Well, reality has hit. I'm always amazed at how life can change overnight or in an instant. The short and sweet of it all is that my epileptiologist doesn't want me driving for the next couple of months. First time that I'm not able to drive since the brain surgery. Weird.
People are telling me that I am quite calm and handling it amazingly well. I attribute it to the fact that I think I have been in disbelief. Of course, I believe the physician is overreacting and the neurodiagnostic tech in me has all kinds of "opinions". None of them count when you are the patient and not the tech. I never realized until the last few years how difficult it is to just be the patient. Experiencing life just like any other patient does with the emotions, questions, and concerns; but not over analyzing the situation, self-diagnose, or essentially play the "Doctor" role. Easier said than done, yet highly valuable in order to be able to cope and grow from whatever comes my way.
I think the brain injury experience is teaching me to relax more and face only what is right in front of me. It is not a crisis that I can't drive for awhile. I haven't fallen off the path in the journey, but the road just took a sharp, unexpected curve. A curve that apparently has something to teach me that I didn't learn the other past times that I couldn't drive. I wait expectantly to see what I am supposed to be learning from this.
I type this now as if to say that no driving is going to be a piece of cake, but when I am craving a Peppermint Mocha from Starbucks it might just be a different story. :)
Friday, December 4, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
A new realization
I came to a new awareness recently while having dinner with some friends from college. Why I never realized this before is surprising. My memory problems have a bigger impact on my friends, family, and acquaintances than on me.
That night at dinner with my college roommates, I saw how still amazed people are when I struggle to remember simple things. I usually am very lighthearted when it comes to my memory. I think over the years I've realized that I need to laugh about it, otherwise I would have screamed with frustration all the time.
I have gone my whole life with my memory getting gradually worse. This was to my advantage because the other side was naturally learning to take over. This was good since by the time of the surgery, my hippocampus was shriveled up like a prune. It wasn't doing me much good so removing it wasn't much of a loss. I think I am so used to the deficits that coping and making adjustments is a natural part of functioning for me.
As we laughed because I realized they had told me the same story on several occasions, I thought how everything is either new or vaguely familiar to me. My friends and family are so patient with telling me things multiple times. I wondered that night how much more they adapt for me in this area than what I realized. It made me pause and realize that my memory deficits impact them way more than me. I'm so used to it, but they are still caught off guard by it on occasion. It makes me even more grateful and appreciative for my family, friends, and colleagues. I came to a new awareness that night of the many "silent" sacrifices that they have given to me and continue to do so.
That night at dinner with my college roommates, I saw how still amazed people are when I struggle to remember simple things. I usually am very lighthearted when it comes to my memory. I think over the years I've realized that I need to laugh about it, otherwise I would have screamed with frustration all the time.
I have gone my whole life with my memory getting gradually worse. This was to my advantage because the other side was naturally learning to take over. This was good since by the time of the surgery, my hippocampus was shriveled up like a prune. It wasn't doing me much good so removing it wasn't much of a loss. I think I am so used to the deficits that coping and making adjustments is a natural part of functioning for me.
As we laughed because I realized they had told me the same story on several occasions, I thought how everything is either new or vaguely familiar to me. My friends and family are so patient with telling me things multiple times. I wondered that night how much more they adapt for me in this area than what I realized. It made me pause and realize that my memory deficits impact them way more than me. I'm so used to it, but they are still caught off guard by it on occasion. It makes me even more grateful and appreciative for my family, friends, and colleagues. I came to a new awareness that night of the many "silent" sacrifices that they have given to me and continue to do so.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Courageous spirit
The semester has started again! I wrote a paper for an assignment last week, and I just realized how the theme of the paper applies to my blog. It was a personal essay written about a characteristic you have and how it applies to your future career.
As I felt the razor on my head and the weight of my hair slipping away, I was filled with anxious anticipation of what was to come. As I faced the next several hours of brain surgery, my courageous spirit was taking root and growing. This courage, which enabled me to arrive at this moment, would continue to serve me on my life’s journey.
Why would courage be one of my greatest personal strengths? It takes courage to face the unknown, as well as to face the “what-ifs.” What if something went wrong during the surgery? What if I still had seizures when it was all over? What if they resected too much or too little of my brain tissue? Courage would be needed to face the unknown, daily battle of a brain injury, and to believe that I made the right decision in the long run.
For unknown reasons, I began having seizures when I was four years old. While growing up I would have an occasional seizure. As tests and equipment advanced technologically over the years, doctors discovered a cyst in my left temporal lobe; but medicine evolved as well, and I was able to live a fairly healthy childhood. I credit my parents for much of this. They modeled courage for me, teaching me that I was not my epilepsy, only that it was a small portion of my larger world. Seizures didn’t control who I was or my accomplishments in life, they taught me.
