What...you want to operate where? Not my head?

Throughout this winter I was having wicked side pains. The pain mostly sat on my right side and the stabbing feeling prevented me from doing simple things like rolling over in bed or pulling my right leg up into our van. Now up to this point, all ridiculous medical mishaps had been due to the effin' shunt. So what do you imagine was my first inclination for the side pain? Yes, I envisioned the shunt tubing wondering around my abdomen whipping any organ that got in its way. Reserving that thought to myself, I went to my family doctor, who has struggled through this whole soap opera with us, with my side pain complaint. When a normal patient shows up with side pain the appendix, liver, or gall bladder are looked at. However, he, Kyle, and me are programmed to go for a Dx of a shunt malfunction. What else could it be in me? After three revisions in two years, the past had to dictate the future. I was sent off for a CT. Mysteriously, other than some fluid collection around my liver my CT looked clean.

So what was causing this pain? Still thinking it was the shunt we contacted the neurosurgeon and was abruptly excused with some serious accusations that I will further explain in a post called "An ice pick to the head: The accusation that I am compromising my shunt on purpose."

Thinking outside the box-I thought maybe, just maybe, my side pain had NOTHING to do with my shunt, despite my past history. Therefore, my next stop was to see my OBGYN. I know this was a normal stop that should of happened a lot earlier, but we were consumed with a shunt Dx.  My OBGYN is the antithesis of all the "Nuero" guys I had been working with. She is calm, talks slow, listens to me, and acts with diagnostic tests(as opposed to hunches). All this, while being a very capable doctor in her field. After an ultrasound, CT, and MRI it was discovered that both my fallopian tubes were filled with fluid. This condition is called hydrosalpinx. She compared my fallopian tubes to stuffed sausages, so I had eggs and sausage in pelvis...sorry...poor joke. Her recommendation was a hysterectomy via a minimally invasive ROBOT...yeah a ROBOT!

I initially pictured a robot feeling me up, but it is more like an arcade game where the doctor is moving scalpels and cameras inside the patient via a control board five feet away from the patient. This seemed similar to the iconic game Pac Man. Dr. Woods is behind the controllers maneuvering her Pac Man to devour my cervix...500 points; one fallopian tube 250 points; my uterus 900 points (the big one).

Now using the Pac Man robot has many advantages. It is the least minimally invasive method for a hysterectomy because the instruments Pac Man is using to devour my ovaries are very small, so there is very little tissue damage. I have four small holes and not a huge across the belly incision like I did for my C-sections. Also there is less bleeding and less chance of infection.

Pre op was a bit weird, as I was used to them prepping my head by putting faducials on and marking and shaving places on my scalp. However, a hysterectomy pre op has shaving, just not on the head and every once in awhile I would catch myself from telling the nurse "No, you need to mark my head so the surgeon knows what side to operate on." It was all very foreign having the other end worked on.

So after have 4 brain surgeries, I thought this surgery was going to be a walk in the park. Dr. Woods was telling me I would have a 2 to 4 week recovery. However, in my warped brain I gave myself 5 days to heal. Yep, only 5 days. Hell, I had Zac Brown tickets bought for Lincoln Nebraska 6 days after the surgery.  No one told me 5 days recovery, I just thought that was a reasonable amount of time to heal after getting major organs cut out of me. As a result I overdid it on all physical activity and gave myself a hernia. After that I did begin to take it easy. But seriously I thought this surgery was going to be like getting a mole removed, so much so I asked if I could go home the night of the surgery. I actually begged if I could go home.and they said absolutely not. This turned out to be a good thing since my bladder took a while to wake up. I was unable to void, so I had to stay two nights until I could pee on my own. And, boy I did the Potty Dance once I peed on my own! Yipee, I could go home then!!!!

Though I have had some little infections and the hernia, my side pain is completely gone. I have learned there is no reason to automatically jump to the shunt. Yes, it should be in the back of our minds, but it should not guide my medical treatment. And always, I learned to see several doctors to get their opinion on the situation because they might have the answer!

