Keeping track of all the trips

Last week was a “trip.” I had a trip to my dentist, a trip to my family doctor, a trip to the optometrist and a trip to get the metal in my head checked.  When I heard the doctor say, “You’ve had a lot of work done,” I’m sorry to admit that I mixed up the week’s medical players and thought the dentist was talking.

Oops.  Wrong doctor.  Let’s blame it on the relaxation medication I was given.

Aneurysm treatment today involves either metal clips or metal coils. What’s used depends on the shape and size of the aneurysm, the recommendation from the team of doctors and the patient’s final decision.  

Clips are put in place by a neurosurgeon who performs an open craniotomy. It’s a permanent fix that involves about a week of hospitalization.  Altogether I have eight clips.

Coils are done by a neuro interventionist who threads the metal from the femoral artery into the brain aneurysm. I have four coils. This less invasive technique involves just one or two nights in the hospital and recovery is a breeze. The downside is that coils need to be checked every now and then to make sure they are doing their job. They are checked with a cerebral angiogram.

My last cerebral angiogram was 18 months ago. Since then, St. Joseph’s opened its new National Brain Aneurysm Center. What a difference! A procedure I was dreading turned into a trip that was surprisingly easy and pleasant. 

Let’s start with my team of caregivers. They were a perfect blend of kindness, friendliness, humor and exceptional skill. Dr. James Goddard was excellent about getting the job done without any surprising brain burns (the dye burns a little when it hits the brain and it burns a whole lot more when you aren’t expecting it).  Most surprising? The hours spent laying flat in bed after the angiogram were not as boring, noisy and chilly as I remembered. Instead I had a nice lunch, a quiet private room for naps and cable TV, and self-controlled warmth from a fabulous invention called a “warming gown.”

I won’t need another recheck for 18 months, so the results of that medical trip were good as well as pleasant. I wish I could say the same for my last trip of the week.

Two days after the cerebral angiogram, I flew to Pensacola, Florida, to visit my son at the Naval Air Station.  I anticipated a few days of warm fun with a family military ball and Blue Angels soaring through the skies. Instead, Hurricane/Tropical Storm Ida swooped in and stormed out, washing away planned activities and balmy sunshine. With temperatures in Minnesota warmer (and drier) than those in Florida, I wished more than once for the warming gown I had worn at St. Joe’s. 

Navigating grocery stores can be a chore

The Brain Aneurysm Support Group at St. Joe’s is high on my “must attend” list. At a recent meeting, our group spanned the decades in age.

One delightful young man was just a few months into recovery. A beautiful young grandmother has an aneurysm that isn’t yet fixed. Some of us have had many aneurysms clipped and coiled. Others have dealt with one or two. Despite our many differences, we share lots of common group, including a great sense of humor and a loathing of grocery stores.

Grocery stores? Yes. Anyone who has recovered from a ruptured brain aneurysm, brain surgery, a stroke, a concussion, a migraine or just a clunk on the head knows about the dreaded trips to get groceries. 

Supermarkets cover thousands of square feet. Lighting is less than friendly to our eyes. Noise comes at us from everywhere—overhead music, announcements, other shoppers, squeaky wheels on carts.  (Is that MY cell phone ringing or someone else’s?) As we shop for our items, we constantly check our lists and coupons, scan bins and shelves, compare prices and brands, steer around displays, and try not to bump into other shoppers.

Getting groceries is, at best, a multi-tasking challenge.  Just when we learn where everything is located, stores move some of the items to a different aisle or display. When that happens, grocery shopping becomes a nightmare.

Yesterday we shared some of our grocery-shopping experiences, frustrations and fears. We offered each other a few ideas to lessen the angst. We laughed a lot.  

Because Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve fall on our usual meeting day, our last meeting for 2009 will be December 10.  If you have a brain aneurysm or have had one fixed, if you’ve ruptured an aneurysm or care about someone who did, you are welcome to join us. It’s free of charge. Just call Tess at the National Brain Aneurysm Center. She will send you a parking pass and make sure there are enough coffee, tea and cookies to go around. Who knows? Maybe YOU can solve our grocery store dilemma!

It is the effort that counts

The weather forecast was for “frost on the pumpkins.”  Unfortunately, the forecast was right.

In the world of gardening, it’s a forecast that causes me to spring into action.  Some plants need to be put to bed. Others must be brought inside. The colorful annuals get a regretful look with words of thanks and goodbye.

I concentrate on the plants I hope to save—geraniums, mandovilla, pathos, philodendron, hibiscus, asparagus fern, Swedish ivy, spider plants, and shamrock.  I know that, with good care, many of these will do fine inside once they get over their shock. Others will struggle, lose their leaves, and need lots of gentle tending. Some, regardless what I do, might die.  

While I was outside a neighbor walked over and pointed out that it would be easier to let the cold kill them all and just start with new plants next spring.  “Why bother?” she asked.

I set down my trowel and thought about it.

“I suppose I do this for the same reason my doctors and nurses work so hard.” I said. “If they hadn’t bothered to try to save me, I wouldn’t be here repotting a shamrock I’ve had for 32 years, or hauling in this 10-year-old geranium. We wouldn’t be even having this discussion.”

My neighbor laughed. “Good point,” she said.

