Craniotomy Me… Again

When I woke up from my first craniotomy, I felt so alive! I had a waiting room full of people who loved me, and a full understanding of everything that was happening.

When I woke up from my second surgery, it was completely different.

In the recovery room, I remember opening my eyes just one time. I saw the face of a nurse for a fraction of a second, and then the pain became intolerable. So I quickly shut my eyes again, and willed sleep to come. Thankfully, it did.

When consciousness came back to me, I was already in the ICU; I recognized the paint on the wall from my previous craniotomy. Oh no, I thought, something must have gone wrong. I’d gone in that morning for surgery expecting a quick, 15 minute procedure to clean up a possible skin infection. It was supposed to be an outpatient procedure, meaning I would go home that same day.

I reached up, and felt the horribly familiar bandages wrapped around my head. I also had several wrist bands layered on my arm.

“What happened?” I asked my husband, Josh. “You’re okay,” he said. But, I could tell from the crease between his eyebrows and that backwards hat that he was worried.

Over time, throughout waking moments, Josh patiently explained that my neurosurgeon had found a bacterial infection, and it was much deeper than anyone could have guessed. A full craniotomy had been performed. It had taken about 3 and a half hours (nearly as long as my first surgery to remove two meningiomas).

How had this happened? Did I do something wrong?  I remembered how carefully I’d washed my hair after my first craniotomy; with the hospital shampoo exactly as directed. I had adhered to the weight restriction, and took every pill as prescribed. I even changed my pillowcase every day for a month. Yet, somehow, an ugly little germ had beaten my efforts, crept under my skin, and left my body in jeopardy.

If you’ve ever had surgery, you know that “INFECTION” is a bad word. If you’ve ever had brain surgery, you know it’s the mother of all bad words. If the infection reaches your brain, there is very little chance of survival. Thank God, we had caught mine just before it reached that point.

If we had waited any longer to explore the area, I might not be alive today. And, I remembered that many times over those next few days when I was inclined to think “why me,” or “this sucks,” and “it hurts.” Every time I threw up jello; every time a new bag of antibiotics was hung; every time I grit my teeth from pain; every time I tried to stand on legs that I couldn’t feel, I was still so grateful to be alive.

After 3 long days, the bandages came off. My medical team agreed that the incision looked “good” and Josh took a photo to show me where a section of my scalp had been removed to keep the infection from coming back. 

I’m including the photo below, so if you’re squeamish, I suggest scrolling quickly past it.

The test results had come back, and the bacterial infection was confirmed. I required a heavy dose of antibiotics that would need to be given intravenously, which meant that I had two options. I could stay in the hospital for six weeks, or I could get a PICC line.

The thought of having a central line inserted into my arm that dropped medicine directly into my heart was terrifying. But, the thought staying in the hospital for six more weeks was worse. We hadn’t seen our kids since the morning before surgery, and we were ready to get home to them.

A specialized team came into my hospital room, turned it into a sterile surgical environment, and inserted the small purple line that would allow me to go home!

Having had 2 craniotomies in 3 months, we’d become friends with many of the nurses on the floor. They had helped me at my weakest moments, when I couldn’t even put those ugly yellow hospital socks on my own feet, or walk 3 steps to the bathroom. And, they were happy to celebrate with us as we got ready to be released. By “we,” I mean, I stood for one photo while Josh did everything else; packed our bags, took everything to the car, and discussed next steps with my medical team.

When we walked in the door to our house, we discovered that our kitchen had been transformed! A birthday banner was hung, balloons tied to the chair. Beautiful yellow sunflowers, a pumpkin cake (my favorite), and even gifts decorated the counter.

Have I told you yet how awesome my mom-in-law is?

I had spent my 32nd birthday in a hospital bed, recovering from a brain surgery I didn’t expect to have. While that isn’t how I prefer to spend my birthdays, I know that medical intervention is what allows me to continue to have birthdays.

I used to dread turning another year older, but now, I’ll never take for granted being able to blow out the candles again.

This is my story, and I’m just amazed that it is not over yet.