Thinking ahead

I saw a recent news article where experts in adolescence health care are advocating head images for all teenagers. They want better screening for kids who have depression.  Selfishly speaking, I hope these experts get their way.  

Think about it. Science has given us the ability to see inside our skull! Depression can be helped, so it is important to get these kids on treatment. But adult brains are important, too!

Statistics show that 1 in 20 people have brain aneurysms. This statistic is roughly the same as the number of teens with depression. Why can’t we screen everyone?

 Just one MRI  would have proven to my family doctor that my fatigue and depression-like symptoms were not caused by “getting older” or poor attitude. Yes, the MRI would have been expensive. Yes, I still would have needed surgery to fix the little suckers that pulsed like silent time bombs in my brain. But an MRI before my brain blew up would have avoided that whole near-death experience and the resulting 30-plus days in the intensive care unit.

Look at it this way: Saving my lowly, single brain cost about the same as 25,000 MRI’s or 50,000 head CTs. Compared to many people who rupture a brain aneurysm, my bill was not too bad. Despite the fact that my head went through two strokes and three brain surgeries, I needed no extra hospitalization for rehabilitation. Nor did I need months of outpatient therapy to get my pesky brain cells back in sync.

Experience tells me that screening the brain is a better alternative than misery or death. What do you think?

Recognizing Miracles When We See Them

San Diego, here we come! Our youngest son, the Grand Finale, is graduating from boot camp into the Marine Corps. It’s an accomplishment few achieve.  We are proud of him.

The fact that he made it through such grueling physical and mental challenge is amazing. It’s a miracle, actually. When he came to our home, he was one day shy of his first birthday and weighed a scant 12 pounds. In this era of robust babies and toddlers, he was so small his height and weight wasn’t even  listed on the medical growth chart for his age.

Sadly, his size was not as puzzling as his strength. He could barely sit without support. Walking? No way. This little guy couldn’t crawl much, let alone stand.  So I took him to his doctor, a highly respected pediatrician. That doctor checked over the little guy and told me, “Don’t get your hopes up. He was born a low muscle-tone baby and he will always be a low muscle-tone kid.”

WHAT? GIVE UP? Was this God’s plan for the boy?

I remember bundling up the Little Guy and saying, “I can’t believe you pre-destine children.” The next day our family doctor gave that foster baby a going over, discovering elevated lead levels, anemia, RSV and a slightly clubbed foot.  When we adopted him three years later, our boy’s cheeks were rosy, his eyes bright, his smile mischievous, his weight and height smack in the middle of the growth chart. Could he walk? You bet. Run? Like the wind. Climb? Like a monkey. In short, the low-muscle-toned kid was gone. Taking his place was a boy with incredible strength, humor, resiliency and determination.

People said it was a miracle. For a long time I agreed. But now, having defied the odds of survival myself, I see that miracles don’t just happen. They are created.

Would our boy have grown into Marine-caliber strength if I had believed his first doctor’s prognosis? Would he have played hockey, football and lacrosse if I told him he would never be strong enough to compete? Would I be alive to fly to San Diego for his all-important graduation if my own doctors had given up on me? What if they believed the odds of my survival were too dismal to overcome?

Every day is a new adventure. Some adventures are challenging, scary and hard. Others are exciting, easy and joyful. But if we don’t embrace all of our adventures and take each journey with spirit, optimism and resolve, how will we know what can happen?

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 »

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 »