Driving Miss Crazy

Tomorrow it will be six months since my really cool brain surgery, and I'm pleased to say that the insult to my brain has given me real insight into the effects of brain injury on function. When I first came home from the hospital, I needed to walk with a stick to keep my balance, and I needed a bath stool to help me in and out of the bath, and to sit on while dressing. What had previously been unconscious and automatic, became a deliberate exercise in motor planning. Problem solving was just that! When I filled the bath too full with hot water, it was a struggle for me to work out what I would do, and I had to carefully think out each step. Quite frightening for someone who typically just gets things done! I recall how proud I felt of myself the first time I completed the entire bath routine on my own. With my my stick in hand I opened the bathroom door, to see DH beating a rapid retreat. (He'd been secretly hovering outside the door in case he needed to come in and save me.) "I did it" I said and stepped forward with my head high and my face smug.

"You've got toilet paper dragging off your shoe" he said.

My biggest concern since I returned to work is that I don't think as quickly as I used to. Since in my work I constantly do battle with bureaucrats who don't seem to think at all, I doubt that they notice or care that I may be slower off the mark, but it irks me that during my time of being out of action, there has come onto the market a pen that is smarter than I am! My handwriting, never great, has been appalling since my op, and my efforts to stay mentally on the ball, and also recall what everyone has said in a meeting is too much for my holey head. So I'm hoping my new Smart Pen will fill the gap.

Yesterday, my long awaited Drivers assessment with the Occupational Therapist came about. I wasn't feeling too confident. A practice drive with DH had him clutching the door handles in fear, and at one stage he screamed that I was going off the road to the left! I walked to the OT's office which was in a beautiful old Edwardian house. She invited me to sit in a chair in what would have been the drawing room, and started the testing process. Simple eye hand co-ordination activities that I could , as it turned out, do with my eyes closed. After testing my ability to rotate my head and upper body, she checked my feet and legs for strength. Then she sat square in front of me.

Her feet she explained, were the car pedals, and I was to press her feet with mine to accelerate and brake on her instructions. We got started.."accelerate" and my right foot pressed her left one..."brake" and my left foot moved forward, quickly retracted and my right pressed the brake. "oh I'm glad you did that she said, or we'd have a problem right off!" "No" I said, "this is obviously a manual car. I was going to put the clutch in." so maybe I can still think quickly.

On the actual road, in the dual control automatic car, I managed to brake and accelerate effectively and safely, and do 3 point turn, parking and reversing convincingly enough, that she judged me safe to be on the road, although said I'd obviously forgotten a few subtleties in my 7 months off driving. So I am booked for a refresher lesson next week. I'm thinking that after Christmas, I need to gather all the bills and expenses that have arisen out of this year of illness, treatment and surgery. But on reflection, that may drive me crazy.

Better to be thankful that we came out of it afloat. I should keep to my driving motto: reverse only when absolutely necessary.

Fear not

Anxiety whimpers, and faith comes in like a strong mother in the night, ready to reassure,and comfort; get you ready for the next day.

Were you afraid during this time? The minister asked me that. No, not of dying, or being ill, or in pain. But for my children, my family. But not overwhelmingly. Reasonably.

Some of the ladies at the breast cancer support group told of being fearful every time they visit the doctor; of every check up. I determined not to be fearful, knowing that I could cast my cares on Him, and that I did not need to be troubled or afraid, and despite a certain hypervigilence to symptoms, I have not been fearful. Then in October I had another MRI,and I was fine, until they slid me in, headphones and mirrored helmet on. It took half a minute for me to press the panic button and cry Please take me out!

So what do you fear?

"yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever"

I got down to praying and kept my eyes shut and my body still so they could get on with the MRI. After praying about as many matters and people as I could think of, prayers gave way to planning how I would get out of there if the building fell on top of me and the machine closed me in. So God kept me safe while I whimpered quietly to myself, and wow, pretty soon they were hauling me out. Sorry for being a ninny back there I said. No worries: actually if you just look back through the machine where you were lying, you can see he windows to the street outside. Right, well if I'd known I could have done a quick wriggle backwards and smashed the windows out to escape, I wouldn't have had a moment of fear!

But, what's wrong with a bit of healthy fear? It makes you alert, rouses your senses, gets you thinking; opens the door to a conversation with your best Friend, and then you find out that the light you didn't see was there all the time. But then, when the true Light came into the world he created, the world didn't see him either. Fear makes you Pay Attention!

