#6 - A Bobby Pin in the Scalp

Let's return to the Top Ten of Ridiculousness list with #6.

In addition to missing out on the roller coasters and the Army, I have lost my depth perception and feeling on my scalp. Yes, I know...two very serious impediments ;) First, I virtually have no depth perception. So Monster Inc. 3D will not be a movie I see nor will I be purchasing a 3D TV screen. I don't know if I lost it all at once, or if it was a gradual process. Due to my 2D vision, I have to park my swaggerwagon in one of those far off parking spots old people park in to prevent door dings. The eye doc says that surprisingly many people lack depth perception, so don't mock those who park in the back of the parking lot; we just don't want to scrape your side panel.

The second thing I "lost" was feeling on the right side of my scalp. Walter's stage is completely numb. A numb noggin', no harm in that...right? To a sturdy person there is no harm, but I am not the most graceful soul. After hitting my head in December, I went around for two days not knowing I had a bigger gash further up on my shunt valve. That was two days of not cleaning and treating the wound; that neglect could have ultimately allowed the staph infection to invade.

Also a freak-out moment happened two weeks ago when my incision started bleeding. Bleeding head wounds have moved up to "emergent" in our house, but not nearly scary enough to call the neurosurgeon, who sends me into anxiety. So Kyle went to the pharmacy to buy some UNEXPIRED Neosporin because unknowingly the Neosporin we were using on the infected cut expired in 2009 (possibly another transporter of staph). We applied the new anti-bacterial cream, put some gauze over it, and strategically placed bobby pins to encourage my hair to hold the dressing in place. I couldn't see the situation up there, but Kyle said it looked like the incision had busted open. Did I feel anything, no. The incision busted open a second time, and as I was awkwardly trying to see the incision in the mirror when I saw a bobby pin jammed into my scalp where the incision was open. Eww, eww, gross, gross! I had to pull the bobby pin out of my scalp and immediately sit down because I was dizzy from the thought, but I absolutely didn't feel a thing. Now I am more careful with my Walter Hairdo and watch for open wounds before slipping a bobby pin into my hair. When my less than desirable wound came up today, thanks to Kyle's loud mouth, Basta looked at me while nodding and said, "You are killing me." Then he instructed me to wear my necessary Walter-covering bobby pins further back on my head. I was proud that he understood the need for the bobby pins to cover Walter, but he just wanted them placed in a safer place.



Walter saying Hi on Thanksgiving.

 



I am not wanting to complain and dramatize my very minimal restrictions of the VP shunt. I simply want to show how ridiculous theses situations I get myself in are. Remember I don't want pity, only eye rolls and laughs.

My Neurosurgeon Has ADHD

I went in for a quick check in before Dr. Basta left on vacation for a month. The appointment was similar to the last one we had except I felt like he was our drinking buddy rather than a coffee shop pal. The topics we discussed were:

1. My returning high pressure symptoms. They are mild symptoms now, but he thinks they will progressively get worse. As they get worse, I will get diagnostic/therapeutic lumbar punctures.
2. My head wound was not healing perfectly, then Kyle opened his big mouth about the incision busting open twice.
3. How he fought the female staff to have GQ and Esquire in his patient rooms.
4. The cover of a nearby GQ with a busty woman eating a Bomb Pop on it.
5. The fact he is planning on me ultimately getting another shunt, but he wants my body's symptoms to tell us when that will be. He was a lot LESS optimistic about my IIH condition's remission.
6. Kansas City hospital politics.
7. His son's visit to the NICU five years ago for respiratory distress. I think the son is fine now.
8. The movie Jack Ass. Specifically a scene where an actor poops in a display toilet in a store.
9. A patient he treats that had a skull infection and he had remove a portion of her skull for healing purposes. However, she keeps calling the office wanting her skull back. Just odd...
10. My new curly hair style
11. And the typical question of if I needed anymore painkillers; he is going to make me a drug addict yet. I said no since I hadn't even filled the last script for 75 Percocet.



I have a feeling he doesn't talk to all his patients about these subjects, but after a year and three surgeries he may like us and may feel comfortable to show off his obviously ADHD conversation topics. It really has been just in the past two appointments we have had this friendly banter. His random conversation topics make him much more approachable which is helpful for my jittery self. My panic did slightly emerge at the check out desk, once again, after the situation. I had to let Kyle make my next appointment while I went into the cool hall to feel stable. 

