Maintaining the engine

February is Heart Month and the American Heart Association does a great job getting the word out about heart disease. It’s important information and we are lucky to live in the time and place we do because doctors have gotten really good at fixing hearts.

Most of the time.

Long before my brain blew up, I was diagnosed with heart disease. It was a no brainer for physicians because I have a strong genetic link to heart disease on my dad’s side.  So are aneurysms, but those are harder to diagnose than heart disease.

While in my 20s, I’d have unexplainable bouts of high blood pressure that would go away. In my early 30s, doctors wondered why my heart beat too fast. It, too, would go away, come back, go away. By my late 30s, my diastolic readings were steadily, gradually elevating. In my early 40s and at the doctor’s office for a sinus infection, my doctor took my blood pressure several times, listened to my heart a lot and said, “I’ve had enough of this. It’s time to get you on blood pressure medication.”  

Dutifully, I took blood pressure medication daily. The problem? It didn’t work as well as my doctor hoped.  Basically, the lower reading was a stubborn sucker. With medication, my blood pressure went from 125/105 to 118/95.

Then my brain blew up.

Doctors and nurses at the National Brain Aneurysm Center saved my life. They clipped and coiled, clipped and coiled, clipped and coiled until, eventually, all of the ticking time bombs were gone. In the midst of those surgeries, a magical thing happened: My blood pressure problems disappeared.

Today I can boast readings that make everyone my age envious: 107/65, 110/72, 105/73…

The brain is the engine that drives the body. It tells the lungs to breathe, the eyes to blink and the heart to beat. The lesson: Take care of your heart, but don’t forget about your head. 

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?

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 »

Welcome to Brain Storms!

Greetings! When I graduated from Iowa State University in the mid-1970s, I THOUGHT I had my life mapped. I was too young to appreciate all the twists, turns, choices and changes that were in store for me.  Confidence without wisdom seems to describe that stage of my life.   Read the rest of this entry »