I haven't heard the results of the MRI, but I'm not worried, and the BN asssures me I'm correct in thinking that if anything was amiss I would have heard by now. So I've been getting on with still being me, although I look different, hobble instead of walk, actually use stair banisters, put up with my PS teasing me about my 'hormone bones', and laugh at my DH who, with his injured "mallet finger" told me to lean on the table and stand while he moved the chair back, because he couldn't pull me up. Needless to say this left me sort of dangling over the table.

I now have high spots in the day when I'm less cognitively muzzy, and I don't fall asleep in the chair after dinner every night. If I do chance to fall asleep, it's not long before my irritable stomach adds it's complaints to my 763 joints trying to push out of my skin, turning me into a COW (crabby old woman). The house is much cleaner, and the usual chores are done in good time. Best of all, my visual field test showed a left quadrantanopia, and a fuzzy spot in the upper right quadrant, but I have enough vision to drive again. That is, once I get an appointment or letter of clearance from the Doobster (neurosurgeon). hopefully my KD can get some thing from him before the New Year.... yay! the neuro clinic nurse and I suspect a letter from the KD, got me an early appointment with a rehab specialist, who cleared me medically to drive! Now I just need to be passed by the occupational therapist as competent to drive! Once I've seen her, I may get my independence back, although I surely have enjoyed car trips with my DH.

As Christmas approaches I am aware that we are edging closer to being a year hence from my cancer diagnosis. I haven't forgotten about the MCGrath Foundation breast cancer nurses fundraiser. My BN has been a huge help to me, and I know that all the other women also appreciate their BNs. A worthy cause.

I'm so glad I've learned over the years to trust in God, He really has been with me in this every step of the way.

Girl Talk

It's been 6 weeks since I was discharged from the hospital, and looking back I realise, my cancer diagnosis and mastectomy kept Summer outdoors; the early chemotherapy treatments allowed me to sit on my porch and feel silken Autumn air, and Easter displayed a glorious, richly coloured Autumn. The allergy to the chemo treatment and my reaction to Phenergan were like the first cold winds that shook the leaves from the trees; easily cleared by the leaf blower that was my brain tumour, and suddenly we were in cold, dark, Winter.

3 weeks into my recovery from brain surgery, the next phase of cancer treatment, began. I had expected to be put on Tamoxifen for 5 years, a hormone treatment with serious side effects, including that 1% of women can get uterine cancer on it. No longer trusting stats, I did some reading and discovered there is a newer treatment (Arimidex) that blocks the body from making estrogen, which is safer - provided you have strong bones. It has some nasty side effects of its own, but is suitable for women who have begun menopause, as I have. Chemotherapy caused, and I quote one of my nurses here: "violent medically induced" menopause.

I have the required bone density test- another body scan ( I think I am really in some bad science fiction movie), with a favourable result. My oncologist prescribed Arimidex for me without me having to ask, and by the end of that week I have a box of medication which shows me I am back on the pill. The onco described the side effects to me - joint and bone pain, but was pleased to tell me I have bones healthier and stronger than many women younger than me - it was on the tip of his tongue to say"half your age" but he caught himself in time. More scary than anything he said, was the whole network of support that you need to sign up for while on this medication, and because I am officially menopausal. If it's not so bad, why do we need all this support?

Before I go any further: women will tell each other (possibly reluctantly) about their hot flushes, and each will say something different. For me, although they are settling down now, the best description of a hot flush is that it is like an orgasm that has aggressively, and irrevocably, gone to the Dark Side.

The day before my apointment with the onco to establish this next phase in the treatment, my Breast Nurse called me - she who kindly and faithfully visited me and kept track of my progress - ( and who knows whether her presence among her colleagues worked in my favour to boost their efficiency?) to say that we should get together to talk about how I'm doing and "you know, little things like, oh sexuality and such." "What's that?" I said.

She arrived the day after my onco appointment, and we chatted amicably about other menopausal symptoms and side effects of Arimidex, like {vaginal dryness} and fatigue, low libido,and fatigue, ... and the new look me. "At least" I said, "the bone scan, shows it's safe for DH to 'jump on my bones'". For some reason, the BN couldn't talk for a few seconds, so I told her about my definition of a hot flush. She probably wanted to slap me and say "I'm trying to have a serious discussion here!"

The new look me took some chit chat time. Basically, I've gone from a vain and skinny 17 yr old who thought her nose compensated for her flat chest, to a vain 48 year old who wonders in that brief momentary glimpse in the bathroom mirror :"who's that?" Now I have literally a half decent sized chest and am glad of my sticky out ribs. Truly one nose could never do to compensate for 2 boobs so now I'm sorted. The hair is the hardest to deal with especially since the brain surgery. My ward neighbour looked very mannish with her shaved head, and I do too, in my eyes, although My DH says not. My youngest had a friend over who saw my bald head - "you look just like a man" he said!