As I grew older and out of adolescence, the seizures worsened. By my mid-twenties, I was having seizures every day. On multiple seizure medications, I felt like a walking zombie. My memory and cognitive skills worsened and left much to be desired. Often, people could not tell I was having a seizure. I would come out of one and find myself in a different room and wonder how I got there. Other times, I would alert from a seizure to find strangers staring at me. I soon learned not to worry what others thought of me. When I could no longer drive after losing my license, I had to have the courage to ask others for assistance. I learned that others wanted to help if I would just let them.
Since I also work in the field of neurology, I see a lot of patients in my situation, but never did I imagine being where I was at that point. When a person gets to a point of complete desperation and feeling no other solutions, this is when courage kicks in. It was then that I realized that surgery was my only hope for any chance of a decent quality of life.
I hear a grinding noise which brings me out of my flashback of my journey. I go in and out of awareness and the noise continues. It sounds like a drill. Oh, yes, it is and I can feel the pressure now. Talk about a major headache! After some time, the anesthesiologist asks me how I’m doing. I remember telling him that I was good, but the drilling was becoming a little annoying. I heard some people laugh. As I became more alert, I remember thinking how cool it was to be alert during my own brain surgery!
My courage is not located in my life-long battle of seizures, or in the brain surgery itself; but rather in facing the months and years which have followed the surgery. I recovered very quickly from the operation and was back to work in about eight weeks. But adjusting to the changes of having a brain injury has required me to call upon my reserves of courage. Living without most of my left temporal lobe has caused a battle with depression, memory problems, and changes in my executive functions.
It was in these challenges that I developed more of a passion for the psychological component of the brain. I’ve spent so many years focusing on the medical/neurophysiology aspect of the brain that I never stopped to consider the portion that the psychological role plays. It was then I decided to pursue psychology in light of my experience in neurology. Facing the challenges against me head on instead of running from them, I decided to finish my undergraduate degree. I realized that you only have one chance at life. While my repaired brain is still working, I’m going to use what is left of it!
As I felt the razor on my head and the weight of my hair slipping away, I was filled with anxious anticipation of what was to come. As I faced the next several hours of brain surgery, my courageous spirit was taking root and growing. This courage, which enabled me to arrive at this moment, would continue to serve me on my life’s journey.
Why would courage be one of my greatest personal strengths? It takes courage to face the unknown, as well as to face the “what-ifs.” What if something went wrong during the surgery? What if I still had seizures when it was all over? What if they resected too much or too little of my brain tissue? Courage would be needed to face the unknown, daily battle of a brain injury, and to believe that I made the right decision in the long run.
For unknown reasons, I began having seizures when I was four years old. While growing up I would have an occasional seizure. As tests and equipment advanced technologically over the years, doctors discovered a cyst in my left temporal lobe; but medicine evolved as well, and I was able to live a fairly healthy childhood. I credit my parents for much of this. They modeled courage for me, teaching me that I was not my epilepsy, only that it was a small portion of my larger world. Seizures didn’t control who I was or my accomplishments in life, they taught me.
As I grew older and out of adolescence, the seizures worsened. By my mid-twenties, I was having seizures every day. On multiple seizure medications, I felt like a walking zombie. My memory and cognitive skills worsened and left much to be desired. Often, people could not tell I was having a seizure. I would come out of one and find myself in a different room and wonder how I got there. Other times, I would alert from a seizure to find strangers staring at me. I soon learned not to worry what others thought of me. When I could no longer drive after losing my license, I had to have the courage to ask others for assistance. I learned that others wanted to help if I would just let them.
Since I also work in the field of neurology, I see a lot of patients in my situation, but never did I imagine being where I was at that point. When a person gets to a point of complete desperation and feeling no other solutions, this is when courage kicks in. It was then that I realized that surgery was my only hope for any chance of a decent quality of life.
I hear a grinding noise which brings me out of my flashback of my journey. I go in and out of awareness and the noise continues. It sounds like a drill. Oh, yes, it is and I can feel the pressure now. Talk about a major headache! After some time, the anesthesiologist asks me how I’m doing. I remember telling him that I was good, but the drilling was becoming a little annoying. I heard some people laugh. As I became more alert, I remember thinking how cool it was to be alert during my own brain surgery!
My courage is not located in my life-long battle of seizures, or in the brain surgery itself; but rather in facing the months and years which have followed the surgery. I recovered very quickly from the operation and was back to work in about eight weeks. But adjusting to the changes of having a brain injury has required me to call upon my reserves of courage. Living without most of my left temporal lobe has caused a battle with depression, memory problems, and changes in my executive functions.
