Scarred (eBook)

Chapter 2:

Dealing with the Devil

My eyes stung as I struggled to open them, so I shut them tightly. A few moments later, I tried again, hoping it would be different, a little easier this time. Effort after effort, I managed to open my eyes, but it drained me of all my energy.

I was alive, but barely.

A wave of nausea followed by vertigo hit me while I lay still. Taking a deep breath, I focused on keeping my eyes open and instantly wished I hadn’t woken up.

Breath after breath, my body felt lighter, as if I were floating. I became so content laying on that comfy pillow that I could’ve died right there and been okay with that. Yet, I could sense that it was bad news from then onward. Based on the number of seizures I had, I could tell I was not doing well. . . or the neurosurgeon did not do well. So, I mustered up the courage to ask what I already suspected.

“How did we do?” I was terrified of the response I received. It would not have been good. I wish she had never told me.

She had somewhat of a calming but guilty voice. “Forty percent. You just need to rest.” Just forty percent?

They had a reason for it. It was initially planned as a five-hour-long surgery, as I was told by the team of doctors, but I started having seizures after one and a half hours on the table, so naturally, it had to be cut short. It was what it was.

Then I passed out again.

After what felt like a moment or perhaps a century, a voice came out of nowhere, dragging me back to reality. “You have a lot of visitors to see you,” said the nurse pushing the hospital gurney I was being wheeled out on.

But I had other things on my mind. Therefore, I asked the nurse again, “How much did she get out?”

I was deeply afraid that she knew or that forty percent was just a guestimate.

“About forty percent,” the nurse replied. I had two confirmations on the number now.

She paused for a moment and gauged my reaction. She realized I wasn’t thrilled.

“You have about ten people waiting for you. We usually only allow two or three, but we made an exception for you.”

I didn’t say anything but felt a tornado of wild thoughts in my head.

Is it a pity reception because the surgery had gone so wrong?

Or is it a welcoming reception because the hospital staff was very friendly?

Or is it an “All these people came to see you, so we let them in, but they have only a few minutes?”

It hurt my head a little more. I was experiencing many emotions all at once and felt deeply about each. At the same time, my mind was foggy, too. I wondered if that was how everyone going through a craniotomy felt. My brain was very inflamed. Rational thoughts faded in and out.

Getting wheeled out was so awkward. As I came out, I received a lot of blank stares and wary expressions. They didn’t know what to say or how to greet me. They also didn’t realize that I was fully doped with an enormous cap around my head that looked like something from the Coneheads.

“Only forty percent,” was what I could say to them. But they already knew before I got there. A nurse who had been in the operating room had told them with chagrin. They expected I wouldn’t be happy. That probably was the reason they let them all in.

I had the feeling of a circus animal with all those eyes staring at me. I was too broken by the outcome to feel relieved. So sad that the emotion of anger was no longer possible at that point. So desperate at the moment.

Sydney, Bryce, and my dad were there. They couldn’t even put on a fake smile. Sydney’s eyes were red from crying, Bryce looked uncomfortable just being in a hospital, and my dad was jittery. The others were Kristen, John, and Maddie’s clan. Maddie’s own mother probably took it harder than anyone besides my girlfriend. Maddie climbed on my bed to hold my hand, making me feel that I had all the support I needed. The next thing that came up was my dad quizzing me with sports trivia.

“Who’s the Eagles quarterback?” I used all of my brain cells. “Carson. . . We. . . We. . . Wentz.” That was typical of him. Only he would say something like that.

“When did they last win the Super Bowl?”

“Never.”

“See, he’s going to be fine.” He shrugged as he looked at nobody in particular.

I would have found that hilarious if my brain didn’t feel like scrambled eggs. Now I wonder, was it for the others, or was it an attempt to make himself feel a little less worried about me? Everyone was trying their best to diffuse the tension in the air. I couldn’t shake the sense of guilt that I was the one who had cancer, that I put them through this, that I had hurt them this badly.

