easily loosened something. All this sounded very nontechnical, however, my restored faith made me grateful that he was the one "pulling and praying" and not another surgeon. BTW, he also said that my CSF was filthy with infection. The word "filthy" made me a bit sick to my stomach.

Then we went down a floor to see the Infectious Disease doctor. He has always been very approachable. He was reassuring that I would only have to be on antibiotics until Monday night. Unfortunately that is Christmas Eve, so I will not be able to get my highly uncomfortable PICC line out until Wednesday. While we are on the the topic of antibiotics, I want to say how thankful I am for Kyle...my attorney turned nurse. Every morning Kyle rubs his hands with Pruelle hand sanitizer and follows the same routine. Scrub the hub (we both giggled at this double entendre title), flush, push antibiotic, flush, IV antibiotic, flush, Heperin flush, and scrub the hub. Then in the evening he does the same: Pruelle, scrub the hub, flush, push antibiotic, flush, IV antibiotic, flush, Heperin flush, and scrub the hub; resulting in me being hooked up to an IV bag three hours a day. It was determined that the bacteria was simply staphylococcus aureus. Luckily it wasn't methicillin-resistant staphylococcus aureus (MRSA) that is the impetus of all the flesh eating bacteria horror stories. Since it takes 3 days of culture growth to determine if it is methicillin-resistant, they just treated the infection with an antibiotic called Vancomycin because it treats both types of staph. Then since my infection was in the CSF they had to add on another antibiotic to assure the treatment reached the CSF, which is a difficult location to access. Furthermore, IV is the most efficient delivery system for the drugs to reach my CSF. This whole science lesson is suppose to explain why I can't just pop a pill like I do when I have a sinus infection. Though I can pop that pill by myself, I can't do the whole "scrub the hub, flush, push antibiotic, flush, IV antibiotic, flush, Heperin flush, and scrub the hub" routine on my own arm, so Kyle volunteered for the job. Kyle was such a quick learner. He was praised by the home health nurse on his ability after only the 1st day! I was proud of him when she complimented him because he deserves the attention! During the past 10 days he has managed to be a good dad, husband, employee, and now nurse. Thank you Babe!!

I Am Going Crazy: A Panic Problems Post

I am hesitant about writing this post because of the stigma mental illness entails. What will you think of me after reading this? Also I am not sure I can give justice for all who suffer from mental illness. But all I can do is just share my story and hope it can make others feel less alone. Because of the seriousness of the subject, my tone will be more solemn and less flippant.

When I was pregnant with my 7 year old Moe, I became a complete insomniac, going days without sleeping. After an extended period of time of no sleep, two things happened. First I began having contractions early and second a weird sense of panic became my body's status quo. I wasn't able to eat, sleep, go into public, and unable get lost in any activities that once held my attention. Physically, I constantly had a "hee bee gee bee" twitter moving from my stomach up into my chest causing, shortness of breath, tremors, and uncontrollable crying. I distinctly remember trying to get out of the house by going to Steak and Shake. When the food came, I spiraled into one of these crazy attacks and had to rush to the car before eating. My OB put me on the SSRI Paxil, the sleep aid Ambien, and Xanax to get through my pregnancy. As the Paxil built up in my system and the Ambien allowed me to sleep my "crazy" subsided. When Moe came I guess my my new mom hormones kicked the panic's ass and I was in post c-section bliss. At the time I was diagnosed with GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) and continued with the Paxil and talked with a psychologist weekly. He was a special character in my journey because he was more of a grandfather figure to me who often repeated the same Bill Cosby quote over and over again. But since Kyle and Mom were the only ones who knew I was struggling with this, he was comforting to talk to. I was so guarded about my condition, he had to spend three session convincing me I was not "crazy." However, after several stable months I was released from the psychologist and life continued as usual.

