Friday, June 6, 2008

Three Years Ago Today, I Almost Died (In A Few)

It's that time of year again. School's out, the weather's nice, and spirits are lifted as the temperature rises.

Oh, and it's the anniversary of my brain surgery.

Three years ago today, June 6, 2005, I underwent brain surgery. It was by far the scariest thing I've ever had to deal with. I thought my life was quite literally over. And in honor of that day, I choose to do something that I've been meaning to do ever since; put it all down in writing. Of what I can remember at this point, that is.

For years, ever since I can remember, I used to get these odd head pains. It would come so randomly and without warning. I'd just turn my head slightly and it felt like an electric shock was hitting me all throughout my head. It was a really intense pain, and I wouldn't be able to move for a few seconds. Then after about 10 seconds the pain would fizzle and my head would feel numb.

This had been going on for years, ever since I can remember, but it would only happen two, maybe three times a year, so I never really thought much about it. As I got older, I started to wonder about it a bit more. I don't remember if they were necessarily becoming more frequent, but it was on my mind more, thinking that I ought to get it checked out.

So, towards the end of my senior year of high school in March 2005, I was in gym class. We were playing badminton and my partner and I (not as in the homosexual, significant other, life-partner sense, but you know, badminton partner in doubles) were both about to swat a birdie. It just hit me, and immediately brought me to my knees. I fell over on to the floor grabbing my head, wondering when it was gonna go away, because it seemed like it was getting more intense. My partner was freaking out because he thought he slammed me in the back of the head.

"No, no, don't worry - it's just uh, this thing."

Yeah, that seems normal, right? I decided it was time to get it checked out; to make sure nothing serious was going on. So of course by the time I actually had an appointment with my doctor, it was now late April/early May. He said he thought it was just a pinched nerve, but being it's not his expertise he sent me to a neurologist.

It was mid-late May by the time I saw Dr. Grossman, my neurologist. He saw me, checked me out and thought the same thing - probably just a pinched nerve. But he had me go back in a few days for some tests. Let me say, it's a lot of fun having wires from a computer attached to your head. Not the least bit scary at all. (If you really couldn't tell, for whatever reason - yes, that was sarcasm).

But none of those tests showed anything wrong. Why push on? He schedules me for an MRI.

Monday, May 31st, 2005 - I went in for an MRI. And believe it or not, I wasn't really freaking out about the seriousness of all of this. I was just thinking, Jeez, an MRI? Is that really necessary? Seems kinda heavy duty. Now, I'm not really one to be claustrophobic, but being slid into a little cylinder-shaped container not much bigger than me isn't so fun. My nose was practically touching the ceiling. An hour of loud bangs, clicks and buzzes all around my head was a little nerve-racking.

Finally, it was over. I made plans for afterward and went about my day. Stephanie, let me just say I'm sorry that this was the last time I saw you for a few years. I didn't exactly plan all of that - but the next month my head wasn't in the best place, then I was gone for the rest of the summer, then it was off to college. I'm sorry.

So I went about the rest of the week as normal, thinking nothing of it.

Friday, June 3rd, 2005 - While the rest of my esteemed soon-to-be graduating class was getting ready for the prom that night, I wasn't going. For whatever reasons, I'm not getting into that now - but in the end, it's good I wasn't planning on going because in the end, I was going to be elsewhere that night.

I was heading out the door with my mom and grandma on our way to my cousin's house for dinner, when the phone rang. I picked it up; it was my neurologist asking to speak with my mother. I'll never be able to figure out how she was able to stay so calm, but she hung up and told me we had to go to his office.

I'm not sure why, but even then I didn't think it was going to be anything serious. In reality, when a neurologist calls you and tells you to come in to his office immediately, you can kind of figure it's pretty serious, but I don't know. Probably because my mom was so calm, I didn't think anything of it.

My grandma waited in the car and we went in to the office. We were called in to his office right away, and sitting there waiting for him I began to become a little wary.

He came in and cut right to it. I'll never be able to forget his words...

"Mark... there's something on your brain, I don't know what it is, but it has to be removed immediately."

My heart sunk. I couldn't breathe. All the blood from my head drained in an instant.
Naturally my mom couldn't hold it in anymore. All I could think was, I am going to die. I am going to die at a very, very young age. Or what if I don't die? Oh my God, I'm going to be brain dead. I can't believe this is happening to me. Why me, God?!

I sat there crying, just bawling. I couldn't help myself. I felt numb. I felt as if I were already going to die. My life was over. Here I am, not yet 18, and I am going to die? How fucking unfair is it that I should have to deal with this? Haven't I been crapped on enough all my life? Really, this is how it's going to end? I'm never going to have children. My parents are going to have to bury me.

I couldn't believe this was happening to me. He told us to go to the hospital right away; he let them know before that we were gonna be coming in. Head to the ER.

We leave the office and get in the car, where my grandma's been sitting there waiting. My mom tells her that we have to go to the hospital; she wanted to scare her as little as possible. My dad, who was going to meet us at my cousin's house, met us at the hospital when we got there.

I'll never forget the car ride there. Not that anything specific happened, but I can remember exactly how I felt. Exactly. Sitting in the car on the way there, being driven by my mom, sitting next to my grandma, I just felt so utterly and completely helpless. I already felt like a vegetable,to put it poetically. I felt like my fate was sealed and it wasn't going to allow me to live a long, normal, healthy life.

At the hospital, dad took grandma home while mom stayed with me. After my dad got back my name was finally called. I was brought in to a small room. Some young doctor took my blood and asked me what was going on, describe the sensations I was feeling in my head. This was a recurring theme that night. I must have seen 6 or 7 different people, all of whom needed me to tell them everything from the beginning.

