Yeah. And it’s out. I have a diagnosis. And another round of well-intentioned advice from people close to me begins…. Don’t worry about it, it’ll be fine, you’ll be monitored and you’ll just avoid the effort and stress…… My question “what if they want to operate after all” is followed by another dose of reassurance…. Hey, I’ve had surgery too…. leg/abdomen/hand….all the variations are sorted out…. and what, you can’t even tell anymore……Crucially folks, we’re not talking about leg, arm, abdomen…. or the scars you have under layers of clothing. Or the complications you’ve experienced and it’s all good. In my case, I’m at risk of having my skull fractured, and when things go wrong, as they often do in surgery, the brain is the only place in the body where the consequence is irreversible. And the scar can’t hide under clothes either. Yeah, under the hair, but that’s a year away at the earliest. When the bitches grow back. Until then, the head looks like a stitched-up baseball. Like the head of the bride of Frankenstein. Like a really big zipper on the side of your head. All that’s missing is the little rider and you can unzip half your head…..
I sit and cry for a while. Then I remember the doctor’s words that I mustn’t be stressed now, I must be absolutely calm. Great. How am I supposed to do that?
I’ve already had a month of sick leave (as opposed to the originally planned and overly optimistic five days) and my condition is getting better. Incredibly slowly for me, but I’m grateful nonetheless. I can walk without support. I speak without stammering anymore and can remember most of my words. I’m starting to read slowly. I sleep only twice a day. And only about three times a day do I feel like throwing up or dizzy. And great, I don’t trip over my feet when I walk anymore. I’m thinking how it’s slowly getting back to normal. The indomitable optimist….
And I’m already sitting in the neurology room of the Homolka Hospital. The doctor is professional. I guess he has enough patients and we all ask the same questions. We’re scared and illogically want a psychologist rather than a doctor…. Words about it being good belong in other places. The doctor opens my MRI scans, tells me that the aneurysm is clearly visible there, that he will request another CT scan from Motol Hospital, even though I was told there that there was nothing visible on the CT scan. They say it happens…. Therefore, an MRI is required, which is clearly telling in this area….. He shows me my scans and the aneurysm is clearly visible there as a large white dot. There are a few other, smaller ones around and when I ask what they mean they reply that it’s inconclusive for now and they will definitely follow up….. Cool. Looks like a small swarm. Like looking at the constellations on a clear night. One big star and another less bright one around it…..I don’t even want to guess what those little dots might turn out to be. More aneurysms? Hell, we’re dealing with one now and there’s no time to deal with the others.
The doctor decides to take my results to the consilium. I already know this from Motol…. so again, neurology + radiology + neurosurgery, clear. Leave me an e-mail and I’ll email you the results.
It’s Tuesday, the consult is on Friday and I’m waiting and the wait is too damn long this time….
“There are three things in life you can’t get back. The word you spoke, the moment you missed and the time that has passed. So be careful.”