The 18th lumbar puncture gone wrong and the calm husband who turned ASSHOLE.

As part of the Neurologist's intense follow-up to my minor migraine inquiry, I was to have a Lumbar Puncture (spinal tap) the day after X-mas. When the first shut was fitted my neurosurgeon look me in the eye and promise the Lumbar Punctures were a thing of the past, and I was to never have one again. This was because they could simply "tap" my shunt and get pressure readings and collect fluid for testing. Wow! that was a relief, but NOT true. Since that empty promise, I have had 3 more LPs. And lately they make this whole vodka-worthy situation worse with the need of a blood patch. In the post #3-If only Edward Cullen were Real... I explain how, the needle prick from the LP sometimes doesn't clot correctly and the spine leaks CSF. The leak leads to brain sagging... I inappropriately picture my back brain lobes resembling old boobies without a push-up bra. Then the droopy lobes cause a mind bashing headache. Now the medical answer for this sagging is disgusting and I often wonder who and how this remedy called a blood patch was discovered. It had to be one of those accidental discoveries that involved a boat-load of alcohol and/or drugs.

I have had 2 blood patches. My first one was explained and executed with sweet care by an anesthesiologist named Dr. Poe at St. Lukes in Lee's Summit. The second patch did not involve a gentleman, but an arrogant short man who resembled Sammy Davis Jr at Lee's Summit Medical Center.

So I dutifully went on December 26th  to my appointment to get my spine pricked again. There was a lot of talk about how they had to use a higher spinal area due to scare tissue from the earlier 17 LPs. I measure out above average at 25ccs. Normal was 14ccs-20ccs. The radiologist drained me down to a 4 ccs, yeah a 4. Seemed like a drastic drainage, and I knew my body would need a blood patch. So, I confirmed with both the ER doc and the attending nurse that if I were to need a blood patch that I could come here to Lee's Summit Medical Center despite it being a weekend. They both said, "Yes." Kyle and I had been down this road and were covering our bases before going home.

We went home and sure enough the Spinal Headache came 48 hours later on a Saturday. Now a spinal headache is the worst of all the types of headaches I have ever had. The pain radiates from an inside core and paralyzes my head with agonizing pain whenever my head moves. It is worse that a high pressure headache or a meningitis headache. So we had to have a battle plan for when this hell came over my head. As we were told we went up to LMC's ER. There, they made feel nice and cozy with some intravenous Dilauded. However, when they came in with a second dose of "heaven" instead of an anesthesiologist to patch my spine we started asking questions like, "When can I get the patch?" and "What is taking so long," The ER doctor only said that they were treating me with the Dilauded and that was the best they could do right now SINCE AN ANESTHESIOLOGIST WASN'T IN THE BUILDING."  I was in so much pain, I really didn't comprehend the fact a blood patch wasn't going to happen. However my mild mannered husband laid into the doctor by asking "We were told to come here to get a patch and now you can't give her a patch?" "How can you run a hospital without a anesthesiologist?" "What do we do now?" "Why can't we call in the anesthesiologist on call?" Kyle, normally being a soft teddy bear became a monstrous Papa Bear demanding answers and action. I kind of liked that rare glimpse into Kyle's dark side.

Ironically after Kyle's tirade  an anesthesiologist was found in an OR and he was inserting a syringe into my spine within 15 minuets.  This whole procedure and the high opening pressure pretty much went unnoticed until I fired my neurologist and got and new nuerologist who has sent me down a whole new path of Nueroptamologist and a possible stent rather than a shunt to treat me.

Today, I had that appointment with the Nuero Interventionist to see if I was a candidate for this less invasive stent. However, my scans did not show up in time for the appointment (this, despite my call to assure the scans would be there),  so Dr. Abraham was not able to apply theory to my specific case. In my Candyland World my shunt could be permanently removed in order to insert a small 2-inch mesh stent in a large vein that is narrowing, which could be causing my brain's inability to drain the spinal fluid.

