CSTAR

POWERFUL RESULTS

I am filled with so much power and joy to be writing these words. There hasn’t been enough good news lately, so its important to celebrate these victories fully. All preliminary frozen section results from surgery show no visual evidence of tumor. The damage appears to be leftover from radiation. The full pathology analysis won’t be ready until next week, but probability is (finally) on our side.

What’s the mission? Re-Mission!

It is very possible that there may be microscopic cancer cells hidden in the tissue, which would only be revealed next week after the full pathology report, but the initial analysis reveals no evidence of this. Its absolutely appropriate to be happy right now. We celebrate the great results and are mindful of the possibility manifesting the near future. Plus, that leaves a little more room to celebrate again next week!

SURGERY

The surgery was amazing. It took a lot longer than I expected, as there is considerable setup time for all of the technology used in the endoscope procedures. I was unconscious a lot longer than expected, which is the primary variable in recovery. The day started with an MRI, featuring these weird things stuck to my head:

The lifesavers actually serve as reference points for the endoscope. They do an MRI with these things stuck to my head, and then upload it into the endoscope imaging equipment. These wint-o-green transponders let the surgeons know exactly where they are in my head. Its similar to the way gps satellites determine a position on earth. Wint-o-green gps satellites on my head. Outstanding.

Now, a bit of ranting: I have never had a negative health care experience at Northwestern. Every doctor, technician, and nurse has been competent and professional. The shutout is now over. I was treated by the worst nurse I have ever dealt with while in the recovery area from surgery. I don’t want to get into too much negative energy, but the only way I can describe her is both mean and rude. I told her how much pain I was in, and she mocked me. She’s the reason I still can’t talk today. I am a Gunnery Sergeant of Marines, a cancer survivor, and I have experienced strength and pain that few people can understand. I have spent my life being physically and mentally strong, and have dedicated my service to using this strength to help people who need it. I have never felt helpless before in my life, as I did laying in that hospital bed, isolated by curtains, with a person who refused to help me.

I do not get hysterical or emotional when I am in more pain than I can handle, but that is no excuse for this “nurse”. She repeatedly denied my requests for basic care, as she was “too busy”. She refused to contact my doctors when I asked her to, as I wanted someone else to know what I needed: relief for my throat. I was intubated for a while, and am guessing that the surgery staff had to manipulate the tube quite a bit, because I woke up in a lot of pain. I have been intubated many times, and never been in any pain, much less debilitating. It got worse as the hours wore on. I must have asked her ten times for some food or water or just an ice cube. I could barely breathe, and she accused me of being dramatic.

I don’t take pain killers, I suck it up. I prefer the pain to the loss of control that comes from narcotics. I felt abused, neglected, and disrespected. My doctors showed up and wondered why I had not been treated, as I had no food or drink restrictions. Even after they left, she couldn’t find the time to get me anything. I hate complaining, but I felt it important to make a formal complaint to the hospital. If I ever see her again, I will blow her house down for sure. I was so angry. I will never be helpless again.

SENSATIONAL

No more negativity. Do you remember that I stated that no matter the outcome of the surgery, my trigeminal nerve would be severed and I would lose all feeling on the left side of my face/head?

I have lost no feeling.

By virtue of my years of Catholic school education (K-12), I am confident that I can declare this my first miracle. Only one more and I qualify for canonization! So, if you find a piece of bread that bears my image, you should hold on to it. Its bound to be an appreciating Ebay asset. Qualifying for sainthood has got to make up for some other things. I should at least be breaking even.

I can feel my face. It feels like victory. I have lost a lot, but we won this round. This victory tastes so sweet. I can’t even hardly describe how happy I am today. Broken and bruised, but happy. My only hope from this procedure was to stop guessing and have real information about my health; to wrestle control of my life back from this disease and stop wondering what my future holds. I couldn’t risk hoping for such a positive result. Although I have enough sense to withhold a bit of celebration for next week’s final results, I am high right now. Who needs painkillers when it feels so good to be alive? You have to take the pain in order to have the opportunity to feel this good. I am exhausted, sore, my head is pounding, and I can’t speak. I wouldn’t change a thing.