A Geek's Journey into Brain Cancer Part 5: Say Goodbye To My Lil "Friend"

Tomorrow morning I'll be stumbling into the hospital, bleary and dehydrated, with a screaming headache that's about to get a lot worse and then-possibly-a lot better after that.

They'll put plasic tubes in my arms, weigh me, shave half of my head (PUNK ROCK!) then draw a map on my head ("can you guys draw a kitty on me?") and take vitals.

They'll give my cranium shots of lidocaine; apparently it's an excrutiating prodcedure, but not long-lived.

Then they'll take me into the OR, put my head in the head holder, open up my cranium and scoop out the glioma.  They'll wake me up when they get to the part of the tumor that is closest to my motor strip and make me do vocal warm-ups and other exersizes.  These passionate brain geeks don't just want the tumor out.  They want to restore my full function vocally, which has been reduced and weakened by the tumor.  In the pre-op appointment, during which Dr. Romeo enthusiastically pointed to parts of the tumor and my brain on the screen like a military strategist plotting a complex battle manuver, Jim asked, "So is the tumor just pressing on the motor strip or is it impinging on it?"  Dr Romeo spun around, pointed at Jim, and said, "That's a good question!"

I puffed up a little.  Yep, that's my brilliant boyfriend.

Apparently they won't be able to tell until they get in there.  I might be partially paralyzed, temporarily or for longer. 

 It's a mix of feelings on my end:  "What, all this for lil' ol' me?"  and "Yeaaaahhh, let's kick it's ass for all the young people this fucker could go after!" I've had a damn good run, after all.  Imagine getting this alien invader when you are a child.

Pwople hav been saying, "Good luck!" lately.  The actor in me wants to say, "It's bad luck to wish someone good luck on operning night.  Just tell me to 'break a leg.'"

But the truth is, this is a great surgical team.  One wife of an employee of Jim's had brain surgery with this team nine years ago, and she's good to this day. That's the anecdotal.  Dr Romeo is a tumor specialist, and the rest of the people who will be in the OR are straight up brain geeks.  It's not just that this is what they do.  They have dogs in this fight: reputation, how they feel about the state of their art, and the accumulation of science for the future.  They know what they're doing and they care deeply about it.  Forget luck.  I'll take human passion and pride over luck anyday.  If I needed luck at this juncture I'd be well and truly hosed.
Plus, I am fortunate to get this surgery.  Without treatment, including this surgery, I'd be looking at just a few more weeks here on the planet.  This could buy me months, or best case, possibly even years.  And, I'm hoping, without those brutal headaches. 
 I've already been booked for thirty vocal rehab sessions after healing from the surgery, which takes six weeks.  Rght after the healing the chemo starts, because glio is an efficient, aggressive cancer and we need to start chasing it back and firing all our amo at it before it can go to ground; that's the strategy, anyway.  That's how you lead a bug hunt.

When I wake up in ICU I'll be sore, cranky, viciously dehydrated, stinky and whiney.  What a sweet package for the long-suffering boyfriend and my Mom, whom I haven't seen in person in a couple years.

But how incredibly lucky am I to be able to get this thing out of my skull?!  And to be in love with someone who shows up like Sam for Frodo.  Like I think-and hope- I would.

People love to talk prayers, and I think it's lovely to make yourself feel better with whatever works.  I like the Buddhist metta phrases*, myself.  But no amount of faith or hope or religion or New Age imaginings have prepared me for this.

Instead, I think D&D pepares you beautifully for this situation.

There's always that moment when you're attacked in a strange underground tunnel facing a Manticore who's been paid to kill you and the DM says, "Roll initiative".  You pick up the D20 and roll, and just for a second you close your eyes and prepare yourself.

Here we go.

Roll initiative.


* May all beings be safe.
May all beings be happy.
May all beings be healthy.
May all beings live with ease.