After five years, the anxiety reared it's ugly head again. In 2010, I became thyrotoxic and my whole body system was working on over drive and my nerves could not take it any longer and my panic set in. The same "hee bee gee bee" twitter came back except worse. It was so bad we had to send the kids to KC for the grandmas to care of the kids while I was in and out of the hospital dealing with this Thyroid Storm and the accompanying panic. My Columbian family doctor was my champion and kept reminding me that I wasn't crazy and he reminded the hospital nurses I wasn't crazy either. He consulted with a trusted Psychiatrist to see me. The psychiatrist was not a warm and fuzzy personality and I was uncomfortable with him at first. However, he saw me everyday and listened to me. He changed my diagnosis from Generalized Anxiety Disorder to a Panic Disorder because my episodes were not a constant state, but only occurred after a medical situation. The treatment was a little different for a Panic Disorder. He kept me on Paxil, but upped my Xananx to three times a day. He also educated me that a Panic Disorder is a condition that becomes acute after triggers. Triggers vary based on the person. My trigger in my pregnancy was sleep and now 5 years later it had morphed into medical situations (not a easy trigger to eliminate as my brain was beginning to deteriorate). After we were able to stabilize my thyroid and I was able to stay out of hospitals and doctor's offices my panic subsided. Until after my 1st surgery to place the shunt.

I was waiting for the panic to debilitate me in the weeks leading up to the surgery, but it never came. Then the 3 weeks after the surgery it still didn't come. However, it hit hard around Valentine's day 2012. I would wake up with that intense "hee bee gee bee". And it lasted all day EVERYDAY. It was so bad I remember I couldn't muster enough strength to get out of a recliner in my living room to go visit my father-in-law who had just had a surgery to remove half his pancreas as a first step in his journey of pancreatic cancer. I tried to find a new Kansas City psychiatrist, but met with a doctor who during my initial consult never looked up from her computer and discontinued the Xanax and put me on another drug that drug me into a dark depression (depression was NOT something I had dealt with). To be totally honest, I was physically hurting myself so I didn't have to feel the pain of the depression I was slipping into. When we told her that the new drug was worsening my situation she insisted that the drug would not be doing that. After that, we decided that we would just make the trip back to Columbia to see my psychiatrist that had helped my with my thyroid situation. He comforted me saying the new drug's number one side effect was depression, so he put me back on Xananx.
During this episode, I did what I hadn't ever done before and shared my story with friends and through sharing I realized a lot of people deal with anxiety and depression. Family and friends were able to help me by listening, inviting me to bible studies, taking me for frozen yogurt, and just empathizing with me. I specifically found a friend who suffers from panic and she began to be my text buddy offering constant encouragement and support during attacks.

During this time my trigger had change again from the medical community to specifically to doctors. Basta could send me into attack just by me having to speak to his secretary on the phone. I would put off making follow-up appointments and refuse to see him when I needed to see him (hence why I didn't see him after scratching my head on the the shunt valve). I remember calling to make an appointment while I was driving, but I was anticipating only having to talk to his receptionist, but that damn receptionist sent my call to Basta's lovely NP and her voice gave me an attack so bad I had to pull over on the side of the road so I could talk to her without crashing. Then after getting off the phone I had to stay on the side of the road so I could cry, let my tremors calm, and get my breathing under control. Luckily his efficient treatment with the infection and relaxed appointment I had with him Thursday has calmed my panic a bit...I think.

Also I am lucky enough to have a family doctor who I have known since high school. He helped me when my shunt valve was malfunctioning, Actually, he was the ONLY doctor helping me resolve the a passing out issue. We were very comfortable with him. However, even talking with him would cause panic and I had known him for years. Furthermore, he had only shown true professionalism and compassion for my situation. However, it was just too much for me to step into his office. Luckily he communicated with me (and most of the times with Kyle) via phone and text, so I wouldn't have to come into the office.

Through my whole mental instability, I realize I am lucky. I have insurance that will pay for counseling, medicine, and psychiatry. I have the support of my family when panic rules my mind, and I have friends that make me feel like I am not alone. Not everyone has this luxury of acquiring the necessary resources. Even worse, they are scared to seek help because they are afraid of the stigma. In wake of Newtown CT, I think treatment for psychological issues should be just as important as a diabetic getting help for their unstable blood sugars. Lastly just because someone deals with a mental issue, doesn't mean they are crazy. I am a functioning adult who deals with mental instability. True treatment started when I could talk to others about my condition and not be judged. When I could determine my triggers and use medication to reduce the panic I began to heal, but healing only came with help.

