Everything Changed (Part 6)

My recovery from brain surgery was just as my sister characterized it in her the last blog post:

"Seeing my sister in recovery was torturous. She had the absolute worst pain/most discomfort/eyes swollen completely shut/vomiting and dry heaving/not even a wink of real sleep/horrible nightmares/scary sounds from other patients/hourly poking and prodding from nurses and doctors/no shower/no food/no drink/and just a state of total shock from what could have been".

I don't remember much from the initial moments of waking up from the officially titled "craniotomy with brain aneurysm clipping". My first memory was of Leigh (nurse anesthetist and Ashley's dear friend) and another nurse telling me that they had put my hair up in a nice pony tail so that my hair was away from my incision. I hate having my hair in my face and felt infinitely grateful for their small gift at that moment. When I first arrived into ICU I noticed immediately that I had a roommate. There was just a curtain separating us and I heard most things that he talked about with his daughter that should have been entirely and fiercely private. My sense of time was really skewed and it wasn't long before my pain was intense. As the anesthesia from my surgery wore off they began to explore other options as I slept. I slept for twenty minute or so slices of time but woke feeling instead like many hours had passed. Soon my eyes and face and head began to swell significantly and I was no longer able to see. For the rest of my hospital stay I was treated as a blind patient with a significant fall risk. Because of that I had to use a bedpan to use the bathroom and couldn't get out of bed. That experience was very surreal for me: I had nurses touching me and talking to me and seeing me in very private ways and I could not see their faces. A few of them were so good to me that I will never in my life forget it; I feel they have a true gift and that they probably touch lives always. My pain level peaked frequently and my nurses did their best to curb the pain. Unfortunately my respirations weren't at the level they should have been and I was forced to keep the oxygen cannula on even though it was uncomfortable. My blood pressure was also lower than my doctors wanted and they chose to limit the Darvocet I was receiving. I understood their standpoint but this worried me because the pain medication I had been given the day prior caused me to vomit several times.

The Darvocet gave me relief from the pain but it didn't last long. I felt very afraid while I was in the hospital because nurses kept injecting things into the IV and it was unsettling not to be able to see them or what they were doing, even though they were good about telling me what they were doing, apparently it's just the kind of thing I want to see for myself!   Because I was so afraid I did not want to be left alone at all. Jeremy stayed by me the entire time except for one night. It was important to me that he keep the kids' schedule as normal as possible so on my second night he went home to take care of them and get them ready for school the next day. Ashley stayed with me that night and struggled so hard to stay awake. In the ICU they will allow visitors to say in the room overnight, but visitors can't actually sleep in the room.  Ashley was also there with me when I went in for my angiogram the next morning. Weirdly enough, the angiogram was the worst part of my hospital stay. It was a painful procedure in which a catheter is inserted into an artery and passed through the blood vessels to the brain. Once the catheter is in place, a contrast dye is injected into the bloodstream and the x-ray images are taken. Dr. Klop ordered my angio following the clipping to ensure that the three clips that had been placed were actually creating that pseudo-artery wall like he had described. In addition to that, he needed to check to see that the area of the artery where it had been narrowed was not narrowed too much and causing stroke like effects (e.g. not allowing enough blood through). I was very concerned that I was going to have to go back in for more surgery, even though Klop assured my family I was likely fine.

The next night other family members came to sit with me and I was finally able to move to a private room. I was still considered a fall risk but it was obviously nice to have my own space. I still had eaten only a bite of food here and there and the nurses were still working to manage my pain. On the day before discharge Ashley helped me with a quick shower. It was a real ordeal and I started to feel like I just wasn't up for this challenge. The ride home was rough as well, and while it felt good to be home Jeremy and I were both nervous about managing my care without the nurses. I was also really worried about the kids seeing me after surgery because of my swelling so when I got home and  into bed we turned the lights out. The kids entered the room with it dark and I gave them both a kiss and hug before they left to stay the weekend with their aunt. After saying goodbye to them I realized I COULD handle this, I had no other choice.