VS

The stent would then keep my vein open to an appropriate circumference for drainage. The stent would be skull-contained, so rose thrones, counter corners, or bunk beds could not damage it. Dr. Abraham has to see my scans though to see how bad my narrowing is before he can order a semi-invasive test to see where the narrowing is the worst. If I can "pass" both these tests, I would be a candidate for a stent and I could get this efffin' shunt out of my body. However, I also have to be at peace if I am not a candidate for the stent...be at peace with my current plumbing system I have. But good thoughts and prayers never hurt!

A Routine Neurologist Appointment Leading to DEFCON 4 Emergency Tests and the Panic that Ensued!

In December, I felt like I was having headaches more and they became harder to numb, so I figured it was my migraine heritage finally rearing it's ugly head. The headaches did NOT resemble the nauseating pressure headaches that caused my skull to feel like it was going to blow apart. Therefore, I was very confident that all was well in the shunt department. Several generations of women in my family had suffered nasty migraines, and I had mostly avoided the dreaded migraine all my life. I figured my luck had ran out and I was now going to learn how to handle these headaches now.

I shared in the post:

The Chick Who Hyperventilated in Birthing Class that I am crazy (not a fair label, but it makes it feel more light hearted and less serious to me.) and have been diagnosed and have effectively dealt with a panic disorder. This whole Cluster of Crap has added more triggers to this situation.

Despite my panic, I was "flying solo" at this neurologist's appointment. My panic is mostly triggered with any event that has the prefix "Nuero" in it.  So, it was unusual for me to go without my Kyle safety net. As a coping mechanism, Kyle usually escorts me to the majority of "Nuero" appointments because I don't hear the doctor correctly and ,quite frankly, rationally. I can't listen because I am trying so hard to stifle back tears, vomit, or dizziness that accompanies my panic. Sweat attacks embarrass me and I am constantly excusing myself to urinate because my body is on hyper drive. However, this appointment didn't phase me because I was just asking for a migraine medicine and that was it.

Now when I first had my shunt fitted, the neurosurgeon said that all other doctors will automatically freak out and jump to the diagnosis of a shunt malfunction. However, I figured my neurologist would be intelligent enough not to automatically jump to the shunt. After I explained textbook migraine symptoms and shared my family history, she surprised me and immediately said she thought it was a shunt malfunction. Yep...sweat waterfalls hit, vomit burnt my throat, words got lost, and my mind started to spin. "Wait, can we try a migraine med before we jump to the shunt?" Nope, she just was set on her assessment and ordered (1) A head CT (2) Blood work (3) An eye exam (4) A Neuropsychological exam and (5) My 18th lumbar puncture (spinal tap). So much for just getting my piece of paper with a migraine med scribbled on it. I was trying so hard to keep it together, I forgot to check out and the receptionist had to chase me down the hall to get my co pay. Then I sat in the van on the phone the with Kyle trying to calm down enough to drive home. I guess he should of come anyway.

I spoke of my Neuropsychological Exam in the post called:

Short Term Memory Loss and A Bedazzled Belt Clip and I will talk about the lumbar puncture later in a post called: The 18th lumbar puncture gone wrong and the calm husband who turned ASSHOLE on an ER doctor. Yet my head CT is the most real example of how my panic sets in during the most routine and safe situations.

Specifically my triggers are Research Medical Center, my neurosurgeon and anything to with his office, any headache that lasts more than 3 days, and going days w/o sleep . On December 23rd, I had to enter one of these triggers head on. I had to get a routine head CT there at that scary RMC. Kyle made sure to be with me this time. To prepare, I downed a Xanax (my crazy pill, I call it) at home before leaving. Now, the smell, the décor, even the employees' scrubs can send me into a panic tail spin so much so that I am sure I resemble a solider dealing with PTSD. Except soldiers deal with true trauma, death, and tragedy and I am just walking down to RMC's radiology's waiting room. Can we say weak willed? As I wait in the radiology waiting room with Xanax in my system, my body wants to rock back and forth; Kyle tries to stop my motion, but realizes that is futile and stops. My eyes can't focus and I can't complete sentences with Kyle's distracting conversation. The deep breathing I try is really just dramatic shallow breathing and I want to scream LETS GET THIS DONE SO I CAN LEAVE! Obliviously, the Xanax was not working, so I take another one. However with the swig of water going down, vomit meets it as it is coming up and I scurry to the restroom to lose my lunch. My body is fighting so hard not burst out into hysterics...it is exhausting! Finally they called my name and the poor tech who takes my somber shell back gets no laughs for his witty jokes and one word answers to his questions. He quickly gives up communicating with me and just gets the CT done as quickly as possible.