Nothing like a good laugh to calm down emotions, and a few more weeks have seen some changes, and now instead of baldness, I actually have an official hair style: crew cut. I also have been doing some serious sleeping and lazing around, and last Friday felt sufficiently energised to carry out my plan to join my work collegues for an unofficial visit to the support group we run. As I bathed, the signs of re growth (annoyingly, evidenced by the need to shave once again after freedom from that chore), and increased weight, made me think " it's like Spring has come to my body early, because it is still Winter outside! For the first time in ages, I put on my prosthetic, made to fit breast ( and super attractive underwear - on advice from the BN and got all dressed up to go out.

After my visit, I returned home for rest, and read my Bible. People have said to me, that it is amazing how I have kept my sense of humour in all this; but, how could I not, When God is so Funny? This is what came up in my reading :

Ezekiel 16:vs7

"I have caused thee to multiply as the bud of the field, and thou hast increased and waxen great, and thou art come to excellent ornaments: thy breasts are fashioned, and thine hair is grown, whereas thou wast naked and bare."

Forest Fairy

A full week since the surgery, and the physiotherapist had graduated me from the walking frame to a stick, and the Occupational therapist had been to see me and organised a shower stool to go home for me and was satisfied that I would not have to negotiate any stairs at home or cook any meals. I sill did not know the results on the tumour, but there were definitely signs that I was not too far from discharge. Later that afternoon, I woke from a nap to find that the ward was very busy and full of activity. The bathroom had a queue, which became enormously frustrating for both me and a new patient in the room next door to mine, although we bore it with mutual humour, outwardly anyway. I had a new lady come into my room. She was very brave, her mother had died five years before in the ward, from a brain tumour, and she now had a tumour in her spine at t2 level which was to be removed in the morning. Her brother had also been in recently and had part of a very large tumour removed. We chatted about this for a bit and then she went to take her antiseptic shower and get ready for bed. While she did, there was more activity in the ward, and I think a new patient was being moved into a ward across the passage, and I heard the nurses saying something about a patient having a contusion. I guessed someone had come in with a head injury.

After eating an egg and bacon pie which a nurse found for me, the evening wore on , and once all visitors had left, my new room mate and I chatted a bit more, and I listened to more Sara Groves and started to prepare for the night. From across the passage the new patient began to cry mournfully, and call out for help. " I can't take this, please send me home, please get me out of here. I'm so useless" I heard a nurse tell her firmly "you're not useless" but she continued to cry, and call for help. I pressed my bell. A nurse came, a young sweet girl, and I told her I would be happy to go and sit with the new patient and talk to her, but the nurse said no, she'd be alright. The patient was quiet for a while, but I was upset for her, so I prayed about what to do. The bible tells us that we can and should, use our own suffering to help others, and I really felt I needed to do something for this woman, so I prayed, and asked what I should do and how I would know if I should do something.

After a while I felt that the right thing to do would be to just go to her if she called again, regardless of what the nurses said. I chatted some more with my room mate, and then she settled to sleep and our light was put out, and I continued to listen to music, thinking that maybe the patient scross the passage might like to listen also. I lay there praying and waiting. Soon, her plaintive crying and begging for release began again. "Holy shit!" she shouted suddenly and then "Oh Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ!" Definitely it was time for me to grab the walker and head across the passage, praying desperately for the right thing to say. I wheeled into the room, hoping a nurse was there, but she was alone. I told her my name and sat next to her bed. "It hurts" she cried, it hurts so much" there was a closed wound on her head. I asked her name, and she told me. She was a young woman in her mid to late twenties. I said, "I can see you are in lots of pain, and I offered my hand to her. Her hand clawed desperately at the bed rail and I covered it with mine. "I can't do this she cried" " that's OK I said, I'll help you. I asked if she would like to hear some music, she said yes, but after a bit she started to cry again, so I said I think it must be too loud for her, she whimpered yes, I turned it off, she begged me not to go, and clung to my hand.

She quieted a bit, but then a doctor came in. She was febrile, and he explained that they needed to take blood to test whether she had an infection. "I don't care ! just get me out of here, leave me alone!" "I can't do this!" she began shouting again and throwing her body about, each movement bringing her more pain. Then my doctor Grace came in, " here's Grace" I said, "she's been my doctor, and she's been wonderful she will help you". The patient held my hand and cried." Don't be afraid"  I said, "and don't be troubled". I kept repeating that to her. As I did she relaxed and would look at me then close her eyes again.

