My 3rd Brain Surgery: 12+ Hours, Boy Am I Glad I Was Asleep!
It’s officially a week and a half since my 12-hour brain surgery/plastic surgery/infectious disease surgery/whatever it is that just happened to me.
I know that there will be several (okay A LOT) of posts that will cover what has happened over the last few weeks, but in a simple, non-medically trained nutshell… all of my radiation treatments caused my brain cells to die, which then caused the skin cells around my surgical/radiation area to breakdown, causing a serious infection that led to my titanium plate being exposed. Enter an infectious disease team, a plastic surgery team and my established neurosurgery team…
Boy, What the “F”Happened While I Was Asleep?
I was advised that the infection would obviously have to be surgically cleared out, that my plate may or may not have to be removed, and that a portion of my stomach would have to be used to create a new skin flap to cover the area. Little did I know that I would wake up with my stomach now making up just about 1/3 to half of my scalp, as well as a giant incision starting from the top of my chest down my abdomen. Oh, and my bellybutton is also now about 6 inches off from where it was just a few weeks ago.
I am thankful beyond words that I am alive, that I am recovering remarkably well and that I am even able to write this post, but… this time, the vanity thing is tough.
Vanity – It’s Okay To Grieve Over The Loss of Your Hair, Looks, Etc.
Basically, I feel like a monster. While I know rationally, it will get better – the swelling will reduce, the bruising will fade, etc. It’s just really, really hard this go around.
With my first surgery, you wouldn’t have known I’d had surgery. My hair only began to fall out a few months later due to radiation. I thought that was hard. However, I got a fantastic hairpiece (clip-on, not even a full wig) and absolutely no one could tell I had a bald patch hiding underneath.
Time went by and my hair started to grow back enough that I didn’t even need the hairpiece. I only needed to style my hair the right way and all was okay. I even left the hairpiece hidden in a drawer to get knotted and matted, thinking I really wouldn’t need it again. How naive!
So, along came the second surgery and more hair had to be shaved down, but honestly, it wasn’t too bad. I wasn’t going to cry over it.
Yet, once again, radiation came around. I was actually away on my First Descents trip when my hair began falling out in huge clumps. I stood in the bathroom at our camp site just crying while running my fingers through my hair as it immediately fell out. Thankfully, being on a trip with cancer survivors, they all understood my hysterics. Due to the high-dose radiation, this time my scalp looked red and severely burned (“angry” as one person perfectly described it).
It definitely looked worse then before, but by the time it was all said and done, I wiped the dust off the hairpiece and adjusted to it all. I also continued to rock what I like to call “the crazy bun.” It was disappointing, sure, but manageable.
I Feel Like Freddy Krueger and I Walked Into a Bar…
Now…since ya know, my scalp is significantly made up of my stomach, the hair will never ever grow back and it’s definitely not just a bald spot either. (As a darkly humorous aside, my scalp has freckles that were formerly members of my abs). Sure, they say the swelling will go down too. However, it’s really hard to imagine my head ever looking semi-normal or symmetrical. There are sutures everywhere and because the plastic’s team had to connect arteries behind my ear, there is yet another incision there. It feels like Freddy Krueger and I walked into a bar and well, whatever happened, he clearly won.
I’ve been dealing with the whole bald spot/scalp/hair issue for 2 years now. I get it. I had brain cancer. My head expectedly would look bit different. However, I was not prepared for the additional disaster area of my chest/abdomen. Brain cancer wasn’t supposed to involve abdominal surgery with permanent scarring down the front of my entire body. That wasn’t in the manual!
My stomach is also so swollen that I look about 10-months pregnant. I am a very petite person. It’s not a cute look. In being such an intensly active person, my core was always so strong. Now, I can’t stand up straight because of the sutures and the swelling. I hobble around like an 80-year-old woman.
I hate that my poor husband has to look at me this way. He is beyond amazing and justifyably tells me I’m being crazy. He is not afraid to look at me, but I am.
I feel petty even complaining about these things. Big picture – I’m alive! So, so many brain cancer patients are not as fortunate. Also, I’m sitting in my own home, on my couch, next to my incredible husband and my adorable pup. I am not in the hospital. I am not in a rehab facility trying to fight serious neurologic side effects. Yet, I now know, I am allowed to grieve the “former me”.
I still do have everything I could truly want in life. But boy, I just wish I had never walked into that bar with Freddy a few weeks ago. I should’ve just stayed the hell home! “Brain Cancer You Are A “B….!”