Jer also wanted to provide his impression of all that happened after I immediately returned from surgery:

Time couldn’t move fast enough. It seemed like a very long time from the time that Dr. Klopfenstein provided his pre-op consultation with the family prior to actually being able to see Mindi in recovery. We were able to visit her in an Intensive Care bed where she would stay for the next couple of days. I had tried to imagine what she might look like and how I would feel when I saw her. As much as I tried to prepare, I knew that it would upset me to see her. I was very happy that the surgery had been a success. As I sat with her, I remember thinking how beautiful she was and how beautiful it was that according to the doctor she would make a full recovery. I also remember feeling that I wanted to help her and having a huge feeling of helplessness realizing that I really couldn’t do much but be with her. As the hours passed in the hospital it seemed like days. I was fortunate to have family with me to pass some of the time. My goal the first night was to stay awake and not sleep. If I would have fallen asleep I would have had to leave her room and go to a lounge where I could supposedly rest and feel uncomfortable with the idea of leaving Mindi alone in that room. However, as the night wore on I realized that I was in no shape for the fight. At 3am I went to the lounge for a quick rest. The rest would be quicker than I had anticipated. I was awoken by the sounds of a family in crisis and was trapped in the lounge area as they discussed the terrible and private events that had occurred to a family member that evening. It was a very private and very sad moment for that family and I knew that I was unable to leave because of my position in the room and where the door was located so I tried to act as if I was still asleep. The first chance that I had, I jumped up and darted for the door. I will never forget that moment for as long as I live.  I checked on Mindi. She was sleeping. I went for another walk. I remember sitting in the cafeteria and having a drink and noticing a man in the area who was drinking coffee and crying. I remember thinking how sad he seemed and how fortunate I was that the doctor indicated that the surgery was a success. I had pondered all of the “what ifs” while also trying to ignore them prior to the surgery. Ashley and Ryan let me crash for a few hours at their house the next day. Words cannot express how lucky I felt and how much I appreciate our families. When I returned to the hospital Mindi was awake but fell asleep shortly after I arrived. Nurses and doctors were in and out. She was in a lot of pain and seemed very uncomfortable. I stayed into the evening and then returned home to spend time with Ava and Alex. They were concerned about mom. I could tell they had questions but were hesitant to ask. I loved them as much as I could in the short time that I was with them. I imagined how much they must be missing Mindi. When I returned to the hospital conversations had started to occur about discharge planning. Oh no! Did someone just mention possible discharge in a day or so? What was I going to do? Could I provide for her needs at home? She was discharged from the hospital at some point on Friday.

I recall the drive home. It reminded me of when Ava and Alex were born and driving home with them in the car for the first time. She seemed so sick and I was so nervous to hit the smallest bump or change lanes. Once we arrived home, I helped Mindi upstairs to the bed. My parents had been watching Ava and Alex and they had gone to Peoria with Ashley and Ryan for the weekend. It was time for them to come home. They had not seen Mindi since her surgery. She was very uncomfortable and was scared that they may be nervous about her appearance. Her face was still very swollen. When they did see her, they were pretty relaxed about it. They did ask questions and we tried our best to answer them.

Everything Changed (Part 5)

My surgery began at 7 a.m. on November 12th, 2013.  I asked my sisters to write this blog entry about what happened during my surgery.  Here is the account of their experience, as written by Ashley with Tara's experiences also shared.

As my family and I stood around Mindi in the moments before her surgery, we took turns kissing and hugging her, reassuring her that everything would be okay... everything will be fine sissy, I kept telling her… But because of the way I think, I couldn’t help but wonder if the words I spoke would turn out to be true. I didn’t know the answer to that, though. In fact, no one knew. I stood in that room with my head down, talking in my head to God, like I typically do, kind of like he’s a close friend of mine. I reiterated to him, as selfish as it may have been, that I needed my sister still, here on earth. I reminded him of how close we are not just as sisters, but best friends. (And I quickly thanked him for that, as well as for giving me such a tight-knit, loving, caring, forgiving, call-each-other-every-day, say-I-love-you-every-time-we-hang-up, kiss-each-other-goodbye, tell-one-another-absolutely-everything, kind of family.) To be honest though, and I’m not proud of this moment, as I walked away from that corridor and she was wheeled away to surgery, I tried my best to negotiate a deal with God, telling him I’d do absolutely anything in the world for Him if he could just swap us out real quick and I could have the surgery instead of her. I knew it was crazy to beg Him for such a thing, and I know we aren’t supposed to ask God for things like that, but I was desperate.

