Author: heiditea

Tea Lover

Two-Year Clip-Aversary

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Me! Brain Aneurysm Survivor
On the anniversary of my ruptured brain aneurysm in 2006 and subsequent coiling, I call it my “Annie-versary” stealing the phrase from other survivors from the Brain Talk Community online who helped me through my recovery. For some reason I feel I need to give my 2nd brain aneurysm procedure (the clipping) a different annual name. Like I’ll be criticized for calling that an Annie-versary too? LOL I doubt it, but I do.

Saturday is the two-year anniversary of the clipping on my second, unruptured brain aneurysm. It turned out to be a delicate aneurysm and it was a delicate time. I had lost my other sister just a few weeks prior to my scheduled surgery and I was wrestling with whether I should go through with the surgery or not. It wasn’t until my niece and mother (who we lost last year) spoke to me and encouraged me to proceed, that I made the final decision to keep the date and proceed. I truly didn’t want to put them through anymore.

I think some angels were watching over me because it was a good thing I DID get the craniotomy & clipping. It was an ugly, thin-walled brain aneurysm that would have surely caused me issues, if not caused my death, at some point down the road.

For my two-year update I’ll recall an earlier format I used to update my family and a few friends on my blog about my recovery process.

FATIGUE: There are still days I KNOW my brain had too much stimulation. It’s difficult to describe other than my brain is tired. I suppose that is something that will never go away. It does get better, but I’ll be able to realize when I need to rest my brain. Not just sleep, but do nothing…think about nothing…just nothing. I need those days still. I also notice my left eye lid will get a bit droopy when I’m overly tired and haven’t eaten much.

PAIN: 
These days, the only pain I feel that is associated directly to the clipping is on the left side of my skull. I have no idea what triggers the pain and I often have difficulty laying on the left side of my head. It “feels” like my brain shifts to the left against my skull and there is pressure there. It’s not a daily pain, but I certainly notice it when it is bothering me and I have to roll over and lay on the right side. Sneezing doesn’t bother me, but coughing really does. I feel it throughout my head and it makes me tired.

NUMBNESS:
 As many people said, including the Dr., this may or may not go away. The skin on my skull hasn’t completely “reconnected” all of the nerves, so a great chunk of it is still numb. I only notice it when others touch my head now. My hair dresser or Dave. At least it’s not painful….just odd. I certainly could have worse issues, so I consider myself lucky.

STITCHES/INCISION:
 I can feel the incision under my hair line and the hair has all grown back so that part isn’t even visible anymore. As the swelling went down and I lost a little bit of weight (20 lbs at one point), the bone flap area “settled” into the skull quite a bit and a dent has appeared. The pins and small plates that secured the bone flap back onto the skull area are also visible and sticking out under the skin on the skull and I most certainly feel them. I’m not crazy about the dent or the brain “bling”, but it is what it is and I doubt anyone but me would really notice them. Although when I have my hair parted differently and the light hits it just right, Dave will notice and always points it out. I’ve seen much worse dents on other survivors I have met, so in comparison, I’m lucky.

Found this great PDF: https://profiles.utsouthwestern.edu/profile/67812/assets/patient-information.pdf

And this one: http://www.mayfieldclinic.com/PE-Craniotomy.htm

BRAIN FUNCTION:
Well, I have survived two more catalog seasons, so I guess my brain function is doing okay. I certainly feel tired at times, but I’m very, VERY lucky that I can drive, work, read, and function on a daily basis. I’m a little slower and a little more careful when walking and traversing walkways, hills or paths because I have a bit of a fear of slipping or falling and hitting my head.

I do still struggle with some survivor’s guilt. Why, dear Lord, am I so lucky with my multiple brain aneurysms when two (and possibly three) people I loved so much were victims of the same ailment? One can say because God has other plans for me to help others. If that’s the burden I have to carry, then so be it. I can’t say I’m crazy about it though. I’d rather have Kim, Dori, my mom and Rhonda back.

So, I will celebrate my clip-aversary in some fashion I’m sure. I’m glad I’m still here and I hope a few others are as well.