When you're in a situation like that, you really don't feel like telling your story multiple times. Why couldn't they just communicate with each other, or have 5 doctors in the room at the same time? Anyway, they finally took me to my room. I was going to stay overnight.

I wasn't yet 18 when this happened, so they put me in the children's ward. I must say this was the greatest thing that could've happened to me during the whole ordeal. The way they treated me there just made me feel so much more comfortable.

Late that night while I was lying in bed, two surgeons walked in my room, Dr. Schneider and Dr. Mitler. They told me they were going to be the ones operating on me. They looked at my MRI films, and they think they know what it is. I had a small growth wedged between my brain and my brain stem. They said they didn't think it was cancerous, it seemed benign. It was like a grape, fairly small and curiously enough, perfectly round. Because it was so round, they said it should be fairly easy to remove.

So the growth was not malignant, and it was not that huge. But what made it so serious (besides the fact that, you know, I had a growth on my brain) was it's location. Like I said, it was wedged in between my brain and the brain stem. But they said they felt confident ad they were gonna take care of me, and they'd see me in surgery on Monday.

It must have been 1 or 2 AM when this happened, and my mom started crying again, this time the tears were closer to joy [relief]. She slept on the chair next to my bed the whole time I was in the hospital. I don't know how, but eventually, somehow we got to sleep that night.

Saturday and Sunday were both extremely long, fairly uneventful days. I went in for another MRI on Sunday, but other than that it was just lying in bed watching in TV for hours. My dad was there all day, every day, too. My brother was in Europe. My parents didn't want to call him and tell him what was going on until after the surgery, which made enough sense. Why worry him when he's on the other side of the world?

I got a lot of phone calls from family and friends, teachers, my boss at my luxurious Marshall's job, Stanley-the owner of Camp Monroe. And some visits too, family and friends. That was nice. It helped pass the time and it was really great seeing all these people that on Friday I wondered how many more times I'd be able to see them.

So Sunday night, I'm lying in bed, trying to fall asleep. Yet, believe it or not, it was a little hard thinking that when I woke up I was undergoing brain surgery. So of course, the bed next to me in the room that was vacated ever since Saturday morning was filled. A family was involved in a car accident, and they were keeping one of the kids over night but of course they all stayed there. Of course, they were extremely noisy throughout the entire night. I felt bad about complaining, but it wasn't that dire of an accident and it was like 2 in the morning and all I wanted to do was go to sleep so I can wake up and have surgery.

Monday, June 6th, 2005 - Surgery was supposed to be at 11. I was nervously watching the clock wanting the time to come already, but of course it got pushed back. A couple of hours passed and then around 2 or 3, someone came in to wheel me down to prep me for surgery. Wha- Now?! I'm not ready, I need time to, you know, mentally prepare.

So I was wheeled down in this waiting room/line. They wheeled me in and you know, the anesthesiologist is cracking jokes, trying to help me not worry so much. I was actually okay that day. I was ready. They gave me the anesthesia, and told me to count backwards from 100. I'm thinking Ugh, great. There's no way I'm gonna pass out, I'm too nervous... 100.... 99... 98...97...

97 was the last number I remember.

I woke up in some pretty intense pain. I couldn't move my neck at all. They wheeled me back to my room and I couldn't have been happier to see my parents faces. They had me on a morphine drip, and I was able to control it by pressing a little button another dosage of morphine would hit me. It was so good. So good, in fact, they took the power away from me the next day. They said it was to be expected, but I was taking a bit too much morphine than I should, and well, I was in more pain for the rest of my stay.

Dr. Schneider and Dr. Mitler came in and I thanked them. I stayed in the hospital until Wednesday. I was in this foam neck cast, and the ride home was killer. When I got home, no position was comfortable. Everything was painful. I stayed at home until the very last day of school. My mom had the glorious job of removing the bandages from the back of my head. You can imagine how cute she thought it was when she saw 13 bloody staples when she took it off.

I went back to school for the last day. The last day of senior year, my last day of high school. I was walking around with my yearbook, this stiff board, unable to rotate my neck at all, so I'd have to turn my whole body when I moved. It was eerie. Most of these people knew why they hadn't seen me in two weeks, and the conversations were... interesting. So that was the glorious memory of my last day in high school.

I went back to see my neurologist, who told me that although the growth was benign, because of the location of it it was very dangerous. Had they not caught it, I could have potentially only had a few years left. Had I not gotten it checked it out, I could've died shortly after college. Well, I'm entering my senior year now, and that still stays with me.

I had the surgery, the growth was removed. Had that not happened, I could've mysteriously dropped dead in a few years. I still wonder a lot that that might still happen. I've had follow-up MRIs every year, and nothing appears to be regrowing; but I still think about that.

The truth is, you never know how much time you have. Everyone assumes that they're going to live a full life and get to see their grandkids grow up. People always think that if there's some danger around the corner, there'll be signs or they'll be able to deal with it. Not to sound too much of a downer, but the truth of it all is you never know what's gonna happen. You just never know.

I owe my life to Dr. Schneider and Dr. Mitler. Without them, I might not be here. Or maybe in a few years. Thank you, Dr. Schneider. Thank you Dr. Mitler. I owe everything I have to them.


I had been meaning to do this for some time; write down the whole experience. I feel like this was not as emotionally driven, or fact-filled as it could've been if I'd done this right after it happened. But I liked this, it was good for me to do this. I was looking forward to writing this today, and I'm glad I did.

Like I said, today was third year anniversary of my brain surgery. Not a day goes by that I don't think about it.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

mark you rock man. very cool blog that does not lack your touch of humor. pablo k