I went to the doc for a regular check up. Nothing major, hadn’t even told Phlome I was going. While there the doc decided to do a quick brain scan, since she had the equipment in her office anyway. Who knows, maybe there’s something behind those headaches and neck pains I’ve been having.
After the scan she called in another doc for a second opinion. They recommended a more thorough scan. Unfortunately it would take about 2 hours for this scan. I asked if I could make an appointment for another day. The doc strongly recommended against it. Things like this can go at any minute.
What!?!?! Things like this? What were they talking about?
“We don’t want to go into it until we’re sure what we’re dealing with. But if it’s what we think it is; it could be life threatening. We wouldn’t be able to get in for a couple weeks if we don’t do it right now. You could be fine for a couple weeks either way.”
I needed to call my husband. He didn’t even know I was going to be late, but there was no time. They had to do it right now. Not 5 minutes from now. NOW.
Fortunately I saw a friend walk by the door. I knew she was a nurse, just not at this doctor’s office.
“Ashley!” I hollered.
“Call Phlome, tell him I’m here, talk to the doctors, they’ll tell you so you can explain it to him.” I frantically told her as I was being laid down on the gurney. I could tell by the look in her eye, and her glance at the doctor that she knew. She probably knew more than I did.
Hell, all I knew was there was something wrong in my head.
Heh - yeah, well we all knew that.
But this, this was something too serious to joke about. Was it a tumor? An aneurism? A blood clot?
Why won’t they tell me?
As I laid my head down, a nurse inserted a needle into my wrist.
“This will help calm you down. We need you to stay perfectly still for this scan. It’s a mild sedative to….”
I heard her gentle voice drift away as I slowly fell asleep.
I woke up and knew they’d escalated. It was like I remembered hearing all of the doctors’ conversations while I was asleep; as if I’d only been semi-unconscious.
They had decided to operate. They had needed to go in immediately. I still wasn’t sure if it was an aneurism or a blood clot. But it was not a tumor… something about nerves. Why wouldn’t anyone explain to me?
I also knew that they knew I was awake. It’s best to have the patient conscious for brain surgeries. They had eased up on the sedatives, and were now only using local anesthesia on my head. I had an IV in my wrist where the nurse had originally injected me with “the mild sedative.”
I also knew they had shaved my head. Because that’s what they have to do to perform open brain surgery.
The scene from Hannibal flashed through my mind.
Things must have gone well, because I fell asleep again. When I woke up they were done. The doctors were all grinning. It had gone very very well. Better than they had expected. There was a scary minute or two when they had trouble reconnecting something. I don’t really know what they were talking about. It was like they were talking around me, over me, but not to me.
Why wouldn’t anyone talk to me? I looked down; I could still see my long hair. I glanced up at the mirror. For some reason they had only shaved the crown of my head. I still had a wring of hair surrounding my skull.
But what’s that?
What are those two lumps on my skull? Is that normal?
Why won’t anyone talk to me?
One of the nurses escorted me out to the waiting room. I was wearing a hospital gown and socks.
I saw Phlome. He looked at me but didn’t smile, as if he were in shock. He didn’t know what to say or how to react. I felt bad for him. Here was his new bride with half her head shaved.
Did I really look that bad? He had a large overnight bag with him. Was that my stuff? Or his? How long had he been here?
How long had I been here? Hours? Days? Weeks?
I turned towards the nurses’ station, where I saw one of my doctors going through some charts.
“What happened?” I demanded
He gave me a very patronizing smile, and gestured towards a nurse. She took me by my arm and escorted me towards the check-out desk.
“Everything is fine. The operation went wonderfully. You’ll be just fine. Let’s get you checked out here so you can go home.”
“But what happened? What are these bumps? Why did you cut into my brain?”
The nurse looked sympathetically up at Phlome and he shrugged is shoulders.
He must be in shock; he wouldn’t just shuffle along like that and not say anything. Is it really that serious that they can’t talk to me about it yet?
“WHY WON’T ANYONE TALK TO ME???!!!” I yelled.
“Why won’t you answer my questions.!?” I sobbed as I overheard the doctor say:
“Give her another sedative; we can’t have her getting that agitated.”
And I blacked out again.
Then I woke up. I rolled over and curled up to Phlome, to tell him all about my disturbing dream as he ran his fingers through my long hair.