The irony is that after 1) A head CT (2) Blood work (3) an eye exam (4) A Neuropsychological Exam and (5)A Lumbar Puncture we found out that I do have migraines that respond perfectly to a common migraine medicine called Topamax and that I have some short term memory loss. All the tests and anxiety to prove that I, the patient, knew my own body. I am sure may struggle with panic, anxiety, or depression and/or have been correct about your body despite others' opinions. All we can do is keep moving forward while advocating for our own health!

Short Term Memory Loss and A Bedazzled Belt Clip

This whole cluster of crap has depleted my depth perception, banned me from the Armed Forces, and restricted my roller coaster life. All concerns I can easily live without. Weeellll....maybe not the depth perception. Our poor swaggerwagon has received 3 or more "accidental" dents due my parking. I need to stick to those back empty parking spots where the old and automotivally proud park.

 

Anyway, as I continued with my long term sub job I noticed tasks I normally would remember, like picking the class up from recess, coming back to a student to answer a question, or changing a lunch order would completely skip my mind. This lack of memory was very unusual for me. Typically, I enjoyed boasting to my forgetful Kyle that I didn't need to write anything down and that I was impeccable with names. However, as my mind was being challenged in "the big girl world," my mind, in fact, was failing me. I denied it for a while chalking it up to stress, but Kyle approached me about it after I forgot Franki and Moe at school (no judgment), and I got that dreaded phone call from the school's secretary inquiring if I was on my way to pick them up. "I forgot them, but don't tell them," I said into the phone as I dropped my shopping bags on the front step of house, ran to the beat up swaggerwagon and sped to get my stranded birds.

 

Right around then I had a neurologist appointment where Kyle urged me to bring up this memory situation, so I did. And the neurologist sent me to a Neuropsychologist; whoever knew such an occupation existed?  After a 2 hour consultation, a 4 hour mind numbing testing session, and another hour long recap consultation, it was concluded that I, in fact, had some short term memory loss and delayed processing skills. Personally and honestly, I feel like we could have shortened this 7 hour process to one quick test. The test involved the test proctor giving me 20 random words to remember in any order. She said them verbally and as soon as she was done saying them, I was to recite as many as I could remember back to her. Planning on this being an easy task, I was devastated when I could only spit out 4, yes 4, of the 20 words she had told me. That simple 3 minute test told it all. The Neuropsychologist recommended some cognitive rehabilitation and hinted at some compensation skills.

 

One of the compensation skills was to keep a meticulous calendar. So I went out to T-Mobile to find the phone with the most user-friendly calendar and began adding EVERY minor event I could think of. I set up an extensive network of alarms to trigger my brain that the kids need to be picked up or Henry had speech therapy. I was set...or, I thought I was set. The key, my friend, to using a cell phone calendar is having the calendar/phone with you at all times and having the ringer turned up. I often left my phone at home or forgot to turn the ringer up. So my alarms would go off, and I would be oblivious and in the same situation as before.



My phone isn't too conspicuous.

 

This lack of phone care actually became a huge deal in my marriage. Kyle just couldn't fathom having his phone further than an arm's length's away, and I just didn't have the same urgency. Even though I, unlike him, actually needed my phone to keep me on time and in the right places. So I got one of those super hip belt clips to keep my phone attached to me. I know belt clips scream "SHE IS AWSOMELY HIP!" However, Kyle was not a fan of my solution. He made fun of me and mentioned denying marital relations if I kept wearing my magnificent belt clip. I was even willing to bedazzle it, but rhinestones were not going to convince him to accept wearing my phone on my hip.
 