There were three things that kept me rational as we waited in the family room at OSF during her surgery:

1. One of my best friends since junior high, and a top notch nurse anesthetist, Leigh, would be in surgery with my sister, reminding every nurse and doctor in that room that this patient was VIP. In addition to that, my sister gave Leigh permission to update us regularly via text message during her surgery, so we had some inside information on her actual status, which proved to be much more calming to our nerves than the calls every hour or two from the nurse in surgery, who always just stated that, ‘everything was going fine.’
2.  My sister had a rockstar neurosurgeon, (and he just happens to be Peoria’s version of Dr. McDreamy), that had already proven himself through my mom’s brain surgery.
3. My sister is strong. She didn’t know it or feel it right then, but I knew it. She gets that from my mom, who just had her brain surgery just a few weeks before Mindi’s, and kept her promise to be there for her daughter on the day of her surgery.
   
   
   
   
   

After sitting in the family waiting room for what felt like an eternity, I received the first update from Leigh.

Even though I knew they would have to part her hair to make a clean, straight incision, this text hit me like a ton of bricks. This was really happening. A piece of my sister’s skull was about to be removed. I leaned over and showed this text to my other sister, Tara, and we both just lost it. So many questions and crazy thoughts swirled around inside my head. Would she wake up? If she woke up, would she be able to talk?  Would her voice be the same? What if Dr. Klopfenstein’s hand slipped? Or what if a nurse bumped his hand on accident? How could Jeremy raise these kids on his own without their mom? Would Jeremy still come over to my mom’s for Christmas with Ava and Alex? Who would Alex get his back tickles from? Who would Ava tell her secrets to?  And as you can imagine, my unanswerable questions persisted through the remainder of her surgery. 

Tara and I went down to get a coffee to pass the time and talked very little. When we did talk, it was only about how we couldn’t believe what was happening to our sister at that very moment. Neither of us spoke about the thoughts we were having, or what we thought could happen. Months later, Tara described to me that going through the two ordeals, Mindi’s and Mom's surgeries, have been the most trying experiences she has ever been through.  She also said that seeing such close family members in pain and knowing that these minutes could truly be our last was nothing short of terrifying to her. She told me about when she first arrived at OSF that day, and she met Mindi and all of us up in the waiting area where lab work is done. Just a few short minutes after she had arrived, Mindi was whisked upstairs and separated from all of us.  It was at this moment that Tara had a feeling of overwhelming sadness come over her. As she watched Mindi get on the elevator by herself, Tara just felt empty.  Emotionally she was drained.  This was it. The moment everyone wanted to fast forward past.  She talked  to me more about her own fears and overcoming them to be strong for Mindi that day, specifically because we only were allowed to visit Mindi one at a time right before she went into surgery. Anyone who knows Tara well, knows that she doesn’t fare well alone and doesn't like to reconnoiter unknown areas on her own.  But at that time, she just kept reminding herself that whatever uncomfortableness that she is feeling is nothing compared to what Mindi (and Mom) have gone through. 

The next few updates came in from Leigh, and I even tried to make her answer my questions. (Leigh is in gray and I’m in blue.) 

The next couple of hours went by SO. INCREDIBLY. SLOWLY. Updates came in regularly from Leigh though, letting us know exactly what was happening when and why. And then this text came in.

I couldn’t believe that a couple of hours had gone by and the aneurysm hadn’t even been seen yet, let alone clipped. I guess I never put much thought into how much time and skilled, slow and steady hands it might take to get through a person’s skull without messing anything up.

At that exact moment, Klop was staring right into the eye of this thing. This terrible thing, that not only my 36 year old sister has, but my cousin has one of, my aunt has two of, and my mom had five of. This thing that on June 29, 2013 burst in my mom’s brain and forever changed each and every one of my family members’ lives in ways I’ll never be able to articulate.

So naturally, my response back to Leigh (in my head) was, “CLIP THAT DAMN THING AND GET OUT OF THERE!”  I didn’t type that to her though, because I knew I wasn’t in control of anything at that point. Before I could compose a more rational response to Leigh, she texted me again.

