A year ago today, I walked in to a Los Angeles hospital at 4:30 in the morning to have brain surgery. An actual craniotomy. To remove an actual brain tumor. Not the imaginary tumors that I used tell my friend Heather that I had every time I felt a headache or toothache. But a real, actual tumor that wasn’t fake or funny. I walked in with Matt and my parents, carrying a Frozen blanket and my stuffed dolphin, Squeaky.
It’s both easy and hard to believe that this was a year ago. Hard in that those days in the hospital feel like they just happened and are remembered very easily. And the feeling of, “wait, it’s been a year and I am still healing and recovering?” But easy in that this year has been filled with monumental change and enough emotion to feel a full and long passage of time. I find myself sitting in quite a different life than I had 12 months ago.
As this anniversary approached, I spent more and more time thinking about everything that I went through. From the first appointment to check the hearing loss I’d started to notice, through the long recovery of brain surgery. And I went through a lot.
But honestly, you know what I’ve thought about the most? And I’m not just saying this to sound good, or sweet, or selfless. I genuinely mean this; that what hits me the most is what everyone did to help me. I’m not gonna lie, this journey didn’t make me feel like I had a very good relationship with luck. But what it has made me feel is a full-hearted, gigantic train wreck-strength gratitude and appreciation for my husband, my family and my friends. My cats. My home. My cup severely runneth over.
My parents came out to LA several days early so that we could have an early Thanksgiving (as I would spend Thanksgiving Day in the hospital) and, wouldn’t you know it, that put them on the sidewalk right next to me when we were walking to pick up pie and I got the call from the adoption agency that Matt and I had been chosen by a birth mother. That they were with me in that moment is nothing short of Magical.
Marlie sent me a blanket with Anna and Elsa from Frozen on it, which was literally with me every second I was in the hospital. I refused to ever be away from it. I made the nurses include it when they changed my bedding. Sister love is powerful.
My friends were angels. A few days before surgery, Heather, Marci, Debby and Stephen (and Johanna in spirit) drove down to my home with a care basket of gifts to help keep me entertained and comfortable in the hospital, and healthy during my recovery. Allison sent me a cozy care blanket in the mail - and this girl was in the middle of college midterms!!, yet ...still thought of me. The night before surgery, Leah came down (I don’t live close to anyone, y’all) and loaned me her bag of good luck tokens that she had collected and been gifted during her many bicycle rides around the US and Canada. These are SUPER special to her, and I can’t imagine how badly she would want to make sure they were never lost, but she loaned them to me, and I was holding them in the hospital bed right before they wheeled me into surgery.
On the day of surgery, I walked into the hospital at 4:30 in the morning and there in the lobby was Jen, with a giant good luck hug and gifts that would help me smile and laugh in recovery. 4:30 in the morning on a work day, you guys.
Jim and Sabra let us borrow their van for nearly the entire length of my parents’ stay, so that my dad could be in a comfortable vehicle, and we could all travel together. This was not just generous but was a lifeline to get my parents to and from the hospital every day, and allowed them to be with Matt and I when I was admitted.
Three days after a successful surgery, I was sent home. Once I was settled, Kelly made me chocolate brownies and cake that Jeffrey drove all the way here from Encinitas and blended so that I could eat them as a milkshake. He also went on a grocery outing with my dad to help stock up with some food.
My mom cleaned my house, made my meals, kept track of my pills with Matt and helped me shower and comb my hair over a sensitive scar. Every day my dad would walk with me to the lamp post at the end of the street, and back, as I regained my strength. And we all watched Hallmark Christmas movies together.
After 2 days at home, I began leaking cerebral fluid and my surgeon ordered me to the ER and back in for a spinal tap, lumbar drain and a miserable 6-day stay. I’d also started suffering some pretty bad facial paralysis on my left side. My parents extended their trip without hesitation, and ended up staying for a month. My dad would help me with my menu at the hospital every morning, and when the food came he would cut everything in tiny pieces for me as it was hard to move my mouth. When I was cleared to go home again, he drove alone from Redondo Beach to downtown LA to come pick me up and stopped by Handels for some well-earned ice cream on the way back. They were away from home for a month, in extremely scary circumstances, and they never complained. Not once. They did not budge. They helped and loved without hesitation, as perfect parents do.
And then there’s Matt. I don’t even know where to begin. Except that I start crying just as I type this. He was perfect. He was endless in every way. In his positivity and optimism, in his commitment to me. Every day he got up, drove to the hospital to hug and comfort me, drove to work, drove back to the hospital and stayed until I fell asleep, then home to feed our cats and try to catch a few hours of sleep. And just like my parents, he didn’t complain once. I never wondered if he would show up, or if he would be there.
My facial paralysis was extremely uncomfortable physically, and pretty damaging emotionally. I could not blink my eye nor did my tear duct work. The left side of my mouth completely drooped and I couldn’t eat easily or swallow liquid. And what I couldn’t do the most…was smile. One side up, one side down. And God bless my husband, he told me then and has told me every day since that I am beautiful. That whatever damage remains is a sign of strength. But it’s not just that he says it. It’s that I know he means it. He is the epitome of love.
And speaking of God blessing someone, I met God for the first time at St Vincent’s Hospital. He sat with me when I was in between visitors one day, when I was crying from discomfort and fear. He did not leave, and I know now that He was sitting there long before I felt Him. Besides the addition of a certain baby Nicholas, my relationship with religion is the most evolving change since surgery.
When I was laying on my back in the hospital bed, all I wanted was to go home. I didn’t dream of an extravagant trip to Europe, or Hawaii, or fancy things I wanted to buy, or adventures I wanted to begin, or bucket list items I was going to attack. I dreamt about the next times I’d be able to hang out with my friends. And I just wanted to be home, with my husband and my kitties. And that’s what I got. My face is still crooked, and I can still only cry with one eye, and my scar still hurts. But I am home. And a year later, it’s still the thing I want most in life…to be healthy and at home with my husband, my son and my kitties. And to endeavor to be the best mommy, wife, daughter, sister, cousin, aunt and friend that I possibly can.