By the end of the day I had one pot left. In it I could put yet another spider plant (it had been a VERY good year for them). Or … I eyed the hibiscus. It hadn’t bloomed this summer. In fact, one of its branches looks dead, one is fine and the other is bare but getting new growth. Should I use my last pot for a sure save, or should I try yet another year to save this once-beautiful, now pathetic plant?

I thought of my neuro surgeons and nurses, of effort /risk vs. a sure bet/ win. Then I filled my last pot and brought it inside. Which plant do you think I picked?

Watching for Signs of Trouble

It has been a strange summer here in Minnesota. Not nearly as hot as it should have been, more rain than normal and a much longer allergy season.  The fuzzy, thick-headedness I get from allergies reminds me now of how tired and thick-headed I felt before my brain blew up.  The truth be told, that feeling makes me a bit nervous today. 

Looking back, I see a whole collection of symptoms that should have been a red-flag. The problem is that, in my case, the symptoms were easily excused by me and my family doctor as “just getting older,” and “stress.” I suspect my experience is the common norm.

What were my symptoms?

1. Fatigue. I was so stinkin’ tired all of the time. The tiredness snuck up on me over a time span of many years. Born with tons of focus and energy, I kept on a-going, much like the Energizer Bunny.  But it was getting harder and harder as the years and months passed.  A year before my brain blew up, I asked my doctor about the increased fatigue.  She told me I was getting older. Six months later, I insisted something else must be causing it, so she ran some thyroid tests. The tests came back normal. At that point, she asked about my emotional health.
2. My body’s temperature-control ability was way out of whack for several years. Long after they should have stopped, hot flashes woke me up at night and flooded over me during the day. On the flip side of that, cold would shiver through my body — even during 80-degree days. When I asked, my doctor told me that some women keep having hot flashes into their 70s. Hearing that was enough to MAKE me depressed.
3. My blood pressure kept creeping up even though my weight was normal. High blood pressure runs in my family, so I accepted this condition as being my genetic curse. Even with medication, my lower number would barely drop into the 80s. I heard a lot about stress and healthy heart living from my doctors.
4. Headaches. For 20 years, I carried a migraine medication with me at all times because the occasional light-flashing, puking headaches were terrifying.  Nearly every day, I’d have a bit of a headache. But ibupropen took enough of the edge off the headache so I wasn’t worried. Everyone gets headaches, right? Besides, my headaches skipped location. Sinus headaches? Sure. Stress headaches, probably.  Sleep-deprived headaches? You bet. Headaches were so normal for me that I didn’t mention them too often to anyone. These mild headaches were much more frequent and constant in the weeks before my aneurysm ruptured. But ragweed and nettle season was nearly upon us, so I figured the headaches were due to allergies.
5. Speech oddities. Normally quick and precise in my language skills, I began noticing times when I was having trouble finishing the ends of my sentences.  Sometimes, I’d forget WHAT I was going to say.  Most often, I’d get lost in the thought I was trying to say. This didn’t happen all of the time. But it happened often enough that I wondered about having an early form of dementia. My husband insisted I ask my doctor about it, so I did. She diagnosed mild depression and prescribed medication.
6. Eye issues. In the months prior to my brain blowing up, I noticed that my left eye saw brighter colors than my right eye. Weird, huh? I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t think it was a big deal. I could still SEE out of both eyes. My lifestyle was not affected. And I was getting tired of going to the doctor and being told I was getting older. I decided to wait for my yearly eye appointment. That was a big mistake.
7. Pressure and tightness at the back of my head near the base of my skull. This was something new and different for me and it came on just days before my brain blew up. At first I thought I had slept wrong or pulled a muscle while gardening. The pain wasn’t horrible—just annoying, constant and odd.  I remember wondering whether I should have a doctor check it out.

Hindsight is a great and humbling teacher, isn’t it? I know now that, viewed collectively, my symptoms pointed directly to brain aneurysms. Viewed separately over a span of years, each symptom was easily diagnosed as something else: getting older, stress, lack of sleep, allergy season, lifestyle, depression, etc.

Like many women, I kept on going. I worked, cooked, and took care of the house, yard, pets and family. As the symptoms grew, I kicked myself into putting a positive, humorous spin on growing older. See a neurologist? The thought never crossed my mind.  Instead, I wondered whether to buy a better mattress, start a diet, drink less coffee, lift weights, or see a counselor. I KNEW something was wrong, but what?

It would be tempting to blame my family physician for missing 13 brain aneurysms crammed into one head.  The fact is, family doctors are trained to diagnose single symptoms, not the mysterious collection of symptoms that brain aneurysms exhibit. If blame is to be made, point to me. I nearly lost my life and it was my own fault.  I was too nice, too quick to make jokes, too willing to make excuses, and much too ignorant about the importance of my stroke-prone family background.

Today the birds are singing and the trees are budding. It’s a beautiful day. My head feels a bit thick and it reminds me of how I used to feel.  But I’m clear-headed, too. I know that an antihistamine will work and the allergies will pass. Unlike before, I won’t keep feeling worse and worse.

When Lightning Strikes, You Have to Act

I had a brain storm during dinner one hot July evening. Lightning cracked inside my head. Hot tingling electricity sparked and thrummed throughout my brain. My 17-year old son put down his fork and asked if I was okay.

I remember saying, “No. I don’t think so.” Read the rest of this entry »