ICU: Not a Place to Rest

I want to start out by saying I greatly respect all the ICU nurses that bust their butts to assure every patient is cared for. However, ICU is not a place to actually get any rest, and rest is what heals the body (at least that is what everyone likes to tell me). My blood pressure never helps me stay out of the ICU either. I have normally low blood pressure and then when my body is knocked out with general anesthesia and pain killers like Hydromorphine my blood pressure insists on staying in the range of a dead person. So off to the ICU I went. As soon as I arrived I asked the welcoming admin. nurse if I could go to the bathroom. She looked at me a puzzled and said sure, but gave me a bed pan. 'Umm hell no" I thought, but I graciously said I wanted to use the wide open toilet in my room. I had to pee bad, and I was not going to be modest. I whipped the sheets off my legs and began wrangling all the freakin' cords and started to get out of bed all while the nurse is huddling over me like toddler beginning to walk. "I am not used to my patients getting out of bed so quickly after surgery" she utters. If I was going to try to rest, I couldn't be holding onto a full bladder. Then ironically she gave me a big dose of that Hydromorphine and I was in and out of consciousness for the next 12 hours.

I was awaken by my night nurse telling me that my blood pressure was too low. And when she wasn't waking me, the monitor, that DOES NOT have a silence button (they know better in the ICU) was screaming loudly at me. I felt like I was getting in trouble for my declining BP, yet there wasn't anything I could do to raise it. If I asked the nurse to turn down the mad monitor, she would tell me that it is buzzing because my BP was too low (dah, can't help that). Then she would go on about if my BP would not rise, I couldn't get pain meds, and if the BP dipped too low I could go septic. I am sure these were all serious things, but all I wanted was for the blasted monitor to stop buzzing! I just wanted too sleep.

I did go 12 hours without painkillers because of my BP, and I now appreciate the night nurse's concern because that was a very agonizing period. About hour 7 into my 12 hours, they came in to insert a PICC line into a vein, so I could give myself antibiotics when I got home. The lady showed up and could tell I wasn't very excited. She asked if I wanted a cold wash cloth to keep the lights from bothering my headache and to shield my wondering eye from this whacked out procedure. I just took her up on the wash cloth offer and channeled my inner yoga breath to keep me calm. She used a dopplar to find the vein, sanitized the skin, numbed me up, and then somehow got a tube threaded through my arm, into my chest, and settled right above my heart. Except when they did an x-ray the tube didn't go towards my heart, but went up my neck. So the same poor lady had to come in and reposition the tube while asking me to move my sore neck in a way that isn't natural. This was to keep the tube from going into my neck again. Well the tube found my neck again and they finally sent me to the angio lab to position the tube while under x-ray. The guys in the angio lab were lucky because by then, the PICC line drama had risen my BP, so I could have painkillers and I was much happier with them. I am sorry I was so grumpy original PICC line lady, I know you were just doing your job! Plus, you got my BP up, so I got painkillers again AND I got out of ICU and moved to the 6th floor where I could rest!! So she is the real hero of this story!

The Price of Being Clumsy

 

Mommas had to kiss their kiddos today and send them back to school after the tragedy in Newtown CT. Despite this medical situation, I feel so fortunate to have my three happy and healthy kids.

As I faded out of anesthesia last Monday I was asking the nearest nurse if I still had a shunt in my head. I remember the air tube still in my throat and I was grumbling "Was it infected? Do I still have a shunt? Do I have the spinal drain?" Of course the nurse could not understand me (another Research Medical Center employee thinking I was a crazy broad), but she later answered me when I didn't have a tube stuffed down my throat. You may have noticed I am not a very patient person, so it seems suiting that I wouldn't wait for my air way to be clear before wanting answers.

Yes, the shunt was infected and Basta pulled the entire thing out of a head incision 4 inches long. The device looped from my head all the way down to the bottom part of my peritoneum (stomach lining), so I am a little stumped on how this extraction happened. Maybe a question for one of my follow-up appointments? Furthermore, I felt relieved when she said I DID NOT have a spinal drain. Not five minuets after awaking, a x-ray tech started a series of x-rays to assure that all parts of the shunt were out. If any part of the shunt was left, it would keep infecting my CSF. This is because the shunt is a foreign body that has no immune system, so it wouldn't have a way to heal. After the x-rays, Basta and his pretty NPs are in the post op bay talking at me. He was brief, as I am not sure I was fully conscience when he was talking to me. He just reiterated what the nurse had previously said, but said to send me to the ICU for the night. That statement caught my attention and I basically begged the god and goddesses to go into a normal room. I had spent 1 night in the ICU the previous December and I was unable to sleep and I was hooked up to so many machines I couldn't even switch sleeping sides without an alarm going off. I guess my luck ran out with not getting the spinal drain because I was headed to room 5 in the ICU.