Did I read that right? Was my sister potentially months away from her aneurysm bursting? She’s only 36 years old. Some people with aneurysms just ‘watch’ these things their whole lives, especially younger people. And that was an option that she was very open to before talking to Klop the first time. Even after talking with him, she considered waiting to have her surgery in the summer, when she was already off from school. But would she have made it to summer alive? The answer to that question is by far the most frightening thing I’ve ever faced in my life, and gives me chills every single time I think about it. The answer is probably not.

Leigh texted again shortly thereafter.

We were able to talk with Dr. Klopfenstein really quickly after the aneurysm was clipped because a resident was closing Mindi up. Before Klop arrived in the room though, we all held hands in that small meeting room, and my dad led a prayer. He started to cry as he thanked the Lord for the strength that he has given our family, and for how close we have all become through all of this.  

When Klop came in, he drew a picture of my sister’s aneurysm and explained to us that some small areas of her vessel on the aneurysm were ‘as thin as wet toilet paper.’ Because of where her aneurysm was located (right on the V part of two vessels coming together), he wasn’t able to just clip it. He had to narrow one of the vessels and ‘recreate’ the wall of that vessel using three titanium clips. It was either that or clip it normally and leave the high risk of it bleeding again due to the wall not being strong enough to handle the blood pressure.  Narrowing her vessel is not ideal, but it was the lesser of two evils.

He explained everything in detail and answered all of our questions, and let us know we’d be able to see her in about an hour. We were all really freaked out by the type of aneurysm she had and the way he had to fix it, but still considered the surgery a success. We were all just ready for her to move on to the extremely long and hard recovery phase.

Seeing my sister in recovery was torturous. She had the absolute worst pain/most discomfort/eyes swollen completely shut/vomiting and dry heaving/not even a wink of real sleep/horrible nightmares/scary sounds from other patients/hourly poking and prodding from nurses and doctors/no shower/no food/no drink/and just a state of total shock from what could have been. 

Everything Changed (Part 4)

November 12th finally arrived, and oddly enough to me, the day dawned like any other.  Of all the things I have learned throughout this experience, one stands out the most:  it's so surreal to be going through something in your own life that feels earth-shattering, but when you look around you realize that the rest of the world (and everyone in it) continues on in their own predictable rhythms and patterns.  Surprisingly, I slept fairly well the night before considering my anxiety level.  Jeremy and I got up around 4 because we had to be in Peoria before 6.  My surgery was slated for seven.  On the way to Peoria I clutched a verse from the Bible given to me by Tami Qualls.  She had brain surgery several years ago and gave me some very useful tips.  Most of all she reminded me to be my own best advocate as a patient and to let everyone involved in that surgery know all that I have to lose.  She gave me the idea to chant my children's names rather than counting backwards from ten when I receive anesthesia.  The verse she gave me just spoke to me and fortified me when I read it. 

When I arrived for pre-surgical testing I became utterly frightened and started to cry.  I kept crying while my blood was drawn and cried even harder when my sisters and dad arrived.  They were very supportive but couldn't take away my fears.  After an elevator ride and walk through OSF's hallways I parted with them and went into a little room with a hospital bed and curtain.  The nurses asked a lot of questions and expertly hooked up my IV (I'm a notoriously tough stick so this was refreshing).  They attempted to put me at ease and didn't make me feel like a freak show for continuously crying.  It frustrates me that I can't stop crying when I want to, but obviously my body knows what I need more than my brain does.  Dr. Klopfenstein stopped by and asked if we could pray together.  After more medical formalities the nurses allowed my whole family to be with me before my surgery.  They are only supposed to allow two people at a time to be present but it meant the world to me that they broke the rules for my family.  I may be thirty-six years old but at that time I needed my family more than I needed air to breathe.  My mom, step dad, dad, Tara, Ashley, and of course Jeremy were all there, most of them crying periodically as well.  It was so hard for my mom to be there with me as she was still recovering from her own brain surgery from a few weeks before.  She vowed to be there *no matter what*, and came through on her promise even though she was weak and ill.  We all hugged and talked and when a pastor entered, we prayed again.  The energy in the room was palpable; I felt that the strength of my bond with my family in that tiny space was all-consuming.  It also heartened me to know that my dear friend Steph was down below in the waiting room, keeping vigil.  The nurse anesthetist (and my sister's own dear friend, Leigh) entered and I knew it was nearly go time.  She offered to give me something to relax before going in and I agreed.  Each member of my family gave me one last hug and hugged and kissed one another.  As my dad left me I saw him turn around and walk back for one last look at me before surgery.  He looked so sad and I wished that I could make him feel better, but I knew there was just nothing left to do or say.  I was wheeled back and the nurses described some of the things I was seeing in the surgical suite.  I was already feeling drowsy from the cocktail Leigh administered but I was very cognizant of the promise I made to myself to chant "Ava, Alex.  Ava, Alex." over and over again as I was put under.  I began saying it and only got it out a few times when I was silenced as the mask delivering anesthesia was placed on my face.  Leigh looked me in the eyes at that very moment and said, "I hear you, Mindi". For that one second in time and my final moment before surgery, I felt safe. 