Well, if a bedazzled belt clip wasn't going to be accepted I saw another idea for keeping the phone on me. At Henry's speech class one of the moms wore her phone around her neck like a backstage pass to a concert. MIND BLOWN! Perfect, I thought to myself. That night I brought the backstage pass idea to Kyle. I think he was more disgusted with that than the belt clip. So we have met in the middle. I try harder to make sure my phone is with me and he is more forgiving if it is on the bed side table and I am at Hobby Lobby. 

Thorns In The Head

This story does not have me saving my head similar to a superhero zombie like the previous post. Instead, I am more of an oaf left standing dumbfounded with thorns in my head.

 

This past Fall, I had enthusiastically accepted a long term sub job in 6th grade at Moe and Franki's school. It was extremely refreshing to be back in the classroom creating lesson plans and making what we called " big girl checks." Being out-of-practice to the whole full-time working mom gig (props to those full-time working moms who balance everything), the house resembled a battle zone with dishes unwashed, toys strung about, and landscaping unkempt. We had leaves in flower beds, crispy dead perennials that needed to be dead headed and a few ugly, scary rose bushes that had grown out of control. One rose bush in particular had thorns on the base that were the size of a guitar pic. Spoiler alert: I would end up fighting this exact rose bush.

 

Thinking I needed to get as much Fall clean up as possible done in a quick Sunday afternoon, I got my nippers, rakes, and yard waste bags. The weather was nice; however, the wind was gusting at 30 mph. I had this one afternoon and wind was not going to slow me down so I started digging those crispy dead annuals out of their pots. Next I put on heavy duty gardening gloves and got my large nipper to tackle our rebellious and unruly rose bushes. I went head first (this will be even funnier in a second) into the base of the biggest rose bush, the one with the guitar pic sized thorns, and started grooming. The wind made it hard to keep my balance, but damn it I was going to at least get the outside of the house looking neat again (even though the inside was a disheveled disaster). Well the wind won, and dropped me head first into the rose bush.







 

Once again I was laying on the ground wondering what had I done to myself. With gardening nippers in one hand and thorny rush bush vines in the other, I didn't have a chance to protect my head this time. After all, nippers to the head is generally frowned upon whether you've had brain surgery or not. After pulling myself out of the bush, I felt a warm trickle  of blood running down my face.
 

Leaving my pile of weeds on the ground I race inside to survey the damage. I am bleeding from my head, and the punctures are around the shunt site. I also see that there are some thorns embedded in my scalp. I yell some obscenities and throw the bloody wash cloth on the ground because I am embarrassed to show Kyle I am also having flashbacks of how a small cut turned into bacterial meningitis and two more surgeries last fall. I need him to pull the thorns out, so with sheepish eyes I approach him and explain what happened. The look on his face said, "How in the hell did a rose bush kick your ass?"
 

Tweezers in sanitized hand, Kyle pulls out at least 3 thorns from my scalp. Then I apply an antibacterial cream every hour completely paranoid of infection. I walked around for two weeks with a permanent greasy spot from my compulsive application of Neosporin. However, after pulling 3 thorns, I still felt like there was still something in my scalp. Sure enough the next morning a 4th thorn came to the surface. It was completely submerged; Kyle couldn't even see it.

The first three thorns Kyle pulled out of my head.



Paranoia also made me call the neurosurgeon-on-call at Research Medical Center on a Sunday afternoon with my issue. He was polite enough, but I am sure that surgeon was thinking "What a quack!" We also called my neurosurgeon on Monday wanting an emergency appointment. All I could think of was last December, and I wanted to do EVERYTHING possible to prevent an infection, hence my perpetual greasy Neosporin spot and the rubbing alcohol on my vanity. Well, my neurosurgeon did not see my situational urgency and refused an appointment.  Its not like he wasn't busy ;) Everything turned out fine and everything healed, but it did start the thought process of if I was the best candidate for a shunt with all my klutzy tendencies. It also made Kyle seriously consider buying me a helmet. But a helmet with a wig so I could still look awesome, of course.