When the doctor had all the blood test equipment ready. she began thrashing about again and trying to get up and wouldn't let the doctor take blood, so I held her hand firmly still, and in a position which the doctor could more easily get to, and soon it was done. The doctor slipped and her blood spilled over my hand, she closed her eyes and whimpered. "Don't be troubled" I said again, and the doctor cleaned us both up. Grace said she would order a tranquiliser and more pain meds. She left, but as she did so she thanked me for sitting with the patient and said I would have good news in the morning.

The other doctor left, and the patient began to cry again. "I can't do this, I'm so useless" "Do you have something you need to do?" I asked. "Yes, I need to be in the forest. Do you work in the forest?" I asked. "Yes", she said and cried. I assured her it was OK because it was night time, and she didn't need to work at night. She calmed down for a bit. After a while, she called on Jesus, again in her way, so I covered her hand again and said " don't be troubled, He's here, you're OK" . " Can't you see I'm in pai?n" she yelled." yes I said, I can see you are in terrible pain, so I'm here to help you. and Grace is organising the medicine for you. " Come on Grace" she whispered, "I need grace" she said. then she said "only the forest fairies can help me now" I wasn't sure of what I had heard, but I ignored it and said instead, Grace is coming. and repeated "don't be troubled and don't be afraid. let the doctors and nurses help you."

She gripped my fingers again over the bed rail. Then in came my Thai male nurse. I told her who he was, and said he was here to help her and would look after her very well and keep her safe. He wanted to give her the tranquilliser  which was in tablet form, but she thrashed about and shouted at him. " I can't do it, I'm in too much pain, I can't do it!" She yelled. I took her hand again, and said she was being very brave, and doing very well. I urged her to take the tablets and promised her they would help. I held her hand again, and the Thai nurse brought her a pillow to cuddle for comfort. She calmed down and took the tablets and I praised her like a small child. I held her hand and repeated that she was being cared for and doing well, and I watched her eyes glaze over. The nurse said she would sleep in a few minutes and told me to get to bed too. I went off and was soon in my bed, praying for my forest fairy.

I thought of what tragedy could have occurred to see her in hospital in such pain, but I was reassured that God knows the beginning and the end and that in His light a tragedy can be rewritten. Firstly in that he hears us no matter how we call on him even if it seems like swearing, and that He sends His Grace in one way or another, and I pray she will recognize it for what it is one day soon. I felt very blessed to have been able to help her rewrite a small part of her tragedy, and change her from feeling like she could not cope, to being able to get through that pain, until the medicine could bring her ease.

Soon it was morning, and my neighbour was being moved to surgery. True to her word, later that morning, Grace came and gave me two bits of good news. I cried and squeezed her fingers when she told me my tumour was definitely benign, and I was also pleased to to be told my forest fairy was doing well. I popped into her room after my shower, but she was sleeping, so I left her with a silent prayer, and wished her a good rest. I never saw her again.

A short time after breakfast and my shower, 18 staples were taken out of my head. Then shortly before lunch my take home meds arrived and I was delivered to the transit lounge where my first non- minced lunch was delivered to me. By 2.30 pm I was home, with a dressing on my head and chest, and bruises on my hand, wrist and stomach to show that something momentous had happened to me.

the royal neurological ward part 2

My memories of my time in the ward once I had returned from surgery and the high dependency ward are confused and have been at times distressing. The best description I can give is that it was a jangle of sensations and emotions. Will I ever get the smell of boiled cotton out of my nose, or the acrid taste of the smell of the antibacterial hand gel used by the doctors and nurses out of my throat? The nights seemed incredibly dark, although the general ward light shone dimly every night, and the glow of the drip machine illumined the bed rail where I kept my oft needed, and frequently replaced cool wet cloth, which I would reach for and place on my overheated bald head, or throat.

At times I felt, or even dreamed that I was in that storm tossed rowing boat with Jesus' disciples. The rough sheets were the planks of the boat, and the blankets were a heavy weight insufficient to warm me when I felt like ice in the early hours of he morning.  I was often relieved by the quick response of a nurse to my press of the bell. Bouts of nausea and diarrhoea, thirst, and a still aching throat from the intubation. A drink of water, and a kind word, and then back to sleeping in the boat. I kept singing songs in my head, old hymns like How great Thou Art, and Sara Groves " song Add to the Beauty" and then I would fall asleep, until the next need for the nurse. I thought a lot, but not profoundly, about Jesus calming the waters, and I imagined the fishermen rowing against the might of the wind. It was a struggle, so I prayed for the people in the ward, and for the people praying for me, and my family, and friends, and was comforted and calmed.