Show and Tell

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A few weeks ago Dave and I attended the 35th Annual Atlantic Partners EMS Seminar at the Samoset Resort in Rockport, Maine. This annual event provides education to the most dedicated emergency medical service personnel, hospital staff and firefighters from Maine and New England. There were pre-conference courses, over 100 continuing education classes, and co-sponsored one day conferences from the Maine Ambulance Association, Maine Committee on Trauma, and Maine Cardiovascular Health Council.

We attended the Friday and Saturday sessions participating in the vendor area where we set up a Maine Brain Aneurysm Awareness table/booth. Not only is it a good way to help raise awareness for brain aneurysms, it’s also a wonderful way to connect with local EMS personenel and medical staff to alert them to the possible symptoms and signs that someone may be experiencing a ruptured brain aneurysm. Because of the nature of my own personal story on the morning of my rupture and my sister’s misdiagnosis and subsequent death from a rupture, Dave and I are particularly sensitive to educating EMS crews.

The morning of my rupture in 2006 presented me some classic stroke symptoms. Upon repeating our story throughout the two days, we saw many eyes being rolled, jaws dropped, and stunned expressions when we told them the ambulance crew did not take me to the ER. They basically left it up to us to go to the ER. I’d like to say I believe some of the protocols have changed since then, but at our monthly brain aneurysm support group meetings, we continue to meet some people who have had some of the same issues, or have been misdiagnosed. So, there is still work to do.

In hindsight, it is so very easy to say that I SHOULD have gone to the hospital. And those shocked expressions from the EMS members we met and THEIR insistance that they would have transported me, certainly made us feel good, but the crew that came to our house couldn’t have realized the seriousness at the time…unless they asked some very pointed questions. I need to cut them some slack; they’re only human despite the fact I could have died later that day, or the next day…..

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The MaineBA Booth

Dave and I met some terrific people who devote so much of their time to helping others and making sure the health and well-being of the general public is a top priority. Some important connections were also made with individuals who can truly make a difference in the state’s regulations and protocols. There were several invitations from local groups for us to come and speak to them about our story and make them aware of what CAN be a serious issue if it’s not addressed in a timely manner.

One of the classes on Saturday afternoon was held by Dr. Evie Marcolini. Her main focus that day was to discuss difficult neuro cases and brain aneurysms were one of the topics. She stopped at our table a few hours prior to her class and spoke to us. Once Dave and I knew she would be addressing brain aneurysms and expressed a deep interest in our story, we felt it necessary to go the class. We both did a good job of making sure we kept to ourselves. This wasn’t a class for us, but for those people who are on the front lines of very difficult situations and we needed to maintain restraint in putting in our two cents.

Dr. Marcolini’s class was really wonderful as she provided several case studies of patients that would have altered mental states and questioned the class on what they would ask, how they would react, and what they would tell emergency room personel. It truly is that communication between the 911 responders and the patient that can set the ball rolling for precise care and attention later on.

What I took away from the two days was how dedicated those folks are and many are volunteers. I was surprised and pleased with the number of people who thanked US for being there and raising awareness. The number of people who knew someone or had a family member with a brain aneurysm was certainly eye opening. It’s a far more prevalent issue thoughout the country and our state. We even think we were able to convince one woman to get a scan. She had a family history and she could be highly succeptable to developing one and it’s far better to know you have it and treat it, then to have it rupture and potentially die as a result. THAT was one of our big messages: make sure EMT personal and 911 operators know of any family history of brain aneursyms and to let them know if a headache is the “worst of your life” and very different than any you have had previously. That’s assuming you are able to speak.

On our drive home, I realized I was tired of hearing my own story. Dave and I both retold it many, many times over the two days and I compared it to show and tell: I was the “show” (look at me, I survived and here are a few scars to prove it) and Dave was the “tell” (here’s what happened). There are those times when I just need to step away from brain aneurysms and take a break. It’s difficult to do since I live with them on a daily basis, but I was glad I had Sunday to detox and reset. It wore me out.