 

Everything Changed (Part 3)

In the month and some leading up to my surgery I felt perpetually anxious.   It always felt like there was a small and heavy rock in my stomach that acted as a reminder at every moment that nothing was going to be the same ever again.

• Whenever I made a dinner I wondered who would cook for Jeremy if I wasn't here to do it.  

• Every time I ran I pushed myself hard, realizing I wouldn't be able to run at all during my recovery. 

• I cherished every bedtime snuggle because I had to battle irrational thoughts about how my kids just wouldn't be able to function if I weren't present to complete the bedtime ritual with them every single night of their lives.  

I thought about all the things I am proud of:  my education, my career, my insane devotion to cats, the perfect little family of four, my volunteer efforts, the travels, the passionate conversations, other secrets I won't share here...and I realized, IT WASN'T ENOUGH.  None of it was epic enough. I vacillated between being fatalistic and thinking about my own funeral and feeling an intense will to survive and work harder to make my life meaningful. 

Of course it's normal to have existential struggles when you are facing significant medical issues, but normalizing it doesn't make it any easier to deal with.  I think I had my first (and only) actual panic attack during this time.  It was mid-September and I was making dinner.  I was putting away dishes and had two boiling pots on the stove and the radio on.  Ava was asking me questions about her homework and Alex was buzzing around the kitchen one hundred miles an hour, as he typically does.  While putting a glass in the cabinet I heard my uncle honk outside (he always announces his arrival this way).  Alex ran out the door with no coat on and I yelled after him to get back in the house, which he ignored.  Immediately after that I jammed my finger on the hardware on the cabinet. I hit it in this odd way and it made the skin of my finger split.  I knew immediately that I wasn't injured badly and didn't need stitches.  Nonetheless,the sight of the blood pumping out made me feel ill.  I am usually never squeamish like this, but I felt instantly nausea as my heart pounded quickly and I had trouble getting enough air to breathe.  I suddenly felt like I was in this terrifying vacuum and I would never recover.  Ava came to look it over -and ever the calm chickadee that she is-said, "you better grab a band-aid" before promptly returning to her room.  I sat down at the kitchen table and tried to get my breathing back under control.  I kept thinking, for eff's sake, Mindi, you are a counselor, get it together!!!  Jeremy came home from work and certainly thought I had gone off the deep end when he pulled into the drive and saw Alex outside, unsupervised.  When he came in the kitchen and saw me sitting at the table he knew something was definitely wrong.  As he usually does, he made me feel like 

it's completely acceptable to act wack-a-doodle-doo.

 Jer and I very much knew during this time that we had important things to talk about.  Not only did we need to figure out the logistics for childcare during my recovery, but there were bigger questions looming for both of us.  He tried bringing the issues up a few times and I always asked him to stop talking about it, because I didn't want to cry any more about everything.  We spent a weekend together in Galena with the the explicit goal of talking about the important stuff.  We had a great time together and during a fabulous dinner at Fried Green Tomatoes we finally broached the dreaded topics I had been avoiding.  First and foremost, we talked about the fact that I don't have a will.  We discussed personal financial arrangements that he doesn't typically deal with.  This ranged from the mundane (when to pay the power bill), to the more significant (who my 401k is managed by, should he need the funds for funeral arrangements).  We both teared up several times during the conversation, but it was a good thing, because it was another milestone we needed to conquer, hand in hand.  We took several pictures during our trip, look how at much fun we had!  We spent money, we drank too much, we ate too much, we had sex (not too much), we laughed too much, we talked a ton (but it never seemed like enough), and we cried just a little.  The conversations weren't easy to have, but there's no doubt we weren't given any choices.  Every day spent was one day closer to November 12th. 