The mornings were long in coming, and dark and cold. I knew it was morning, only because a nurse would say, Good morning , " do you know where you are?" Do you know what day it is, what month, who is the Prime Minister? Can you open your eyes? sorry I need to shine this light in your eyes."   I seemed to pass these early morning tests to their satisfaction. I did point out to them one morning that my neighbour was getting the benefit of my answers because they asked me first.

I think the morning after the surgery,The Doobster visited me quite early. He seemed pleased when I wished him good morning and greeted him by name. I also remembered some of the names of his entourage of registrars, besides Grace. Not bad for a lady with a hole in the head I told myself. The truth is I was so grateful to them all I felt the least I could do was remember their names. When the Doobster told me the tumour had come out cleanly, and that early results indicated that it was benign, but we would know for sure in 4 -5 days time, I thanked him and shook his hand. I felt puzzled though, because I thought they were sure it wasn't cancer? Clearly more tests had to be done to be sure.

The days were better than the nights, and I made an effort to get to know my room mate. I quickly realised that the neurological ward is a place of suffering for many. There are young and old, male and female, many with tumours or brain injury of some kind. My room mate had seen her share of suffering, as I found out as we bonded over our each having a husband named D who has cared for us in illness. My room mate had been through Grave's disease and encephalitis, and was in to have the shunt in her brain replaced, which I think had been done the day before my op. She was a very brave woman, and I felt really mean for being annoyed by her voice, and was glad I had not complained, or asked to be moved, but honestly, I had felt like screaming that first day.

Later that night, I had opportunity to show her some kindness. I was lying in my bed having just had a wash and bed linen change, when there was a loud crash and I was drenched with my bedside jug of water and a cup of cold tea! My neighbour had stood up, and slipped in her TEDS and landed under my bedside table! I could see nothing of what had happened but was able to ring for the nurses, who sorted us both out. The poor woman was very shaken and upset. But the nurse and I reassured her everything was fine, and after a while we both settled for the night, her to sleep and me to more stormy rowing.

I listened to Sara Groves on my PS' ipod (for goodness sake who knows how to work those things?) The song was Kingdom Comes, which includes the words " when you're laying down and dying" and I thought dramatically, that is how I feel. Knowing that someone could recognise that feeling and sing about it was actually very encouraging. I thanked God for gifting Sara Groves with the words and music of my life. There is definitely nothing like music and singing to lift you up when you're feeling low. Her song Add to the Beauty, once again affirmed for me that , quite simply, that is my goal in life. I then thought about my neighbour in the next bed, who when younger, had joined the navy, I surmised the slightly unstable childhood she had hinted at drew her to a life of order. In the navy, She was a rear gunner, and her task was to polish the shells for the cannon.  It was her pride and joy to keep them shining and beautiful. This was just another discordant jangle for me, but I know that beauty is something we all seek, and if to some extent we can create it, so much the better. I could only admire her for making the best of her life. I got through another night to a freezing morning, but this time, after the routine morning quiz, I asked to have my overhead light switched on, and managed to read my bible for a few minutes - I opened it at Psalm 17, which was very appropriate to the night I had just passed:

1. Hear the right, O LORD, attend unto my cry, give ear unto my prayer, that goeth not out of feigned lips.
2. Let my sentence come forth from thy presence; let thine eyes behold the things that are equal.
3. Thou has proved mine heart; thou hast visited me in the night; thou has tried me, and shalt find nothing; I am purposed that my mouth shall not transgress.
4. Concerning the works of men, by the word of thy lips I have kept me from the paths of the destroyer.
5. Hold up my goings in thy paths, that my footsteps slip not.
6. I have called upon thee, for thou wilt hear me, O God: incline thine ear unto me, and hear my speech.
7. Shew thy marvellous lovingkindness, O thou that savest by thy right hand them which put their trust in thee from those that rise up against them.
8. Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings,
9. From the wicked that oppress me, from my deadly enemies, who compass me about.
10. They are inclosed in their own fat: with their mouth they speak proudly.
11. They have now compassed us in our steps: they have set their eyes bowing down to the earth;
12. Like as a lion that is greedy of his prey, and as it were a young lion lurking in secret places.
13. Arise, O LORD, disappoint him, cast him down: deliver my soul from the wicked, which is thy sword:
14. From men which are thy hand, O LORD, from men of the world, which have their portion in this life, and whose belly thou fillest with thy hid treasure: they are full of children, and leave the rest of their substance to their babes.
15. As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness: I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness.

