Zombies, the Exorcist, and Brain Surgery....

Hoping Mom was pregnant...

Surgery day arrived, and I was ready to go.  No food, no water, no pasa nada.  I rolled into the hospital with the whole family, and we whooped it up as I stripped down and dressed in my wispy gown.  The kids were so excited when I took the mandatory preanesthesia pregnancy test.  They were all hoping for a positive result and twins.  Fortunately we dogged that bullet!  That would have been a hilarious complication.

Eventually the family got kicked out as the IV was started and blood samples were taken.  I was wheeled down to meet the anesthesiologist, Bobby, and we busted up laughing as he introduced me to the nurses, Hannah and Montana. No joke.  We were all cracking up, and ready to go.  Only problem was that no one could find the neurosurgeon, Dr. Lee.  The operating room was ready, the crew was ready, the piece was ready... but where was Dr. Lee?  Stuck in clinic.  By the time he showed up 45 minutes later, Bobby and I had bro-ed down and were comparing life stories.

Dr. Lee
I am pretty sure
he is not a Zombie.

Knowing Dr. Lee worked all morning and rushed over, I was thinking that he was not properly nourished to handle the 4 hours of surgery for which he had booked the room.  I asked if he had eaten, and he laughed, saying food wasn't important.  Dude, you better not be a zombie waiting to get into my skull and eat my brains.  He was more concerned about how to cut my hair.  I told him to go for a mohawk.

He disappeared and scrubbed up as Dr. Bobby wheeled me into the gigantic operating room.  With a smile, he told me to get myself onto the operating table, and within two minutes he and Hannah and Montana had me knocked out.

An hour and a half later, they were done, waking me up and preping for a CatScan.  The potential of four hours of surgery was minimized thanks to the incredible job the Buenos Aires surgeon did in leaving a synthetic film between the skin and the dura which kept the membranes from sticking together.  Lucky for me, it also meant that Dr. Lee never had to see my delicious brain.

43 sweet stitches.  One for every year of my life.  

As planned, I spent the next two nights in the hospital.  The first 12 hours were a vomit fest.  The zombies were out and the exorcist was in.  I am always amazed at how the body finds so much volume to spew without food or water intake.  It is impressive.  At three in the morning, I finally encountered a successful nausea medication, and the puking stopped.  From then on, I was all about enjoying the three hots and a cot.  Room service, breakfast in bed, the World Cup on the tele... it was good times.  I was even granted permission to wear my own clothes instead of the paper thin hospital sheet, when I convinced the nurses I would not try to escape.

On Saturday morning, Dr. Lee entered with a smile and discharge orders.  He gave me directions for getting the stitches removed, not showering, etc... and finally I asked, "Soooooo, when can I run again?"  The look on his face was priceless.

Still puffy and swollen, but hoping
that will pass soon.

He spun around and questioned, "Isn't that how you got in this mess in the first place, and you want to run again?  What about a sport with a helmet? Like biking?"

As a daily rider, I jumped on this, "Yes!  I love bike riding!  I ride to work; I ride to physical therapy; I ride everywhere; my bike is my car!  Yes!  When can I ride?"

His response was quick, "What? Don't ride your bike!  That is more dangerous than running!  Bike riding and horses are the worst.  Just because you have a helmet doesn't mean you are safe.  Stick to running, in the middle of a large group of people."

We'll see how long I can hold back my inner rabbit.  Less than a week out of surgery, and I am already bouncing out of my seat.  The good news is that I am encouraged to walk, and walk I do, up and down this town.

I am indescribably grateful for the prayers, love, food, playdates, and flowers.  Thank you.  And please keep praying.  If the incision gets infected or meningitis returns, the prosthetic piece has to be surgically removed followed by a long hospital stay filled with antibiotic cocktails, and I am back to square one.  Once in a lifetime was enough for that party!

Kid fun...

...and gorgeous treats!