Pucker up, Jebby

Jer was so annoyed with my kissy pictures

We heart Durty Gurt's 

Isn't this sign the coolest? 

Blessed

So, today really stinks. Nothing today is easy. We woke up with the carbon monoxide alarm going off. Ava woke up covered in spots. I left the ATM without my hundred dollars. The drains in the basement are leaking water that smells suspiciously like sewage. The plumber came and can't fix it, the job will require more work, likely a lot more work. I can honestly tell you that after all I have been through, I can put this terrible day into perspective and realize how blessed I am. I have the most loving family, the most "there when you need them" friends, the most fulfilling job, the warmest house, and the most strong and able body. I know it isn't luck, I'm blessed. My experiences in the last year have brought me closer to God. I know that may sound terribly cliche, but I am no longer thanking my lucky stars. I can get through all that as been put in front of me today, and DOMINATE it all.

I am headed to have a beer with a bestie. I deserve it after today. xo

 

Everything Changed (Part 2)

It was early September and I was really dreading telling the kids about my upcoming surgery. They are 5 and 7, and I really try to shelter them from the ugly and painful things in life. I know that the "Tiger Mom" or whoever she is would probably think that's detrimental to them, but I feel strongly about wanting their childhood to be pure and for them to always feel safe. They had heard a lot about Grandma Lisa's surgery so I knew it would color their reactions. Jeremy and I decided to talk it over during dinner. We kept it simple and said that mommy is having surgery because there is something wrong in her brain. I told them that I would be in the hospital for a little while but that they would stay with Grandma Rita during the school week and still see Daddy every day. They reacted differently, just as I anticipated they would. Alex immediately looked sad and was really hung up on me being in the hospital for a week. He kept saying, "I don't want you to have surgery".

Ava appeared reticent at first, and then said, "Well, I sure hope they are really good professionals, because they have to do a great job". They both struggled with it more throughout September and October and would often bring it up during snuggle time. Alex in particular was concerned that I was going to go to Heaven, and every time he asked, it was so hard for me formulate a decent answer, because his questions always made me catch my breath for a moment.


Some time in September Ava came across an image of my brain taken during my MRI/A. She asked what the picture was of, and I told her it was my brain. I showed her my brain aneurysm. She pointed to the various arteries on the image and asked what they were and what their purpose is.  I explained that they carried blood to different parts of my brain, which affected different parts of my body. She said, "Oh, I get it. They are like plugs and the different parts make you who you are". I said, "Yep, Birdie, you got it!".  She began describing the "plugs" to me, and I am so happy I wrote her descriptions down as she spoke. 

Oh, and that's my aneurysm in the red box.  He's my nemesis.  Telling the kids about my surgery took a huge pressure off of me, but I started thinking about all of the other things I needed to accomplish, like talking over the *serious things" with Jeremy.  I put that off as long as I could....

On another but completely related note, please lift my cousin Kiley up with your thoughts and prayers.  She is having the same surgery I had done today.  She is only 24 years old but is going to conquer this just like I did and my mom did before me. 

Everything Changed (Part 1)

Once upon a time, things were different in my family.  I want to tell you about how things have changed, in hopes of helping someone else.

We were all seemingly healthy when we set out to vacation on Lake Michigan in June of this year. 

June 28th, 2013 in Michigan City, IN

Most of you reading my blog know that everything changed for my family in an instant on June 29th when an aneurysm in my mom's brain burst.  Ashley had just served us all breakfast on that day and we stood around the kitchen in our rented lake home talking about which plans for the day the kids would prefer, going to the beach, or a hike on the sand dunes?  Those closest to me know that I have a poor memory, but what happened in the moments that followed is forever painfully seared in my mind.  I won't share those painful details here related to my mom's story, because her story is hers to tell if she wishes.  Nonetheless, our tales are certainly linked, both because of genetics and our love for one another.  My mom has defied the odds countless times and still faces significant struggles in her future.

