Power in the Plan, part 1

It's amazing how life treats us. The last few days have been the lowest yet. On Monday, Steve and I saw our primary care doctor so that he could help us to coordinate my care, which has already been dispersed among four different specialists, with more likely to come. Although he was helpful and reassuring, when I shared with him that I felt like I was slow in recovering from being sick--dizziness, unsettling memory lapses, and utter exhaustion by two or three o'clock in the afternoon--he told me that I was being optimistic if I thought I would just bounce back, as some symptoms will persist for at least six months and maybe as long as a year. Meningitis is a multi-system infection, he explained, that really takes a toll on the body. How depressing. It's pretty difficult to be upbeat and positive when I can hardly get out of bed in the morning and shower before feeling like I need a nap! This is so not me--I am a do-er. And to not be able to do as well or as quickly or as much as before has been a little rough on my spirits.

In addition, Steve asked the doctor some tough questions about my impending surgery. I say tough not because they were hard to ask, or hard to answer, but because, for me, they were hard to think about, the answers difficult to hear. However, it's time for me to start thinking about exactly what will be happening to me under the knife, the saw, this blade and that one. Some people might be able to go through something like this knowing little, trusting completely in the care of their doctors. But not me. I'm a watcher. I watch every needle stick, every drawing of blood, I like to sit over the wing on an airplane so that I can pretend I understand how it works--because if those flaps are moving, the plane must be working, and surely we will land safely. This is me, falsely reassured even though in reality I comprehend as little as the person next to me who doesn't even look out the window.

Still, it's upsetting to think about the details. Yuck. So I was apprehensive, to say the least, when we met yesterday with Dr. Badie at the City of Hope. It's overwhelming to be in such a place. We sat with, walked past many people who will not live, whose diseases will end their lives, and soon. What does being there mean for me? Am I like them? Is my life endangered as theirs are? Powerful questions. However, from the very beginning, we were comforted by our visit. The hospital runs like a well-designed watch--from the moment we arrived, we were escorted and advised. Sit here, wait here, talk to this woman here, fill out this form, and finally we saw the doctor.

Dr. Badie, whose name is pronounced "bad-eee," accent on the second syllable, is roughly our age, thin, handsome, and very kind. He spent his entire academic life--bachelor's, MD, internship and residency--at UCLA. Not too slouchy. He then began his career at the University of Wisconsin, where he participated in groundbreaking work in tumor research. He was there for ten years. He returned home to Southern California, however, when the City of Hope came calling. His reasons for returning? He has the opportunity here to bring recognition to the work COH is doing in tumor eradication, including some crazy genetic engineering work he is involved with. He is the director of neurosurgery and the head of the brain tumor program. Again, not bad. In addition, he also returned to Southern California because he missed seeing his kids play outside (apparently, In Wisconsin, kids play in the basement six months of the year!), and his family is here--brothers and sisters. For some reason, hearing him talk about his family was reassuring to both Steve and me.

On to the good stuff: yes, the tumor must be removed. Yes, we can wait until summer but not longer. Yes, it is in a great location for uncomplicated access and removal. Some of the topics on which he disagreed with the first surgeon--he thinks the surgery will take about two hours (compared to 4-6), he thinks I can be out of the hospital in three days (compared to 4-5), and he thinks I will be on anti-seizure medicine afterwards for only about 2-3 weeks (instead of three months). In addition, he doesn't see the need for steroids, as he thinks there will be little or no swelling of the brain after surgery. He did say that there would be bleeding, as tumors attach themselves to blood vessels in order to survive and grow, but he thinks he will be able to manage this easily. He does not see major vessel involvement, at least on a preliminary review of the MRI. All good. However, he doesn't think I will drive again until after I finish the medication, a much more conservative estimate than Dr. Anker gave us, and he believes I will need at least four weeks before I am ready to get busy with any kind of real activity besides a little computer time (and Yankees baseball watching?). Although this, too, is a more conservative number, it makes sense to me, given the difficulty I am having getting back on my feet since being ill. And this surgery will be a whole different ballgame.

Sorry--got to get a move on this morning. Part 2 soon, I promise!