Many of you have probably wondered why I have blogged nary a word here since Christmas. Well, it's a long story. I'll do my best to explain.
You may recall that I had just received news of a firm date for my DBS surgery, Monday March 4. I was elated. However,the chillly rains of reality soon dampened my enthusiasm.
I returned to the Foothills Hospital here in Calgary on Jan.16 for some pre-operative testing and preparations. I was instructed to not take my Parkinson's meds that morning, so that base-line tests of physical and mental capacities could be performed on me. The same tests were done several days later after I resumed my normal meds schedule.
Sans medications, I felt awful. My voice became unintelligible; my limbs froze weakly at my sides and tremors gripped my entire body. All seemed to be going well in my first no-meds test session with a nurse who is part of the surgery team. Then I did some basic memory testing.
I did not perform well on some simple recall questions. The nurse quickly picked up on this and flagged what could be a potential problem.
Neurologists do not want to do DBS surgery on candidates with failing memories, fearing the procedure could further aggravate essential memory functions.
My memory had been tested six months earlier in preliminary screening and was okay.
This discovery, however, led to three more memory and mental functioning testing sessions -- one a brief session with another nurse and two more three-hour sessions with hospital psychologists -- before an assessment team decided just this past week that my memory was okay and the surgery could indeed proceed this coming Monday.
Stressed doesn't begin to describe how I felt through all of this trial. The surgery I had been looking forward to for at least a year could have been cancelled. Was my brain to betray me? Had Parkinson's begun to gnaw on my memory, too? Was I going to be denied a good chance to reduce my PD symptoms? I even began to question my resolve to undergo the surgery. The last thing I wanted to do was blog about my uncertain future.
A good friend reminded me to heed what I felt in my heart about the procedure more intently than what my intellect was telling me in my worried state. I did, and realized that I was willing to take all the risks this kind of surgery entails in return for a better quality of life. I faced my worst fears and examined them closely.
Now, I envisioned nothing but success.
So here I sit, ready to deliver myself over to a team of surgical experts in about 40 hours for the first part of what will be a two-part surgery, scheduled for Monday and Thursday.
I now sport a practical, surgery-friendly brush cut instead of longer, thick locks of hair that still refuse to grey.
Day 1 is a long day -- up to 12 hours in a conscious state so as to confirm to doctors that electrodes are placed in the correct locations on both sides of my brain. Day 2, the electrical stimulator that will deliver current to my brain will be installed in my chest and connected by wires under my skin to the electrodes.
Right now, I feel like an astronaut must feel strappped into a space capsule atop a huge rocket ready to thunder skyward. There's no turning back, and it's euphoric and terrorizing all at once.
Prayers and positive thoughts are the order of the day (thanks to all who have kindly shown support to Vicki and I).
I'll tell you all about my experiences again soon.
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