Blood and Brains

I’ve discovered that I’m now prone to coming down with get a case of Pre-appointment Crankies whenever I have to go into MGH/MEEI. I guess maybe I’m anticipating news of MORE surgeries and/or procedures being immediately needed. To be fair, this has been the case for most of my visits over the past four+ years.

Early yesterday I had my six week post-brain surgery meeting with my cutter, the Obama lookalike, Doc Will Curry. I was nervous. Of course I was. I’d gotten a note after my last MRI saying that I possibly have a pool of blood—old stuff, not fresh and vibrant—lounging around where my Godzilla-esque former tumor lived. What the hell? The nurse mentioning it didn’t feel it was anything to write home about but, just in case, I was scheduled for a CAT scan (which I had last week).

So, Old Blood Pond? Confirmed in scan. Great. Now what? How will this be remedied? Surely I can’t carry a cup of loose blood around in my frontal lobe forever. (I don’t actually know the fer reals, precise amount but it’s less than an Olympic pool’s worth) I mean, wouldn’t a stagnant puddle of Donna juice get all nasty? Possibly heinously stinky? Attract mosquitos? Could it muck up important brain bits? Like, maybe the gears that make it so I breathe automatically or the gear that enables me to remember my name or that cog that’s gotta cog so I can pee?

Would I need MORE fucking surgery to get the Lago de Sangre drained? I was all set to suggest to Doc Curry that they should instead get a vampire and a bendy straw (just drill a wee hole) for a win/win solution. Ya see, the vamp could have a wee snack and, in return, I’d lose the excess, stale, possibly odiferous life-juice. Here’s the only deal, they’d need to get one of those handsome sparkly bloodsuckers like Eric Northman from True Blood and Louis de Pointe du Lac of Interview with the Vampire teevee fame. Hmmm, I think these two may not count as sparkle vamps. That seems specific to the fang crowd on that awful tween/teen romance show The Twilight Saga.

Shockingly, I seem to have gone off on a tangent. Back to my appointment…

As it turns out, all that old blood is and will be reabsorbed into the veins and tissue around it! How neat and tidy is that? So, I get to escape returning to the OR for now.

Also, it’s not a Danger, Will Robinson, Danger sign that I had such soul sucking fatigue during first three or so weeks post-op. Why not?

For starters, after surgery I’m usually in hospital five nights, versus this past round’s two. Next, after the each of the four neuro-ops of ‘20 - '21, I was in Spaulding Rehab for up to a month. That was a LOT of rest and inpatient physical therapy before getting home.

Of course I was sleeping and napping so much after coming directly home two nights after big-ass brain slice-age. (I keep downplaying my surgeries but, even the less intense ones, really are huge horking deals. I mean, it's fucking brain and spine shit. Those are kind of important and delicate parts of my anatomy, no?)

The intense fatigue could also be me experiencing the cumulative emotional and physical effects of having had five ginormous surgeries in the space of four measly years (six in the last six years) plus proton radiation, chemo and some dental surgery.

I’m tired! Also older. I seem to have sorta, kinda slipped the forgiving bonds of youthful, boundless resiliency.

Oopsie!

So, Curry says it might take a touch longer to get back into Wonder Woman form BUT I’ll get there. Every day I'm able to move and exercise a bit more.

On the main, the good surgeon was happy with my progress.

Now for the REALLY great news—not only have I NOT gained any weight during these weakened, slothful weeks, where all I seem to do is laze about, eat and doomscroll, I’ve shed a couple pounds. There’s been weight loss NOT gain! I was seriously concerned. I’ve got enough wrong with me. I don’t need excess-weight related problems on top of all my stupid tumor troubles.