How
I Survived Brain Surgery
In March 2013. my gait
changed and I found myself walking like a toy soldier. The doctor said I had
'water on the brain' and needed brain surgery.
I work as a writing
instructor and have published two memoirs and a novel. I had been a cover girl,
then an actress who was a Stepford Wife in the film. Today I am a working writer whose columns appear in
various publications.
Writing is Important
to me. I gave up acting to write. Would I be able to write again?
How would I find a surgeon?
I had to be assertive. How would I learn to become my own advocate?
In 1955, my father
suffered a nervous breakdown. Cause? A mystery. A surgeon talked my mother and
my father into his having a new break through operation--a lobotomy. During the
operation, the surgeon discovered my father had been suffering from Parkinson's
disease for which a lobotomy is not a cure. The lobotomy had created permanent
brain damage in the man who had been my hero.
I vowed never to allow
a surgeon to operate on my brain.
In March 2013, after
double vision, an MRI of my brain was taken and I was diagnosed with Normal
Pressure Hydrocephalus. When I Googled NPH, I discovered the pressure slowly
causes nerve damage. It is a buildup of pressure created by an excess amount of
spinal fluid. It could affect my walking and motor skills. It affects football
players from blows to the head. Children are born with it. It can also appear
with no known cause.
Brain surgery is the
only treatment. A surgeon inserts a shunt in the brain. He threads a tube, a
thin silicone catheter, inside the body down to the abdomen where the excess
fluid is released and absorbed.
I wanted to continue
to write.--- to have a quality of life that I had been enjoying while teaching
creative writing, reviewing movies and writing books. I needed this operation.
How could I trust a surgeon after what one had done to my father? I had no
choice. Was I going to allow my life to be ruled by fear? I had to stop
reliving my father's life and research the best surgeons.
The first neurosurgeon
showed me the MRI of my brain.
"These are your
ventricles ," he said, then showed me a normal brain.
When I saw that my
ventricles were swollen like two thumbs and normal ventricles were wafer
thin-like lettuce leaves, I knew I needed a shunt.
"What happens if
I don't have this operation?" I asked.
"Then you should
get your affairs in order," he said.
I didn't like this
threat and crossed this surgeon off my list. Then I focused on two other
surgeons and found former patients to interview. All three surgeons had advised
a lumbar drain of my spinal fluid prior to the operation and each one would
shave a different part of my head, but my decision would not be based on
vanity.
I chose the surgeon
who practiced with the hospital with which my niece, a nurse, was affiliated.
He had an excellent reputation. I was discharged after a four day stay for the
lumbar drain.
"See me in one
week. You do not need the brain operation," my surgeon said. When my niece
saw my poor balance and that I had been discharged without home care, she was
angry.
That night I fell out
of my bed. The next day when I called the esteemed hospital's case manager who
was fearful of a lawsuit, she offered to put me in a rehab. I did not want to
leave home. My niece arranged home care.
A week later
accompanied by a friend, I met with my surgeon who said, "Your walking has
not improved. You need a shunt." I was angry as I did not see the purpose
of the lumbar drain.
"We needed to do
that drain for information," the surgeon said. "I can admit you now
and do the surgery."
"I need some
time," I said as my friend wheeled me out of his office.
I had to come to terms
with my anger. I learned that my surgeon was not responsible for the case
manager's negligence. His unparalleled skill with brain operations was why I
had chosen him.
Within a week I was on
his operating table surrounded by his surgical team of six. When I saw the
serenity in their faces and their calm stealth movements, I was not afraid.
I had no pain. My
surgeon awakened me 45 minutes after the anesthesia. "You had more fluid
than I had thought. The operation went well," he said in his award-winning
,bedside manner. I felt like bricks had been removed from my brain.
Now the hospital sent
me to the best rehab. Within one month I was walking better than ever, feeling
more focused, rejuvenated and had written a piece -"Cory Monteith's
"Accidental" Heroin Death Should be Investigated."-that while I
had been in rehab, to my delight, was published to accolades.
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