 

 

 

 

The Oak Tree Farm Zombie: How a nighttime jog led to a fractured collarbone. BUT I SAVED THE HEAD!

Seems appropriate that I create this post as I have been convinced to do a 1/2 marathon in late September in Columbia, MO at the Roots and Blues Festival. Now in my pre-kid days I jogged four different half marathons and even managed to complete the 2003 Chicago Marathon. I was never fast, but had perseverance to not stop until the race was over. Also,the running brought a lot of confidence and pride that aided in guiding me from a college student to an adult with a real teaching job. Unfortunately, as kiddos were born and then the surgeries started up, running became a very, very non-realistic goal. Along with the running a good amount of the confidence and pride became obsolete in my life.


Kyle and I after The 2003 Marathon





So last summer I thought, "what the hell, lets start running again." It would be a "safe" exercise. Unlike Crossfit or yoga, there was nothing being lifted overhead or balancing acts that could lead to injury. It was simple running . . . putting one foot in front of the other. Now, I had aged 9 years and my knees slowed my pace considerably. Also, I started out at mile 1. I really thought I could start with a 3 mile run, but that thought was seriously halted when I went out and nearly collapsed of respiratory failure after a 1/2 mile.

As the weeks went on I did manage to get to three miles. Now I hope you are not picturing me effortlessly gliding down the sidewalk with a smile on face and my long stride moving me forward like one of those crazy Kenyans that run marathons in under 3 hours. You need to picture a short, "fluffy" mom who is struggling to make every stride. She is completely red in the face and quite frankly is running slower than a normal person could walk. Actually if I saw myself running on Todd George Road, I would stop and offer myself a ride just to put the "running me" out of my misery. But I was doing it and some of my old confidence was creeping back (along with two weeks of debilitating leg soreness that kept me from making several treks up and down my stairs). I was back and feeling accomplished.

One day was too busy to run in the daylight, so I thought I would go at night. After fighting with Kyle on whether or not I should take my phone, I took off without any fancy gadgets that new runners like. When I run I don't wear my glasses and when I don't wear my glass my eye doctor claims I am "night blind." I am a bit skeptical of that term, so I never invested in contacts or sports glasses. So I take out on this humid night to trudge 3 miles. I had to deviate from my normal route a bit this night due to a lack of lighting. Though we love in a safe neighborhood, I still imagined an attacker jumping out at me. He/She would have been disappointed to find just me, no gadget mom, but to be safe I took another route.

As I was getting closer to a familiar part of my route something simply tripped me. Not sure if it was the side walk, a branch, or more likely my own feet. I began to fall forward but managed to correct myself. I overcompensated a bit, and the whole left side of my body crashed into the pavement. I skidded along the pavement just enough to skin several parts of my body. Luckily I had managed to use my left arm and protect my head as I did not want another trauma to my new shunt. I did hit my head; just no where near the effin' shunt.

I laid there wondering if this whole body blow out had seriously injured me. Was the shunt hurt?Should I move? Where should I go? My friend's house was a block away and my home was a mile away. After air came back into my stomach, I quickly and embarrassingly got up and immediately started to speed walk home. I, however, heard voices across the street; two people had seen the whole thing and said nothing. No "Are you ok?" or "Can we take you home?" or "Need a beer?"  As I was walking home I kept my hand down, but a few other night walkers were randomly giving me this stare like they had seen a zombie. I would give them a grin and they would ask if I was ok. How did they know I just fell doing the simplest exercise of mankind. After I said yes, they would quickly walk away from me acting like I was going to eat their intestines. After two encounters, I looked down and noticed that both legs were intensely bleeding and my elbow was a causality too. I was so worried about my head I didn't even evaluate the rest of my body. The scared walkers had all cause to be weary because I did look like I had slaughtered someone. BUT...BUT...despite their fear they had manners enough to ask if I was ok, unlike the schmucks who said nothing at the scene of the incident. I made it home, and all I could say to Kyle is "I SAVED MY HEAD!"