After my mom's initial surgery we (my two sisters, my step-dad and my aunt Debbie) all met with my mom's neurosurgeon at UIC Hospital in Chicago.  After describing details of the surgery and the risks to come she looked each of us women in the eye and implored us to be tested to see if we have brain aneurysms ourselves.  I use the term implore because she expressed how important she felt this was for our family.  She described to us that while having brain aneurysms is not typically genetic, when she sees five in one person like my mom's case, a family link is suspected.  I honestly was in no hurry to be tested, but because my sisters both set up appointments for CT and MRI/A scans I figured I better fall in line.  I honestly gave no thought to the idea that I might have one myself.

Fast forward to early August.  I was at work and had two new students and their parents sitting outside my office in preparation for me to register them for classes.  I received a call on my cell phone from my doctor's office.  The nurse at my doctor's office described that the results from my scan had come back and "showed something".  She said, "it looks like you have a small aneurysm, but don't worry too much, it doesn't mean anything needs to be done about it".  Regardless of her demeanor, hearing this was devastating because flashbacks of what I had just seen my mom go through began slicing through my mind.  I began breathing in and out loudly and quickly, and I started to sob.  I ran out of my office to my car and sat there shaking and crying.  I ran home and shared the information with Jeremy and he looked like he had just seen a ghost.  I called my sisters and they sobbed.  I could not yet bear to tell my parents.  I dried my eyes and registered my two students.  I started tearing up several times during the appointments but there was no stopping it.

I didn't have an appointment to see my doctor until later in August.  In those few weeks prior I tried to gain knowledge about treatment options for unruptured brain aneurysms.  I had so many questions and I requested to speak with my doctor about it more.  His nurse indicated that I would be referred to speak to a neurologist in town.  That neurologist's office called to say that I wouldn't be seeing him, as brain aneurysms were outside his scope of expertise.  Since I was on my own, I took it upon myself to learn as much as I could on the interwebs.  I eventually realized that there are three basic options, and I quickly decided that I would prefer to pursue the options in this order:

#1  Take a wait and see approach

#2  Endovascular coiling

#3 A craniotomy to clip the aneurysm

Jeremy, Ashley and I met with Dr. Klopfenstein on August 28th. 

Dr. Jeffrey Klopfenstein

I had only recently learned that he would be clipping the remaining aneurysms of my mom's very soon.  Dr. Klopfenstein (Dr. McDreamy) showed me a copy of my MRI and explained where my aneurysm was located.  He told me that while size isn't a huge consideration, at that time my aneurysm was larger than my mom's that burst.  He told me that he couldn't say for sure, but in his opinion, my aneurysm would burst sometime in my lifetime.  His actual words have stuck with me: "God willing, you will live for fifty more years.  I believe it will rupture within the next fifty years.  If it bursts, it will be catastrophic".  Before telling me what to do, he said that he could guess that I had thought this all over, and what did I want to do?  I said that I wasn't sure what to do, but that I had already decided to follow his treatment recommendations.  He said that it was my choice, but in his opinion, I should have it clipped.  I was disappointed to learn that I was not a candidate for coiling because of the shape and size of my brain aneurysm.  He described the typical course for recovery, indicating I would be in ICU for approximately 48 hours and in the hospital for 3-5 days.  He said I would need to be off work for approximately one month.  We threw around some potential dates for surgery and at that time I thought that Christmas break would be a good idea so that I could minimize time away from work.  I left the appointment in a haze and asked Jeremy to take me to Victoria's Secret.  I really wanted a cute bra at that moment.  I called my mom as I left the appointment and she cried when she heard I needed surgery too.  My dad called while I was in the changing room at Victoria's Secret and he also broke down as I told him.  He kept telling me how strong I was because I wasn't crying on the phone with him.   

Throw Back Thursday

Our first vacation in Jamaica, almost ten years ago.

It's the Little Things

Have you heard the saying "Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things".  I've been trying to live life every day by those words.  I am having brain surgery on November 12th.  I, like my mom, have a brain aneurysm.  I need to have surgery to have it clipped.  I am scared out of my wits to have a craniotomy.  I know that I should feel lucky that they found it before it burst and that my children don't have to go through what my sisters and I went through when my mother's aneurysm burst.  While I don't feel lucky at all (I feel pretty fucking unlucky, to be honest), I do feel an appreciation for the little things, the things that are keeping me going every day, the things I want to tell you about:

1.  I should be making a will but instead I am organizing the shelves/cabinets where my pans are stored.  I am looking for my legacy, people!