#7-The Chick Who Hyperventilated in Birthing Class

I noticed my posts have consisted mostly of IIH and VP shunt ordeals, but they are not the sole subject I want to highlight. I want to share my experiences with panic also. I want other suffers to read my posts and known they are not alone. Subconsciously, I have avoided panic posts and that might be a sign that I am not as healed as I thought. However writing about it has become a new and effective coping stratagy, so lets go! My panic has only publicly surfaced four times: in the Research ER, before they pulled my shunt, at Steak and Shake, and in a birthing class I attended when I was preggers with Moe. 

This story actually begins at Raytown High School in Mrs. Kudart's Anatomy Class. We had been studying the reproductive system and with signed permission slips, Ms. Kudart showed a VHS tape of a birth. I am still not sure that was the norm in most HS Anatomy classes? Seems like a bit too much for a high schooler to process. I truly didn't think the footage would phase me, but as the baby on the video crowned, my hearing muffled and my vision dimmed. I was going to pass out. I was 17 seeing a human emerge from another human and all the gore that comes with birth. Seriously, I don't think it was unreasonable for me to react by rushing out of class to the cool hall and laying down before I went unconscious. Needless to say, Ms. Kudart let me skip the birth part on my final.

Fast forward 6 years and I was plump with Moe in the education room at Boone Hospital Center. Kyle and I had signed up for an all day birth class to learn how to efficiently get Moe out of  his oven. We were late, therefore; we had the two most front and center seats in the room. All the other on-time parents got to stake out the peripheral seats out of the instructor's eye.

This was in the middle of my first panic period stemming from lack of sleep, so my senses were already very overstimulated, so it was amazing that I was able to get dressed and get to the hospital, but now I was front and center for 8 hours of Birthing 101.

In the beginning I was in my pre-panic comatose state. When the direction of the class moved from greetings to birth anatomy, a lump developed in my throat and I started twitching my leg. Then the instructor started explaining the different types of birth, and a twitter radiated through my body. Tears began rolling as the instructor went for the DVD player. I was obviously in distress, but I had read about how deep breathing could calm the circulatory system, so I was going to fight through this. Breath in 1,2,3...breath out 1,2,3...breath in 1,2,3 and so on. Well, the DVD showed various birthing situations and by the second situation, I was literally hyperventilating from panic in front of the whole class. The instructor asked if I was ok, and I rush out of the classroom. Kyle follows and we walk the hallways for over 30 mins. We debated if we should go back into the class, but as I walk closer to the room my breathing quickened. It was decided that we would skip the rest of the class and go to another one on a different weekend after my nerves had calmed and my Paxil was fully effective. We never got to another class before Moe came, but I had read several books and knew what to expect.

Then and there THAT room became a trigger for my panic. I had three babies at that hospital and could never go back to that specific room. Thank goodness Kyle was always willing to attend the after birth class required by the hospital before they release patient and baby. Kyle went to that class three times with all the hormonal new moms and learned about episiotomy care and breast feeding (a pretty funny image actually). Little irrational triggers are common for Panic Disorders. Hy Vee, Mohawks, and Words with Friends have been other past triggers.

No, it is not normal for a person to avoid Hy Vee or a doctor's office because of panic fear, but that is why I have medicine and coping strategies. With these aids, I become highly functional and stable. The students in that birthing class probably thought I wasn't suitable to take my baby home after hyperventilating from simply watching a birth. However, they didn't know I have a kick-ass support system and a working knowledge of my condition that is always evolving. Furthermore, I believe Moe's parents have done a fine job, so it wasn't fair of them to judge me. I try so hard to remember that as I meet people; I don't know their struggles, so I can't judge. Because I am human, I do fail a lot with judgment.

God, ironically, had Moe flip into the breech position 5 days before my water broke, so a C-section became my birth reality for all three kids. He only gives you what you can handle...right? Maybe I could not have handled a vaginal delivery, but I now know (after years of education) I can handle surgeries and my panic!



#8-What Doctor...I Can't Join the Armed Forces?

Michelle Brunke thank you for being my first and only follower (so far). I tend to be the follower in life, so this is new.  However, one of the few serious aspects of this blog is to stress the importance of being your own leader when it comes to your health. I have learned to ask questions and research, research, research. Reliable sources should be the only ones used though. I learned that the hard way; that story will be a post entitled Mommy, Why is Daddy Taking Your Computer to Work with Him?: Banned from the Internet. Unmonitored group forums unnecessarily caused my hyperactive nerves to go crazy on a number of past occasions.