The next three days my whole left side hurt especially my head, neck, and shoulder area. A wretched headache plagued me, so I went to the doctor and we just chalked it up to soreness from the fall. On the fourth day the pain became a bit more localized in my collarbone, but I kept on doing life. I did mange to get in with my chiropractor. When I told her the story and begged for a impeccable adjustment, she looked at my collarbone and said she wasn't doing anything until I got it X-rayed. I had always pictured broken collarbones as unbearably painful injuries that took one to the ER immediately, not a nagging pain that didn't prevent me from living life. The chiropractor said people walk around with fractured bones all the time and don't know it.

Needless to say the collar bone had a greenstick fracture in it. When I fell my collarbone bowed out making little bone splinters, like when you try to break a green stem. Since it was only a fracture, all she could do was tape me up and use some laser gadget to reduce the swelling. She taped me everyday because Kyle and I had a 2-day music festival camping trip where we would be sleeping on a tent floor. Between the tape and the Hydrocodone I did just fine on the trip. However, I learned in a moment of distress: ALWAYS PROTECT THE SHUNT! Regardless of what else could happen to the body, the shunt is to be protected at all costs. I retired from running after that, but I am back at it. Please no pity if you see me struggling on Langsford Road. I may look like I am going to die, but that is just my normal running face. But if you see a bloody suburban zombie bite it on the sidewalk in front of your house, at least offer some sort of acknowledgement. Even if it is just a chuckle and a "Smooth move, Exlax!"

Notice the spider taping job to stay comfortable while camping.





 



Pickin' It Back Up

Well I havn't really been keeping up with the heaping health mishaps of the past 9 months. I guess partly due to the fact nothing too serious has happened, and mostly to due to the fact I can't find my usual humor in what has happened. And since humor has been a big coping device AND literary device, I felt I needed to wait until some laughs could come this cluster of crap that is my brain.

Since getting a 2nd VP shunt put in a year ago, I have done some pretty awesome things like (1) took our first family road trip to Ohio to visit out dear friends the Ryans (2) Kyle and I pretended we were young enough to handle the music festival culture and drove to Gutherie, Oklahoma with friends to camp and see Mumford and Sons. Being in our mid thirties it took three or four days to recover from that two camping trip. (3) I dove back into the classroom with a 6 week, 6th grade long term sub position. It felt great to have "my" own class again, but the experience highlighted the short-term memory loss I had suffered and I hadn't known it.(4) We were able to take the whole family to San  Antonio Texas which was going Moe, Franki, and Henry's first plane trip and SeaWorld trip. Taking my animal-loving kids to SeaWorld will be a highlight of not only this year, but the entirety of my motherhood, lots of "ooos" and "awwws."

However, keeping with my health and klutzy past, I was going through a battery of doctors, specialists, and tests to still figure out a source of the headaches I was still having, some headaches lasting up to 7 days. In a good ol' fashion method, a Top Ten organization seems to be the best way to present my newest mishaps that include:

1. The Oak Tree Farm Zombie: How a nighttime jog led to a fractured collarbone and a bloody face and leg. BUT I SAVED THE HEAD!
2. A Fall rose bush dead heading session led to thorns in my scalp.
3. Forgetting my kids at school: a ditty about unknown short term memory loss.
4. A routine neurologist appointment about a migraines leading to DEFCON 4 emergency tests and procedures and the panic that ensued!
5. The 18th lumbar puncture gone wrong and the calm husband who turned ASSHOLE on an ER doctor.
6. Firing a neurologist. As a patient you can do that...so  liberating!
7. The cabinet door/bunk bed combo can be another enemy for one's head.
8. A trip to a Nuero Ophthalmologist-How my diagnosis could possibly change for the 3rd time.
9. An ice pick to the head: The accusation that I am compromising my shunt on purpose (still trying to find humor in this one).
10. A decision to make: keep the VP Shunt and ask for it out?