2.  Mmmm, morning coffee that I didn't make myself.  How I cherish thee.  See this girl?  She works at the Java Station.  She knows my order and starts on it before I order.  Her name is Kelly and she is Uh-Maze-Ing.  The Mindi from before never stopped at the Java Hut.  Four something dollars was wayyy too much to spend on coffee when I already have a Keurig at home.  No longer my friends.  It tastes better when she makes it, and on many mornings, I let her!

3.  I have a new found appreciation for my legs.  Ever since a person who will not be named told me my legs were fat in 7th grade, I have had issues with my legs.  I know they aren't perfect, but damn it, they are strong, they let me run and run, THEY TAKE ME PLACES.  For that I heart them and appreciate them more now.  I realize I will be required to take a break from running for at least a few months.  I want to enjoy it while I can right now.

4.  I am less wary about sharing my opinions.  I have been posting on FB like a madwoman lately, I know.  I don't apologize if it annoys you, you can always block me or unfriend me.  You see, things like marriage and gender equality and orange cats mean a lot to me, and I wish to share it with the cyber world!!

5.  I kiss and hug my kids A LOT.  I always have, but now I do it even more.  I can't get out of my head the way they reacted when we told them I was having surgery.  I can't wait to be the "old me" and want to fast forward through the month when I will be, shall we say, compromised.  I get a certain feeling when Ava or Alex and I are heart to heart, and it's like nothing else in this world.  I hang onto it with every fiber of my being.  A fabulous teacher at school (Tami Qualls) talked to me about what it's like to have brain surgery and gave me some good tips.  She told me that when the anesthesiologist asks you to count backwards as you are sedated, instead of doing that to begin chanting your children's names.  She told me that it's a reminder to everyone in that room all that you have to live for.  She told me that if God forbid, something were to go wrong, no one wants counting backwards to be how they spent their last moments on this earth.  I will chant AVA ALEX AVA ALEX AVA ALEX over and over again before I go under anesthesia.  I know you know that I have my amazing babies to live for. 

6.  I give my lovelovelove to the kids at school.  I tell them I love them, I tell them they look amazing, I tell them they even smell amazing if they happen to (which I might add is quite rare in the high school environment).  I write them notes, and I relish praising them and giving them a card for a free cone from DQ.  They need love, and I have love to give.

7.  I have no patience for petty and annoying drama llama crap.  Enough said.

8.  I have been shopping.  Too much shopping is happening.  I might be using my surgery as an excuse for this one.  Don't tell Jer.  He barely gets on FB so I might just get away with this one.

9. I can't get enough of the little, mundane, routine, ordinary and every day moments with my perfect family.  From listening to Alex as he plays with his dinosaurs to watching Ava dance, to talking to Jer about his day, I don't take a bit of this life for granted.

10.  I don't take the beauty of this world for granted either.  Do you know our sky looked like this on an early morning last week?  I was awestruck for a moment.

11.  Most of all, I could not do this without my family, my husband's family, my friends, and Jer. 

More than anything on this earth I want to come out of this still ME.  That means that if you act like I look weird with part of my head shaved, I will notice!  Ok, just kidding.  (This ME thinks she is funny).

 

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

Erma Gerd, We ARE Related!

I was downloading pics from Ava's birthday trip to Build-a-Bear when I came across proof that there's a genetic link between my daughter and I! Trust me, my experience birthing her is forever seared in my brain, but there's always been that teensy tiny thought in the back of my head that a negligent nurse performed a little switcheroo in the hospital with my baby and someone else's. (Tell me this is normal!??) This little thought gained some traction when I soon realized my little darling's eyes were blue and her hair full of natural curl. These were surprises of the good kind but over the last seven years I have heard more than one joke about the mailman when strangers see Ava and then Jeremy and myself. Maybe it's because she is so flipping gorgeous. :) I am always envious of parents with little mini mes walking around, and Jeremy hit the jackpot in this area because he and Alex are twinkies. Anyways, I came across this pic and I instantly
loved it.
 

LOOK AT OUR CHINS. THEY. ARE. THE. SAME. 

 ERMA GERD, WE ARE RELATED!

Wordless Wednesday.