I hope we made an impression on people and that their next emergency call for someone with a horrible headache will result in them asking if they’ve experienced anything like that before or if there is a family history of brain aneurysms. Those two simple questions could save a life and get someone to the ER in time to prevent devastating brain damage.

Thank YOU to everyone who goes out there to help save lives!

On a fun side note:

The celebrity guest at the conference on Saturday was Randolph Mantooth from the 1970’s show EMERGENCY. He played the lovable Johnny Gage and I grew up with that show, so I got a little girl-silly when I saw him. He’s a huge supporter for the emergency medical community and the money raised from his autograph session was going directly to local funds here in Maine.

I actually got in line twice. First time to get the autograph and a 2nd time because my camera wasn’t working on the first turn through. LOL He was very sweet and still looked darn good for 70 years old and fighting cancer.

A local EMT also bought and redid an old Dodge truck and turned it into an almost exact replica of the Squad 51 truck. I flipped when I saw it Friday night before we left the vendor area. I did a double take and saw it and realize it was THE truck. On Saturday morning, I wanted to take a photo of it and right after I took a photo, the gentleman who worked on the truck, came immediately up to me and held his hand out like he was going to take my camera away from me because I took a photo! Instead, he took my camera, but also grabbed one of the fireman’s hats off the truck and took MY picture with the truck. Pretty neat.

October, Shocktober

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October has always been a bitter-sweet month for me and my family.

The Sweet:

  • my nephew Ian was born (he’s now a handsome 19-year old!)
  • my step-nephew Adam was born
  • my sister Dori was born

The Bitter:

  • my Dad was diagnosed with cancer in October (lost him in 1994 – 6-months after diagnosis)
  • my Mom passed away in October last year (2014)
  • my brother-in-law Fred was killed in October
  • I suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm in October in 2006.

And I’m sure I’m leaving something out, but those are the biggies. I think that’s enough, don’t you?

October 25th is a bitter-sweet day for me as well. It was Dori’s birthday, but it was also the day I was released from the hospital after a three week stay nine years ago next week. I remember speaking to Dori on the phone after I got home and she told me my coming home was the best birthday present I could have given her. We were both crying.

How awful that six year’s later, I was crying in a London hotel room after findiing out Dori had suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm too and I never got a chance to say good-bye and let her know how much I loved, and adored her.

Brain aneurysms simply suck. They take the lives of young, old, healthy, joyful people, and devestate the lives of those they love. Granted, they don’t always kill, but they certainly can cause distruption and change the lives of all those around you forever.

October is also a stressful month for me at work. With my rupture happening in the critical last weeks of catalog production, it was left to our small crew and a poor graphic artist brought in to pick up the pieces to finish the book. They did the best they could. Three months later I returned to work part-time to find my office with calendar’s still set on October and reminders on my computer for jobs that needed to be completed…in October. A surreal experience for sure.

I am one of the lucky ones who #1, worked at a great company that allowed me the time to heal and recover and #2, I was physically able to perform my job full time after a 6-month recovery period. Soooo many are not so fortunate and the needs of survivors and their issues after a rupture are so varied, it’s difficult for employers and co-workers to truly understand the depth of recovery needed.

I suppose that’s one of the reasons I speak out about brian aneurysms and try to educate others. Although this blog as been theraputic for me personally, I have received a few comments from other survivors and those who have lost loved ones who tell me it has helped. That means more to me than any amount of money I could raise. Support is what we all need. I have survived a rupture, a coiling, a re-coiling and a stent, then a craniotomy on a 2nd un-ruptured brain aneurysm. And that first large brain aneurysm is STILL giving me issues. Look for updates on more potential “brain bling” in the New Year!

Every October I remember the day of my rupture. Every October I remember my mother’s death now. I remember my father’s diagnosis with cancer and I remember my sister’s birthday on October 25th. I still hate October, but I’m here. For whatever reason, I. AM. HERE.

 

Head Over Heels

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A fellow brain aneurysm survivor posted on Facebook tonight that she had fallen and hit her head pretty hard. After a CT scan, she was given the “all clear”, but I know it must have been scary. She has been through multiple procedures and suffered a stroke.