Here I take a side note. My mom was allowed to come back to the post-op bay. Here, she talked with Basta and my new doc. Dr. Mcknezie from the Infectious Disease department. It was very nice having her back there with me. Where was Kyle, you might ask? Well he was taking the kids to their weekly swim lessons. Yes, his wife was coming out of exploratory brain surgery and he is toting the kids to a routine swim lesson. Don't judge him, judge me! I was insistent our kids' lives be uninterrupted by all this. So much so, I forced him to leave the hospital before I was out of surgery to get the kids to swim. This is just an example of how parents continually put their needs below their kid's needs. I was lucky and had my mom with me, but I have learned sometimes it is ok for a kid to miss a swim lesson when his/her mom needs her husband. But Mom was a champ!

I completely understand why Infectious Diseases had to take over my case. However, it seemed liked Basta and his beautiful ladies couldn't wait to get rid of me. I was the idiot who managed scrape her head EXACTLY where a scrape couldn't happen. Basta said I needed to buy a lottery ticket because the odds were in my favor( a bit ironic considering...). Now enters a new doctor, Dr, Mckenzie. He is extremely mild mannered with a quiet voice and a smile on his face. He seems to be accepting of my clumsy situation and gently tells me that the preliminary cultures are showing the bacterias of Strep and Staph. He is going to start me on a aggressive antibiotic called Vancomycin. Then as the bacteria has more time to grow on the cultures he will be better able to pinpoint the best antibiotic for my situation. OK, this infection is real and along with recovering from surgery my body is going to have fight off a serious invader. As they wheel me down to ICU (ugh), I wonder why Kyle just didn't let me run out of the hospital and drink those gin and tonics!

You want to do WHAT to me again?

This morning the doorbell rang and Kyle got out of bed to answer it. From bed, I hear a small voice say "Here, this is because Ms. April had surgery." If I were a fly on the wall, I would have seen Kyle tear up due to what she gave him...a VERY full box of Lamar's donuts; something I can't allow in the house because we would all end up with a stomach ache due to overconsumption. Thank you McMillin family. These acts of kindness, be it a tasty batch of Buffey Hauptmann's chicken and noodles or my parents taking the kids to go see Santa while the home health nurse taught us how to administer my antibiotics are so tremendously appreciated.

Back to the story. So Kyle and I thought I would get admitted and simply receive fluids and antibiotics and leave. This plan began to swerve when the nurse banned me from food and drink in case of surgery. Surgery on what? Why? I am only 6 months out out of my last surgery on my noggin'.

Monday morning Dr. Basta and his nurses (he never travels without at least one attractive nurse practitioner sometimes it is 4) lay it out for me. He needs to put me in the OR so he can clean the wound and get a sample of the CSF Cerebral Spinal Fluid to see if it is infected. If it is infected the entire shunt HAS to come out. To deal with my high pressure (the original condition) they could stick a drain in my spine and I spent 2 weeks in ICU. BAM!!! Wait...what happened to our original plan of fluids/antibiotics and home by How I Met your Mother? For heaven's sake it is a scratch. I wanted to know more about the this spinal drain because I had read about this treatment when I was reading about the VP drain. All I knew is that I DID NOT want it. After a blurred conversation everyone settled on if the shunt was infected he would pull it, but we would deal with the high pressure with less invasive treatments like spinal taps and possible medication. We agreed and he said they would come get me this afternoon and then like any superhero his nurses and him flew out of the room.

Kyle looked at me and said "Weeell ok then..." and I exhaled. Kyle pretty much had to recount the whole conversation and tell me that I could NOT just walk out of the hospital and go straight to a bar and start downing gin and tonics. Since this was a surgery that could go two directions and the direction would be chosen based on the labs of the CSF, I would not be conscience to know the direction we were headed. So it was very important Kyle know I did not want a spinal drain (even though Mom and Kyle were not updated throughout the surgery like promised).