It was in these challenges that I developed more of a passion for the psychological component of the brain. I’ve spent so many years focusing on the medical/neurophysiology aspect of the brain that I never stopped to consider the portion that the psychological role plays. It was then I decided to pursue psychology in light of my experience in neurology. Facing the challenges against me head on instead of running from them, I decided to finish my undergraduate degree. I realized that you only have one chance at life. While my repaired brain is still working, I’m going to use what is left of it!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Happy Anniversary??
Wow! Five years ago today was my brain surgery. Not sure if that means Happy Anniversary or Happy Birthday. :) It could be a birthday since my brain was repaired and given new life. Anniversary seems more fitting, because I could say I'm married to this new brain. Whether I like it or not,it's attached to my head! This gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "for better or for worse"! :) One thing can be said, I will never regret having the surgery done.
I remember more about the day than I thought I would. I was awake for most of the surgery. The worst was the drilling that went on for hours. It was a headache in the making. :) My favorite part of the surgery was when they caused me to have a focal motor seizure. As a Neurodiagnostic Tech by trade, I found this absolutely fascinating. My seizures were always more sensory, and so having a focal motor sz in my face was quite an educational experience. (Sorry, I'm a little sick.) :)
My family would be able to recall more things about the day. Of course, they have a different opinion on how it went. It was an emotional day for all of them. I realized years later how hard it was for some of them. That day was the first time most of my family had been in a hospital ICU unit since dad had passed away 3 months before. I realized that no amount of preparing them for what they would see when I came out of surgery would be enough. I love my family and friends for walking through it with me. I will be forever grateful.
How have the last five years been? A journey. No other word to describe it. I stand in awe to this day that I haven't had any major seizures. An amazing miracle! :) Yet, I'm recognizing that my decision to have the surgery would come with many consequences. Some of those consequences I would never had been prepared for. I never understood what my traumatic brain injury patients go through, until I walked in their shoes. What an eye-opening journey it has been.
This is what you call a new but very permanent relationship. It has been a fast five years so I still consider it "new", especially when it doesn't "behave" the way I want. :) It's my new brain no matter if I like it or not. I'm learning to make the best of it, and to cheer all the victories along the way.
I remember more about the day than I thought I would. I was awake for most of the surgery. The worst was the drilling that went on for hours. It was a headache in the making. :) My favorite part of the surgery was when they caused me to have a focal motor seizure. As a Neurodiagnostic Tech by trade, I found this absolutely fascinating. My seizures were always more sensory, and so having a focal motor sz in my face was quite an educational experience. (Sorry, I'm a little sick.) :)
My family would be able to recall more things about the day. Of course, they have a different opinion on how it went. It was an emotional day for all of them. I realized years later how hard it was for some of them. That day was the first time most of my family had been in a hospital ICU unit since dad had passed away 3 months before. I realized that no amount of preparing them for what they would see when I came out of surgery would be enough. I love my family and friends for walking through it with me. I will be forever grateful.
How have the last five years been? A journey. No other word to describe it. I stand in awe to this day that I haven't had any major seizures. An amazing miracle! :) Yet, I'm recognizing that my decision to have the surgery would come with many consequences. Some of those consequences I would never had been prepared for. I never understood what my traumatic brain injury patients go through, until I walked in their shoes. What an eye-opening journey it has been.
This is what you call a new but very permanent relationship. It has been a fast five years so I still consider it "new", especially when it doesn't "behave" the way I want. :) It's my new brain no matter if I like it or not. I'm learning to make the best of it, and to cheer all the victories along the way.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Some Joys from the last five years....
Some time ago I started to make a list of the positive side to having memory problems. I'm finally starting to realize that it is not going to go away and reality tells me it will only get worse the older I get. Having said that, I might as well start making the best of what little memory I still have! So I'm posting this in honor of the upcoming anniversary of my brain surgery on June 28, 2004. What a wild ride it has been!
The Joys of having a Bad Memory
May 2009 (Left partial temporal lobectomy- June 2004)
You can read the same book multiple times and never remember it.
You could potentially save a lot of money, because you don’t recognize clothes from your closet.
It seems that you remember things at exactly the moment you need to remember them……well, then again, sometimes not.
People can tell you confidential things because you will forget it soon anyway.
You can’t hold a grudge no matter how hard you try.
You can watch a movie multiple times for the first time!
It’s kind of amusing to watch the funny looks you get when repeating under your breath the alphabet in an effort to recall a person’s name.
At least I really do have a GOOD excuse for my bad memory!
I’m “fun” to play a new card game with because you have to keep repeating the rules to me over and over again all night. By the next day, I have forgotten what game we played.
You can go into a new adventure in life with no prejudices, because you have already forgotten those things that would have falsely or negatively influenced you.
You can listen to a person tell you the same story on multiple occasions and it doesn’t bother you.
Déjà vu soon becomes second nature to you.
You can reserve the right to keep this list open for further additions, because you can always use the excuse that you forgot to add just one last one...........
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