This week I celebrated my 9th Annie-versary: nine years ago I suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm. The 11mm (almost 1/2 inch in diameter) aneurysm I didn’t know was growing inside my brain suddenly ruptured. The annie-versary day went by with little fan fare. My husband made me dinner, which is always a special treat, but beyond that, because I’m always so busy at work, I didn’t do much to celebrate.

The first couple of years, I would take the day off and have a spa day. I think I need to start doing that again…regardless of how stressful & busy things are at work this time of year…which it always is. They’re lucky to still have me.

Falling and hitting my head is probably my biggest fear. I hate it when I get to work late and have to park up on the very steep hill parking lot. I always fear falling down and make sure I grasp and have a good hold on the PVC pipe railing along the “side walk” up and down the hill. The railing is always covered with snow or ice too, so not sure how much of a help that is.

I probably didn’t share this with many people, but on our last night in Scotland in 2013, our tour guide dropped us off at a hotel near the Edinburgh airport. Dave and I enjoyed a lovely dinner in the hotel restaurant, then I REALLY wanted to take a long soak in a tub and there was a deep, soaking tub in our room at the hotel. As I was getting out, I misjudged the height of the tub to the floor and slipped on the tile floor as I got out, BARELY missing hitting my head on the tub and landing on my backside pretty hard.

Dave immediately ran in from the other room. I was laying on the floor with my head pretty much laying up against the tub. Once we both realized I was okay, we both shook in fear. It was a scary moment and one I hope never to repeat. And that was before I had my craniotomy on my 2nd brain aneurysm.

I suppose the fear is that a hit on the head could produce some sort of shock on the aneurysms and force them to bleed. Or that the surgical work that has already been done…could become “undone”. I’m not even sure how realistic that fear is. I supposed I should ask on my next visit with my neurosurgeon. Because I’m susceptible to aneurysms and bleeding, I would think any hard hit could be a risk. So, I’m very glad Lori got a CT scan after she fell and hit her head. I’d do the same thing.

I didn’t hit my head when my first brain aneurysm ruptured in 2006. No warning, no symptoms, that I recall. But I know that brain hemorrhages can occur when hitting your head. The tragic death of Natasha Richardson is a sad example of that.

So, nine years ago this week, I was in the ICU at Maine Med, then moved to the 608 Neuro-ward. I was in the hospital for two weeks then had six months of recovery before going back to work full-time. Only one person from work visited me and it was simply because she was in the area. I’m so glad Lori has such a wonderful group of friends to support her. I’m sure this fall scared her very much. I know her daughter and husband keep a close eye on her and I’m sure THEY were just as scared as she was. Her service dog Tober will make sure she’s okay. What a great dog he is. Love him.

I’m a NASCAR fan, and the race at Charlotte, NC is this weekend. I remember watching that race in ICU with Dave and my sister Dori (who died of a ruptured brain aneurysm in 2012). They were impressed I knew the drivers and was so responsive. I was one of the lucky ones. Some times I wonder WHY I was one of the lucky ones when so many beautiful, vibrant people who had children to live for aren’t here anymore. It just doesn’t make sense some times. Survivor’s guilt? You bet cha. I’m not a mother and I think I’m a very selfish person, so I’m not sure why God chose ME to live over all of the other beautiful, strong individuals who have lost their lives and devastated their families over ruptured brain aneurysms. It just doesn’t make sense to me some times.

So, yes…I walk slower in snowy & icy conditions. I drive slower in snowy & icy conditions. I don’t ride a bike anymore because of the fear of falling off and hitting my head. I don’t do any strenuous physical sports anymore…not that I ever did before. Falling and hitting my head can happen at any time…even slipping on some of the acorns in the driveway, which is like walking on marbles, gives me pause. I bought this fear up at a support group meeting, but I was on the only one who addressed it. I’m sure other’s have that fear. I’m so glad Lori is okay after her fall. Aneurysms survivors have another added fear. Goody….but I’m still here.