I posted in Happy 31st Birthday! Enjoy Your New Nonprogrammable Shunt Valve! Part 1 that magnets were a huge no-no for me. With my original brain hardware, any magnetic field could technically alter the amount of fluid my brain rested in. I found that magnets were absolutely the most absurd restriction, and near impossible to avoid as our phones, iPads, speakers, ear phones, and metal detectors contain them. The very smart friend who realized that there are no magnets in magnetic paint posted this to my FB wall.

 

We looked like that robot as we cleared our house of household magnets. My school even cleared my room of magnets. We even contacted our home's previous owner about any magnets he knew of in the house. I am sure he was thinking we had gone mad. In my mind, I can hear the previous owner answering Kyle on the phone, "Ummm no...I am not aware of any magnets that might break your wife's brain, now please lose my phone number." Ironically, this summer I did find a huge magnet in an out-of-sight faucet box under a vanity. I even had a "shunt card" that was suppose to get me out of concert and airport security lines because of the metal detectors. Damn the Shunt Gods! I didn't get to experience that particular opportunity, but I do still have the card. They won't know I changed my brain machine to a different model. Since the new model, I can get back to magnets and continue to buy a one at each vacation spot we drag our kids to. I just wish I had my Mount Rushmore, Omaha, and Branson magnets back.

There are two other situations I have to avoid due to the brain straw I have in my head. The first one is the Armed Forces. Yes, the military will have to wait for another perfect specimen-of-a human to fight the bad guys. I imagine my-solider-self resembling Brad Pitt in Troy, so that sucks for them. Secondly,  you will not see me in line at the Timber Wolf at World's of Fun.  Is that roller coaster still even at WOF? A fellow Zipper Head's (nickname for brain surgery patients) neurosurgeon told her that roller coasters are not good for anyone's body or head, let alone ours. For me, the fear is the strong motion (a very technical physics' term there;) will move my proximal catheter out of the brain's ventricle (brain hole). So no Marines or roller coasters for me, I think I can still live a satisfying life.

#9-A Pre Op Nurse's Kinky Recommendation

This ridiculousness moved me to complete and INAPPROPRIATE laughter. I want to paint a picture of my mental state the day before my shunt fitting. My panic was fine, completely under control; however, I resembled a deer in headlights. I typically go very quiet (almost mute) before stressful events AND before panic invades my body. It is a clue for Kyle that I may be a ticking panic time bomb ready to explode with tears, sweat, and hyperventilation. I say nothing, have few facial expressions, and give no eye contact. Weird I know, but I think it is just my body's way of taking in everything and processing it. Also, my parents always taught my to treat people with kindness, and if I didn't go into this near comatose state, I would be a ranging bitch to everyone. So I was in this walking comatose state when I went to Research to get my pre op blood work, my attractive imaging fiducials placed, and my consent form signed.

The night before the shunt fitting with my sexy fiducials.

 

 

I check in and the elderly lady with a an epic bouffant hairstyle checked me in and commented on how sad it was that I was going to have to shave my pretty hair. My inner irrational side, I have named Alex (Glen Close from Fatal Attraction), wanted to say "Thanks lady...you have all your grossly teased hair to enjoy and I am about to look like my husband who intentionally shaves his head...thanks, just thanks." Also, Alex would have flipped her the bird too. However, rational April simply grins and nods without eye contact or words. BTW, the same check-in lady found me the next day in the waiting room and managed to reiterate her sorrow for my hair. I wish I could of found her and given her some peace after I realized most of my hair was unharmed. 

 

Back to the day before, I was called back to a room to get all my pre-op tasks completed. The nurse completing the checklist asked how I was doing, I gave a smile, not letting Alex blurt out "I am about to have a hole drilled in my skull tomorrow, how do you think I am doing?" The nurse reads a huge disclaimer about possible complications, and I tune out because if I thought about the very rare death, seizures, or paralysis, Alex would completely dominate and security would be taking me to the hospital jail (do they have such a thing?). This whole interaction included her asking me yes/no questions and taking blood and me being mute with occasional nods or grins. She was probably relieved to get rid this anti-social log of a patient when she sent my off to CT to get my imaging fiducials placed. However, she got me back for final instructions. She is instructing me about no food or drink after midnight, and I nod. She says take off all jewelry and I nod. She says to shower the night before and I ,of course, nod. Then she gives me two packages of huge baby wipes and coaches me on wiping my entire body with the Anti-MRSA wipes after my shower, and I obligingly nod.