The day got busier, with a visit from the doctors, but still no test results on the tumour. They urged me to eat and drink. I had been put on a minced diet because of not being able to swallow. Need I say more? I had eaten only jelly and a bit of yoghurt. Sometime in the day the physiotherapist came to assess me. It was decided that I could move around with a forearm walker - which was good, because then I could get to the bathroom, if a nurse was with me. At some stage I was assessed again because the nurses dobbed me in for crashing into things (like walls) and my peripheral vision was iffy to say the least. Nevertheless, once I was moving around, things got a lot better and as the days passed, the nurses had me taking showers, and sitting in the chair to eat my meals. Although the order for minced food was changed to a full ward diet, the kitchen did not get the message. Also someone in the kitchen was choosing my meals for me, so I had no say in the matter, and was given the same meal for lunch and dinner. The nurses were very patient with my complaints, thank goodness, because I was very irritable and a bit emotional. Each time I lifted the cover to find more minced food my overwhelming desire was to throw the tray across the room and watch with satisfaction as the green peas and mash would slide down the wall. Oh self control! I think the nurses heard the tears in my voice, and would kindly chase down the food trolley to bring me something more appetising. The problem was only sorted out by the lunch time just before I was discharged. Nevertheless, I survived.

My neighbour was also assessed by the physio after her fall, and it was decided that she would be moved down to the rehab ward. I had the room to myself for a short while, but the ward is a busy one with new patients all the time. The next few days are a blur of increasing activity for me, and I started to eat a bit more, and my stomach settled a little, but not much. The nights became easier too. One of the registrars visited me quite late one night to tell me not to worry about the peripheral vision problem, it should improve as the swelling goes down. Still no results on the tumour, but I resolved to put it out of my mind.

A few more days passed and nights, and I was definitely stronger, and enjoyed the family visits with more energy. In the preceding days I had had the drain removed from my brain , and the tight bandage taken off. A line in my ankle was removed, as was one in my hand. Every morning I had blood taken, and every day heparin injections into my stomach. All these events were painful, but none so much as having the central line removed, from the area below my collar bone. Later that night after the central line was removed, in the dark. I felt a trickle of fluid on my neck, and was horrified to find it felt sticky like blood. I pressed the bell and the gentle male nurse from Thailand came in asking what he could help me with. I was right: it was blood, and therefore he had to gown and glove up, clean me , disinfect the area and stop the bleeding. He explained that it was very important to do this as the line area leads to my heart, and "we have to prevent infection". This resulted in another long dark night of prayer.

Having the intravenous line removed made showering and moving around much easier, and also I could now wear my own pyjamas, instead of the hospital gowns, and I could be warmer! The days passed and I continued to improve, and then it was the next Wednesday  a a week since my surgery.

For better for worse...

The Saturday after my really cool brain surgery was our 28th wedding anniversary. I'm sure my DH didn't expect to have to spend so much time caring for me in sickness, in the last 28 years, but he has been incredible and faithful and amazing: a special gift to me. and we all know where good gifts come from. DH has seen me previously through pleurisy, pneumonia, an awful flu that attacked my heart,  a very dicey last pregnancy, and a couple of miscarriages. DH you are a Hero. Superman, don't waste your time, the true hero is already here. When you say those vows as a naive young couple, no-one really warns you that , richer and poorer, better and worse, all actually can roll in at the same time. They are not necessarily going to be discrete occurrences, and you will have to cope with them all at once. Praise God for togetherness, family and friends.

How beautiful it has been for me to see my PS's increase in their love and respect for heir father, and for each other, and follow his example.

I don't remember much about Saturday 18th June 2011, but I know DH visited, and I was very happy to see him. 18 June 1983 was one of the happiest days of my life, and he still brings a big smile to my heart and my face.

Sara Groves, once again:

" better than our promises
is the day we got to keep them
I wish those two could see us now
they never would believe how
there are different kinds of happy"

The Royal Neurological Ward

I was put in a two bed ward on the afternoon of 13 June with a lovely older woman, Beryl who would have a procedure later that day. We kept each other company and chatted about books we had each read. Beryl was very nervous, and then  upset when she had been taken down for her procedure only to be sent back to the ward because her medications had been mixed up, so they could not do the procedure. Chatting to Beryl kept me occupied and distracted. As did an earlier MRI which would enable the surgical team to map my brain for the surgery. It seems they needed a lot of help to find my brain.

It is a little known fact that my favourite poet is Alexander Pope. The afternoon/evening before my really cool brain surgery, brought me an extra gift from God, in the form of Grace. She introduced herself as one of the registrars on my Team of neurosurgeons. Her task was to do the pre-op assessment. She shone a torch in my eyes, and had me scanning and tracking, like pro. I smiled as I told her that so much of my previous work had been to do the same to children with disabilities. She added some new tricks, like, using a cotton bud inside my mouth. Apparently it should not have been more ticklish towards the back right. "it's a little unusual" she said in unconscious echo of her predecessors in my "cancer team". But to reassure me, she said, that she had been doing some studying, and now had a little knowledge - which she knew to be a "dangerous thing." I was very impressed that she also knew who she was quoting. I think she may have been a little impressed hat an old lady like me knew some Alexander Pope!