Giving myself until "afternoon" to wrap my infected brain around this, I felt my body's need to sleep and I drifted off only to be wakened by a peppy nurse's aid. In his bright red shirt, he announced "I am here to take you down pre-op." Kyle mumbles "Oh shit" and I insist that I was suppose to go in the afternoon, not at 10am. When he nicely said, "they told me to get you now" I launched into an intense and irractic panic attack...turning red, breathing hard, crying hysterically, sweating. Now I do have a diagnosed Panic Disorder that I will share about later, but this poor nurse's aid must have thought I had escaped from the psychiatric facility down the road. He went to get my nurse and my nurse went to go get one of Basta's gorgeous NPs to calm me down. And I will tell you what, she did! Maybe it was her enchanting beauty, or she had a skill to ask questions. She started belting out: Do you have questions? What are fears? You know we can control your pain? I answered all these and felt my nerves calm. I hadn't had this reaction before the first surgeries, but the pretty NP and I agreed that I was scared because I didn't have control of the situation because the surgery could go two ways. By the time the now timid nurse's aid could take me down to pre-op, I was at peace with the situation and I had remembered something I neglected this time...that God would be with me.

December 8th, 2012

Right now I am sitting in my grandma's pukey green-colored 50 year old recliner typing my story on Caring Brige while an Adam Sandler movie plays in the background. It is gloomy outside, and the nation is also gloomy as we recover from a gunman killing 20 children in their kindergarten classroom. My kids are not in the house because grandparents have stepped in and have been meeting their needs the past week. I have a 1/3 of my head shaved with a oozy new incision trying to scab over. This incision will not be lonely because there two other fresh incisions to keep it company. I also have a PICC line in an arm vein and the line ends right above my heart. The PICC line hooked to an IV bag that drips high potent antibiotics into my circulatory system.

This scene is a result of a silly clumsy act. A week ago, I bent down to pick up Mr. Evil Porkchop (from Toy Story 3) off the ground. I was feeling a bit dizzy so when I went down, I quickly swung my head up. As I came up, I smashed the back of my head on a unfinished corner of our counter. Some blood came, but I really wasn't too concerned. As the day went on more blood came but the cut looked only like a paper cut. Two days went by, and in the shower a better amount of blood came from this superficial cut. After looking further Kyle saw a second deeper cut on the crown of my head. Right where my VP Shunt, a device implanted last year, was. We kept the wound clean and slathered with Neosporin. Blood would start squirting out randomly, but the cut still looked harmless.

On Saturday I had to go my personal hell...Chuck E Cheese for a birthday (sorry Sadie) and flu symptoms began setting in. Honestly I thought is a overall body reaction to the noise, flashing lights, and awful pizza at Chuck E Cheese. After fleeing the party, I realized it wasn't just Chuck E. In fact I had a small fever, sizable headache, and melon sized lymph nodes on my head. I drove myself to the ER scared of infection. Because the cut really did look harmless, the ER released me with painkillers and told me my headache was due to hitting my head. This made me feel like a hypochondriac and I was glad I had driven myself and not worried anyone, but Kyle, with my trip. It simply was a bump on the head.

Sunday I woke up early with the kids and felt embarrassed, but I physically felt better. The cut was getting more swollen, but my lymph nodes had relaxed. The fever was gone and we were off to Longview Community College to enjoy Christmas in The Park. After the lights, we snuggled in the living room and watched the classic movie "Elf". As Buddy the Elf consumes spaghetti and syrup, chills come over me. My fever rose to 102 and my stomach was severely hurting. After getting the kids to bed, Janet came over and we headed back to the ER.

A quick side note: since my original diagnosis of Idiopathic Intercrainal Hypertension, we felt like we needed the support of both of our families. Thus we moved back to the KC area in 2011. Both families' support has allowed our kids to live an uninterrupted life despite all mommy's medical issues. And for that we are eternally grateful.

This time my neurosurgeon's office had called to make me a direct admit rather than having to go through the ER. This was relieving because the ER waiting room seemed full, and full of saucy characters. Matt, the nurse who checked me in and wheeled me up to my quiet room was an old friend from high school. His comforting face made the process smooth. Let me remind the reader that Kyle and I were thinking I just needed some IV antibiotics and I would be bopping out of the hospital the next day.