There. High on top of my head is what Kitt calls my second badge of honor - my sixteen stitches, crawling down to my left posterior parietal region, branding it with "C" like a cow's.
To me, I look like this comical cartoon character "Niknok" who has a clump of hair strands that sticks out above his head, resembling Alfalfa's of Little Rascals. It is the same bunch of hair that gives me a weird sensation when I lie on my back at night, poking my scalp almost endlessly until I give up and tilt my head to the right. What do I expect? He is after all a neurosurgeon, not a hair stylist (retorting to myself with a sigh)! So, I forgive him for the uneven cut, like that of a mohawk, which understated my sense of style.
I didn't expect that the doctor would recommend craniotomy (as scary as the word sounds, it is opening the skull to remove whatever is wrong inside) following the embolization (i.e. insterting a catheter to the groin and blocking the blood that flows through the abnormal area) to treat my AVM (Alteriovenous Malformation) which was diagnosed five months ago. It was not a big surprise though, because it took me less than two minutes to decide to go ahead, a hundred times faster than convincing myself whether I deserve to buy a new bag.
Perhaps, it was the knowledge that behind me are the best doctors in a hospital where endovascular neurosurgery is the specialization (Dr. Berenstein is among the top 3 endovascular surgeons in the world, if not the best; while Dr. Ghatan is the Vice-Chairman of the Neurosurgery Department). Perhaps, it was the feeling that I could not live my life always scared, always worrying when the next seizure would occur... or the bedtime preparation of wrapping the rosary in my hand, positioning my body on my side and praying terribly that the night will go through normally as it should be. This agonizing feeling made me think whether a heart attack would take me first than a fit. I despise it altogether with me replaying the scene in my head of my first (and only) seizure, looking at my husband in confusion why he was asking me a series of questions, of my friends staring at me in terror, the giddiness and the ambulance rushing me to the hospital.
Despite the stellar recognitions from the doctors, I was oriented of the risks that may happen during and post the operation (e.g. bleeding, harming the blood vessels, stroke, muscle atrophy, death). I don't know where I got all the courage but when you've done your best, had talked to the people you would leave behind (in case), accepted and surrendered all you have to the Sovereign Being, more than courage, there is peace of mind.
I was admitted to the hospital on a Sunday, followed by embolization the next day and surgery on Tuesday. I was sent back to the operating room on the same day after confirming that I had bleeding and had to drain the blood by having a separate hole for the tube. On Thursday, I let out a loud cry after the doctor forced to remove the tube for the drain in my head. The following day, I was discharged and on Saturday, I was out, strolling at the mall and watching a movie.
The recovery was fast but I also realized that my mental state was not so back yet. For days, I was staring at my credit card bills, asking myself how to do the accounting. When someone asked me to explain something (be it in my native language or in English), I paused to digest the question and asked him to repeat it again. When I was alone with my husband, I would ask him the dumbest stuffs, where no one can judge my true impairment. He would also patiently wash my hair, apply antiseptic to my incision every day, and deal with my unpredictable moods. For these few days, I was already thinking about contingency plans just in case I cannot go back to my normal duties soon but I resisted the idea that I will forever be limited. I told myself that I have a choice - to think that I am twice better now or, I am worse than before. Optimism prevailed. Days had gone by since my hospital discharge and my brain was picking up things faster. I think I am back in the game.
We had an amazing time going around the States despite my husband's anxiety whether he could bring me back home safe and not a vegetable. My dear aunt and uncle were so worried during my operation but they never failed to constantly show support and selfless love. Above all, I am so touched of all the encouragement and well-wishes of my extended family, relatives and friends.
Until now, my mom cannot still look at my head straight without any disgust. Really, it was a hell lot to take in and a hell lot to be thankful for.
Never doubt God’s goodness. He is truly amazing. Truly and incredibly amazing.
March 6, a day after my surgery
March 16, at Strawberry Fields in Central Park
P.S.
This is my second badge of honor, after my husband considered that my stressful look a year ago was the first. And I swear, if he tells me of a third form of bravery, I will demand a facial plastic surgery as a placement fee.