Over the next few days, with her regular visits, and those of her young companions in the Team, I came to appreciate, even more, the commitment the young people in the medical profession have to healing, treating illness and finding cures. My dance with breast cancer has been somewhat out of step with the suggestions "out there" that there is a conspiracy in the medical professions to keep cures from us, and that "alternative medicine" really has the answers. If there is any conspiracy, I would say it lies more at the door of" alternative medicine", which my research shows me increasingly is steeped - or stewed maybe, in the occult. That system, also carries with it that somewhere in my past, I have "done something wrong", or eaten the wrong food, or drunk the wrong drink. To me this kind of thinking, amounts to bondage, whereas I have this assurance: Romans 8 vs 38.-For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

The nurses and surgical team were wonderful, and I will never forget them. The team was very multicultural. The elegant and serene anaesthetist Ranjitt, came to see me after Grace's visit, and asked me all the important questions and assured me that I would be constantly monitored by this fantastic new gizmo they stick on your forehead that monitors how much aesthetic you're getting, and how much you need. Early on the morning of the 15th, the ward nurses woke me for my second antiseptic shower, and snapped me into a hospital gown and lickety split, I was in the anaesthesia room. A young German student anaesthetist was there to assist and learn from Ranjitt, but the most joyful surprise was the huge Zimbabwean male anaesthetic nurse who set up my lines. We had a cheering chat about Africa. Soon I was aware that Grace had arrived  as well as the Doobster and a group of eager registrars, chomping at the bit to cut my head open. I remember asking Grace as I reached for her hand, " do you know what Grace is?" "No" she said, slightly suspiciously. "A gift freely given,"  I told her, and I think she thanked me, as Ranjitt pressed the monitor gizmo directly into my forehead. Then I slept through my own episode of Grey's Anatomy.

The next thing I remember is waking up in a very dark room, and being spoken to gently by a male nurse from Thailand.He called me by name, and told me I was in the high dependency ward, and he would be looking after me. I had long chatty conversations with him - he was very patient, and over the next few days continued to be so. He cared for me so very well, and I felt very safe, but I did not understand why it was so dark. I felt as though my head was in a vice. In fact I had a very tight bandage around my head. There was also a drain being kept in place by the bandage. Fluid felt like it was filling up my my ears, and the nurse assured me it wasn't my brain leaking away, just saline, with which they had rinsed the surgery site. Oh joy. After a while the nurse was urging me to eat some jelly, which he fed me because I had to take a tablet or two and I needed food in my stomach. A female nurse came in at some stage and I was given a gentle and soothing bed bath.

Then I remember going back to the ward. I saw DH and I think my work colleagues visited me. I remember Beryl kindly giving me a goodnight kiss on the cheek, because she was sorry my parents had not been able to get to Tasmania because of visa delays and also the ash cloud. It seemed to be a very long dark night. My head was hurting, but the nurses were keeping the pain meds flowing with the saline drip. My catheter wasn't working and was eventually removed. Then for the next few nights I kept the nurses on the hop with bedpans.

Early in the morning I was woken by two nurses who again gave me a refreshing bed bath. I don't remember much about the day, except Beryl was discharged. There was a new woman in the room. and with my aching head I realised I needed to pray for extra strength to be a good neighbour. Australian strine literally twanged around my head each time she spoke. To my dismay, I sounded just the same each time I spoke. It was a very unpleasant time, and my serenity was stretched to the limit.

Walking on Water

Since coming home from hospital after receiving the brain tumour diagnosis, for some reason I started thinking about Jesus walking on the water. The story is given in Mark (6, 45 -52), John (6, 16 -21) and Matthew (14, 22-33), and each account fills in the details to give the whole story. This amazing supernatural feat (no pun intended) comes just after Jesus feeds the 5 thousand. Jesus sends the disciples on their way across the lake while he goes off to have some quiet time with God. While they're in the boat, a strong wind comes up, and they struggle to row. This goes on for hours, as Jesus comes to them before sun-up (4th watch?) - He just walks over on the water, which must be extremely choppy because of the wind. The curious thing is that if they hadn't seen Him and cried out (in fear that they were seeing a ghost) He would have walked on by - no doubt to the other shore, to meet them there when they arrived, but when they cried out, He went to them, with a hearty "'cheer up, don't be afraid, it's only me!"  Stunning! Bet they just dropped their oars along with their jaws.