 

Then she caught me off guard when she encourages me to "get kinky with my husband and the wipes," if I knew what she meant...wink...wink? She continues by saying "the wipes won't hurt him even though he isn't having surgery." I quickly get this unfortunate mental image of a woman trying to turn a man on by whipping out a huge 16in X 16in full body anit-MRSA wipe. That thought sent my silent disposition into a uncontrollable laughing Joker-like figure. The laughter was the snorty-teary kind of laughing that can't be contained. My silence had been broken, and I am not sure if the nurse was offended by my laughter or was relieved I had some kind of personality despite my reserve. Once again I owe a nurse for getting me out of my mind and shedding light on a crappy situation. Just so you know, the wipes smelled like a mixture of bug spray and Lysol and left a greasy residue on the skin, so there was NO kinkiness happening at 1101 NE Wildplum that night.



A Top Ten of Ridiculousness

I remember as a kid being able to stay up late on Friday nights to watch Late Night with David Letterman with my father. We would enjoy The Top Ten Letterman presents every night before celebrity interviews. I probably didn't understand most of the current event references, but I like it because my dad liked it. Furthermore, in my mind, a top ten became a very efficient way to convey information. I had one on our Christmas card this year; ironically #9 was that "April's brain is properly functioning." Also, my close group of friends from college send out email Top Tens. It isn't cumbersome to write, but gives just enough information to know how Holly is doing in Albuquerque or if Christy is enjoying Prague?

 

As I began to unravel my crazy medical history on Caring Bridge and now on this blog, I am able to shed a lot of humor about my Cluster of Crap. I truly believe writing has kept my panic at bay in these tremendously vulnerable post surgery weeks. My panic doesn't come in the face of stress. It comes weeks after. So I want to keep writing even though there is not a lot going on in way of treatments or surgeries. I want to write a humorous top ten of the most ridiculous situations I have found myself in due to my thyroid, panic disorder, or IIH. Hopefully sharing will keep the panic from paralyzing me and keep me from living on Xanax.

So here it goes:

#10--Franki Ann and Preschool Share Time

Franki was 4 when I had my shunt placed. She has always been eager to to talk about mature subjects. We can remember in Columbia having to discuss race relations and death with her before one bedtime. That night, Kyle and I walked out of her room breathing deeply and wondering if we handled those subjects with grace and age appropriate vocabulary. Surprise!! There were not board books with cute sketched characters explaining how a person dies and where their body goes (they probably do have those books now). On the other hand Moe is a highly highly sensitive kiddo. If he accidentally bumps you, he would be in tears afraid he possibly hurt you. He also isn't too good about communicating his worries, so we prepare him for possible bothersome incidents.

Out of need to prepare Moe, we started an informative discussion with Moe and Franki the night before the surgery. We explained that Mommy needed the doctors to go into her brain and fix it, so she wouldn't have bad headaches anymore. I was trying to keep it light and vague. I explained that I would have a big boo boo on my head and that my hair would look a lot like daddy's. This was because my hair would get in the doctor's way so they would have to shave it. Big breaths came out of Moe and tears followed, so I hugged him and said it will ultimately help me. Then Franki looks at me and starts belting out questions.

Franki: How will they cut your head?
Me: with a scalpel which is like a razor.

Franki: How will they go through your head bone?
Me: with a very small drill?

Franki: Will you bleed a lot?
Me: Umm....I hope not.

Franki: Can I watch?
Me: ABSOLUTELY NOT! (I was frightened that we were raising a serial killer)

Franki: I will help you if your head hurts when you get home Mommy.
Me: Oh thank you sweetie (relieved that she won't be on Dateline in the future).

The next day Franki's preschool class was having share time and this was a time students share about birthday parties or a special rock they found on their driveway. Apparently, Franki raised her hand to share. When the teacher called on her, Franki dramatically said "Doctors are drilling holes in mommy's brain today." Kinda funny huh? Well apparently as she is proclaiming this, she is making a drill with her hand and making her "hand drill" go into her head while making drill noises. The teacher quickly changes the subject, but what were those poor preschoolers thinking as my sweet daughter exposes them to the image of a doctor drilling into a head?

Franki was very interested about my incision, and I think she was bummed I didn't have daddy's haircut afterward. She also held my hand as I went down any stairs and covered me up every time she passed me in the living room. On the day of my surgery, I guess she just felt the class needed a Reality Atomic Bomb (with hand motions and sound effects) to ruin their light and age appropriate share time. I am sorry if your kids had any bad nightmares last December about a crazing brain driller: Buffey, Marla, Cara, Julie, Cherie, Shelley, Pam, Amber, Beth, Angela, and Kim.