It’s a repetitive cycle. The guilt overtakes me, and in turn, they feel helpless. By feeling helpless there was nothing in the world that could change what I just went through.

Then out of nowhere, this guy in blue scrubs came up to us wearing a funny hat and guitar, which wasn’t funny at all, considering how much I was hurting. I didn’t want to look at him, so I just held Maddie’s hand firmer.

The guy said, “You get two songs.”

It was irritable; I did nothing but blink at him. But the thoughts in my mind were aggravated.

What the heck? You’re wasting minutes being with my friends and family. I noticed he had an MD listed after his name. Even worse. He took the bedside manner piece a little too far. But then, in the next breath, I remembered something.

Oh yeah, why not have him sing happy birthday to my girlfriend? It was a pretty dick move to have brain surgery one day before Maddie’s birthday. So, why not make use of this opportunity?

He began singing. It all felt good for once. I was still in pain, but at least Maddie was smiling. The moment was beautiful; remembering her birthday immediately after brain surgery was also a suave move. My second song was Stairway to Heaven, just to be an ass and see him struggle. He fumbled. Probably not good Karma. At least the neurosurgeon had left that part of my twisted personality in.

Completely missed the tumor, but the humor remained intact.

I shifted in bed uncomfortably once the song was over. Now, get out. Ouch. I needed medicine badly. The pain started setting in as the drugs started wearing off. My memory is hazy after that. I was mostly in and out, but one thing was constant: pain.

As soon as they wheeled me off, puke came out. Waterfalls of puke.

“It’s all right,” the nurses said. They were talking to me like I was a baby. At that point, I had to be treated like one, too. I had never been so physically useless. Nurses were cleaning me off until I got up to my room.

I begged for water, but they knew I’d regurgitate it all out. All I received was a small cup of ice chips. That was good for now. As I twisted and turned, writhing in pain, I accidentally hit a tube. It was connected to me.

A thing that makes every man quiver. The catheter.

The ice chips came out with the puke.

Seizure after seizure. The nurses didn’t know what to do besides infuse Keppra, clean up drool, and continue to wait for changes in treatment.

My body was under attack by something I couldn’t see or control. I was new to the whole seizure thing, so whenever I felt one coming on, I could only just bang on the nearest fixture. I couldn’t scream out loud because words didn’t come out. It seemed like the nurses came into the room every thirty minutes to make sure I hadn’t done harm. My brain couldn’t differentiate a seizure from what may be happening inside my brain. Was something else going on? I often wondered, is this normal?

The neurosurgeon initially told me I would be out of the hospital in three days. That would be a hell of a recovery if that were true. But I knew I wouldn’t leave the walls outside of the hospital room for a while. I was a prisoner with no set sentence.

Maddie slept in the hospital for the next few days, including her birthday, soaked in tears. After visiting hours, the nurses let her sleep in the uncomfortable hospital chair and waiting room. She was really good to me. She did not deserve this. At that point, she transitioned into my caregiver, who I depended on above all else. It was not fair. I was in and out of consciousness, but she was always there each time I opened my eyes. She would always fetch anything that I needed; meanwhile, I was completely helpless on my own.

Moving was exhausting. My muscles were weak and lazy from the painkillers. I did as much as I could from bed. But those nurses were heroes. They did most things for me. Having someone brush your teeth for you is one thing, but using a bathroom pan is demeaning.

I was already pee shy. When they removed the catheter, I strained. I couldn’t leave unless I moved my bowels occasionally. So much Colace and MiraLAX. A confirmation that there was no chance I was getting out of there anytime soon.

The doctors did their rounds daily and before the crack of dawn. I couldn’t comprehend anything they were saying. This is how the conversation went:

“Good morning, Joseph.” Was that a question? Or a statement? I didn’t know who this was. Oh, a doctor. Okay, got it.

“I’m going to ask you some simple questions. It’s part of a neurological exam.”