They Tried To Make Me Go To Rehab… And I Go, Go, Go

After a week in ICU following my 7th brain surgery, I was sent to inpatient acute rehab. Since they seriously work me here, this won’t be a long, deeply reflective post. I’m definitely “on the go” constantly here.

Nevertheless, I did think it was important to post about my experience thus far.

This is actually my 2nd stint in an acute rehab facility. In fact, back in 2017 when I had to be transferred to an inpatient rehabilitation facility my doctors tried to get me into this particular rehab. Unfortunately, there were no beds available and thus, I wound up in a very good facility. However, it’s nothing like this experience!

I’d say I’m currently in the “creme de la creme” of neurological rehab facilities. It’s pretty rare to have absolutely NO complaints about a healthcare facility these days. Yet, I don’t have a single issue and can only sing the praises of every single staff member. From the doctors to the men who clean the floors, everyone is truly amazing.

I’ve been here for two weeks now, and have another half week ahead of me. Okay. I am getting a bit tired of the same food options, but if that’s my only gripe-that’s pretty darn fantastic!

Before this last surgery, I could barely walk. I was in constant fear of falling, and for good reason. I was basically falling every day. I had no balance. I slept until noon, on good days! My body was so fatigued it took every once of energy to simply get out of bed. Then, I’d merely move to my couch. Let’s just say I blew through countless Netflix movies and series. Around 8:00 p.m. I’d be asking my husband to bring me back into the bedroom. I’d take a quick shower or bath, and I was done.

My day here includes:

•Wake up at 8:00 a.m. & eat breakfast

•Start physical therapy around 10 p.m. and work on balance exercises, walking with and without my cane (Yes!), using the treadmill, walking along the unit, etc.

•Speech/Cognitive therapy immediately afterward

•Lunch at noon

•Then, occupational therapy where I work out my weakened left arm through stretches and a state-of-the-art robot that measures my range of motion. It’s pretty cool, I have to say. We also work on “Activities of Daily Living” (ADLs) like how to step into the shower safely, cooking a meal or doing laundry. Now, I’m doing squats to pick things up and not dropping everything I put in my hand.

•Once my standard therapies are over, I can join a gym class, go to art therapy, and/or horticultural therapy (potting an array of beautiful plants and learning how to care for them).

I can achieve all of this before 4:00 p.m.! Prior to this surgery, I was barely able to function never mind participating in so many amazing activities before the sun goes down.

I’d never imagine eating dinner at 4:45, but it’s the early early bird special here!

By the time I finish dinner, it’s time to shower-up and start getting ready for bed. Who knows? Maybe this night owl just may learn to become an early bird… Realistically though, probably not.

It’s amazing what these dedicated professionals can do for people like me with such extreme neurologic deficits. It’s even more fascinating what they do for people much worse-off than me.

The brain is truly an incredible thing.

Post-Op and the Dreaded Neuro-Observation Area

Post-Op

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I woke up in the post-op room, but I don’t remember feeling any pain whatsoever.  Frankly, I felt high as a kite!  Those were some gooood meds!  My whole family was shocked because I was wide awake, cracking jokes and acting as though everything was fine.  My surgeon came back to see me and I continued to joke telling him, “I’ve had worse hangovers!”  (My relationship with my neurosurgeon has always been light and sarcastic, which I love)

The nurse eventually told my family I needed to rest and once they left, I don’t remember much of that post-op room except for feeling strangely comfortable there.  (Again, they were some gooood meds!)

Post-Op Neuro-Observation

It was when they moved me to the neuro-observation room that hell broke loose.  The meds began to ware off.  I could feel the intense pressure of the awful gauze turban.  (I HATE that thing)  It was also nighttime.  I had a horrible fear of nighttime/bedtime suffering from years and years of insomnia.  I also had new nurses, who I particularly didn’t like much.  It was dark in there.  I was closed off in my own little section, curtained between three other patients who themselves had just survived brain surgery.  It was not a pleasant space.

The worst came when they advised I would have to undergo a post-op MRI.  It was then I suffered the first panic attack of my life.  I’ll be honest.  Looking back, the nurse and the nurse’s assistant did not handle it well.  The nurse said in a slightly obnoxious tone, “She’s having some sort of panic attack.”  The nurse’s assistant, a very large and aggressive woman, held me down.  Kindly, they at least IVed some meds and I did calm down.

Thankfully, and because my neurosurgeon is A-mazing, there was a total resection of the tumor.  I was technically “cancer free” which is a term I still don’t apply to myself even now.

Although I understand it and accept it now through therapy, my husband refused to stay with me that night.  Was it the best, kindest thing to do?  No.  Did he handle it well?  No.  However, I forgive him.  It was all just too overwhelming for us.

So, after he left, the second panic attack of my life came on.  I don’t remember much of it or how the nurse handled that one, but I know it happened.  Maybe I’ve blocked it out, for good reason.

Eventually, it came time to leave that dreaded area.  I hate that I’ve returned there two more times since.

Operation Day and the Surgery

Operation Day!

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I vaguely remember waking up that morning, getting to the hospital and walking onto the surgical reception floor.  I also vaguely remember, practically whispering, “I am here for surgery.”  I waited in the reception area with my husband and parents before they called me back.  My mother would not sit still.  So, I was the one who kept having to calm her down, never mind that I was the one facing surgery.

I was the first scheduled case, so there wasn’t too much time before they called my name.  I walked into a whole new world.  The pre-op room was huge with lines of curtained-off beds.  Could all of these people seriously be going into surgery this morning?  I felt very lucky to have a nurse from Ireland.  It led to easy-going conversation about what parts of Ireland we were all from, and what brought us all to the States.  It helped me forget just a bit where I was and what I was facing.  However, I stayed very quiet.

At that point, I was still scared of needles and IVs (oh, how times change!).  So, they were not fun.  The anesthesiologist came back to talk to me.  He was also comforting and calmed me as best he could.  However, when the moment came to send me into the operating room, I completely and utterly lost it.  I was hysterically crying and found it hard to breathe.  The nurse immediately told the anesthesiologist that they needed to IV some meds ASAP.  It probably wasn’t a good idea to send a patient into the operating room like that.

The meds did work fast, thankfully.  However, I remember being wheeled down the hall and into the vortex of the operating room.  I could hear the MRI machine, as it was yet a noise I was used to – oh, that would come with time.  I stared up at all of the fluorescent lights.  I saw numerous people hurriedly walking around in scrubs.  Then, I saw the anesthesiologist looking down on me.  He asked me to start counting, but I think I got to about the third number before I lost consciousness.

The Surgery

Obviously, I remember nothing of the actual surgery.  That’s surely a blessing, as I’ve heard some patients actually do recall slight moments.  As far as I understand, they used a twilight anesthesia so that they could test my neurological functions with the MRI.  I vaguely remember it coming up, but I can’t confirm that at this moment, nor do I really want to.

So, I underwent a 3-hour craniotomy, defined as “a surgical operation in which a bone flap is temporarily removed from the skull to access the brain.”  The entire tumor was removed, referred to as “full resection.”  A titanium plate was placed in the area and I was then all stitched up.  They placed an awful, horrible gauze turban around my head to prevent swelling.  Amazingly, just a line of hair was shaved, so it was barely noticeable once the turban was removed.  (Getting that turban removed after 3 full days was an incredible physical and mental release).  Then it was off to the post-op recovery room, where I would remain for several hours.