Chapter Twenty-Two: Doctor, Daughter, Diva

Saturday, February 29th, 2020:

Our favorite guest author, my mama, is back at it again with another fantastic, slightly embarrassing story to share with you all!

But first, a quick update on how recovery looks during week three post-partial craniotomy.

In short, it looks GREAT. I feel like myself again. I’ve spent the week visiting with family and friends, snuggling with my pup Ridley, reading, writing, working remotely (a little bit, I can’t control myself), and exercising. Given the 10 pound weight restriction and my absolute hatred of the treadmill, I spent an insane number of hours on the StairMaster. I spent almost 10 hours on that dreaded machine this week. I’m now able to climb at my previous speed and can spend 45+ minutes climbing before I get tired. As my wonderful cousin says, “Brain surgery is no excuse to slack” :) I love this and fully agree. I also believe being physically fit prior to my first surgery helped significantly with a speedy recovery.

Yesterday, I met with my neurosurgeon to determine next steps in my treatment plan. I was incredibly nervous for this appointment! There was a small chance he would tell me that the remaining tumor was inoperable. This would have been bad news, because it would have meant I need chemo and radiation fairly soon.

Instead, I received GREAT NEWS. By great news, I mean that I get to have a second, slightly more intense and invasive surgery in about 2-3 weeks. Craniotomy round 2, here we come!!

I’ve never been more excited in my life to hear that I “get to” have another brain surgery. I met up with my parents for dinner after this appointment and we all laughed at how our perspectives have changed over the past few weeks. We all celebrated this “great news.”

Another brain surgery?! No big deal. I got this.

Although this is great news, it does not mean that my cancer will be "cured" or "gone." As I've mentioned, I have a type of brain cancer that cannot be "cured" with surgery. This second surgery will significantly help my prognosis and, hopefully, lengthen my time left on Earth, but I will still live my life with cancer as a "chronic disease." This is ok with me. I have come to terms with this. As Buddha says,

"Though you hold fast, you cannot stay. What benefit is there in being frightened and scared of what is unalterable?"

Additionally, the First Panchen Lama wrote a seventeen-stanza poem that many Tibetans use when reflecting on dying. This poem is thoughtfully interpreted in His Holiness the Dalai Lama in his book, "Advice on Dying." I want to share stanza three today:

"May we realize that there is no time to waste,

Death being definite but the time of death indefinite.

What has gathered will separate, what has been

accumulated will be consumed without residue,

At the end of a rising comes descent, the finality of

birth is death."

Ah. So true. So wise. These ideas help me to face this unexpected life change with happiness, with peace, with understanding.

Now, I turn it over to Mom, who really is an amazing writer. Her story takes us back to the day of my first brain surgery while I was recovering in the hospital:

Wednesday, February 5th, 2020: Immediately post brain surgery #1, as told by Mom

So, I will tell the diva part of the story right off. When we prepared to let Courtney sleep while hospitalized post- biopsy, I approached her to give her a goodnight kiss. She was connected from every conceivable angle with monitoring and intravenous contraptions. I exclaimed that I wanted to kiss her but didn’t know how to approach her! My loopy, much drugged (but ever so funny daughter!) put on her best diva face and gently raised her bare right hand, waiving it graciously in front of me. “You may kiss my hand,” she announced. “And by that, I mean my ring.”

When your daughter is a doctor, the line between nursing her post- surgery and mothering her is fuzzy. You may recall her surgeon allowed her to be discharged 24 hours post-biopsy. Biopsy?? This biopsy was actually a partial open craniotomy. OPEN. CRANIOTOMY.

So off we go, with no more instruction than, “Here’s all her stuff. Don’t forget to stop at the pharmacy.”

Of course, if she weren’t a doctor, the instructions would no doubt have been more complex. In fact, the instructions were about to get much more complex.

She, the daughter, asked us to stop at a local burger joint on the way home. I stayed in the car with her while the rest of the family went in for the order. I knew she was not supposed to be left alone for about 48 hours, so I took this opportunity to casually inquire as to what, precisely, were we looking for?

The doctor answered, not the daughter. “Well, that’s an excellent question. If I begin speaking unintelligibly, call 911. If I appear to be having a seizure, roll me on my side and call 911. If I become unresponsive, call 911.” (I was beginning to detect a pattern.)

“If fluid begins to come out of my ears or nose, call 911.” Fluid?? “Yes. It would either be bloody or clear. If it’s clear, that could be cerebrospinal fluid.”

I hazarded a guess that if that occurred, I should call 911. It was a good guess.

Once we arrived home, she happily enjoyed her burger and spicy fries and gently corrected my mistakes charting her complicated medication dosing schedule. Good thing her brain was still working, because my brain was pretty much shot. I was still reeling from that clear fluid comment.

We didn’t have to call 911 during those 48 hours. We all had lots of hugs, many laughs, and a surplus of love. We had been granted the gift of facing mortality, and you know what? Divas know how to enjoy the moment.

Lovingly,

The mom

(Enjoy some photos of me already being a diva at ages 3 and 5, along with some random photos of the art from Thailand I mentioned in a previous chapter. I bought these two beautiful pieces for $10 outside of Wat Phra Singh (Gold Temple) in Chiang Mai. That $300 I spent on frames…totally worth it!)

Fondly,

Courtney

© CB2020