Peter, the eager, enthusiastic, blows hot and cold one, climbs out of the boat and walks towards Jesus. Then he realises he's walking on water too, and his mind says 'hang on this can't be! it's against nature!' so he sinks. Having lost his faith in Jesus, he puts his faith in Nature, and Nature doesn't let him down!

Under he goes. I wonder if it seemed a long time to him before Jesus' hand pulled him out of the water, and into the safety of the boat?

Once Jesus was in the boat, the wind calmed and they rowed easily to shore, where they got on with Jesus' work almost as if nothing amazing had happened. Peter goes on to have faith and control issues as Jesus ministry unfolds. He argues with Jesus about His death, and Jesus tells him he has his mind "on things of man, and not of God" and then when Jesus is arrested, Peter denies him (3 times). Been there, done that. Some of you have been there, are doing that.

However, Jesus never lets Peter go, and Peter becomes the 'cornerstone of the Church' ( read all about it in Acts, and Peter's letters are enormously uplifting and enlightening.) We can let go, but He will never leave us or forsake us.

The chemo side effects make my muscles burn with every movement. Just raising my arms to stretch makes me feel like I've rowed for hours across a windy lake. There's a whole bunch of stuff happening to me and around me that I have no control over, so I have discarded the worry and fretting, and Jesus and I are walking on water.

Neurological ward room 230

Sustained by singing and praying, my physical needs asserted themselves and I recalled that I had had no lunch and a very light supper at about 4.30. It was now 3 am and I was starving! The nurse on call was able to bring me hot milk and weetbix, which I gobbled up. By 5 am I felt well enough to walk the very short distance to the bathroom and not call for a bed pan! Yay!

After breakfast and a sit down shower, I waited for the call to Nuclear medicine. A male nurse brought me an iodine drink, and I had to drink half at 11.30 and the other half at 12. DH arrived at 11.55 closely followed by Polish K, ward receptionist doubling as nurse aide with a wheelchair. Get een my darlink!, ve must rush down they are ready for you now! Off we went, me gulping down the lemony with pooey aftertaste drink. Polish K parked me outside the MRI room, in the corridor. DH hugged me and left to do some shopping. "Now my darlink you vill have a beautiful time with these peeple - the men are so handsome, you vil look at them and you vill not be scared of the noise" and she left.

10 minutes of sitting in a corridor looking like a cancer victim is not fun, so I was very pleased when two girls came to get me and put me on the bed part of the MRI machine. Because I had advised that I am claustrophobic, a helmet was put on me with gaps in it, and an angled mirror would enable me to see them and the handsome men. Of course they removed my glasses didn't they!

They put headphones on me and piped through classical music, as the MRI machine started it's construction site noises. I didn't hear any wolf whistles, but what I did hear of the music made me see my Mommy in my mind's eye, just when I needed her. It was a compilation of many popular classical pieces, including Beethoven's 5th, which were bound together by a continuous beat. We actually used to have the same record at home, and my Mom loved it. I could just see her conducting the air and dancing her head, and making us happy with her joy in the music.

15 minutes later one of the blurry men got me out and into the next room for the full body scan. If you have ever had an iodine injection for a scan you know what it's like and I don't need to describe it. The best thing about it is that it is over very quickly. Back to room 230.

By late afternoon, I had still not seen The Doobster (Mr D's moniker according to the nurses of the neuro ward). We needed to tell the boys what was up but we had no real information as yet. My PS and I just held each other, going through a gamut of emotions, but overall love. We would have to wait. Thank goodness for distracting annoying younger brothers and inflatable medical gloves. All too soon they went home and I asked for a sleeping tablet instead of another night awake.

The Doobster arrived about 8.30 and confirmed what the other doctors have been saying all along - I am very unusual. It is very rare, he said, for a woman with breast cancer to have a brain tumour that is not cancerous. So he doesn't trust it - he will consult with a group of radiologists and neurosurgeons on Friday morning, and get their opinions. Then on Friday afternoon he will tell me what will happen. I was very relieved that I would be in hospital for a few days as my symptoms were hard to bear, and I was very weak. Thursday was almost as bad as Tuesday - and after sprinting 100 metres and jumping the hurdle of my bed to have my sit down shower, my return to bed made it to the floor, to be found by Polish K who callled the nurses. "Come queekly to help this beauiful voman, she is on the floor!" 3 came rushing and got me into bed, and took all my vital signs. "She's a bit tacky" said the one with the machine.

Over Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, aside from my family, I had some lovely visitors - work colleagues, church minister, the Breast Nurse (who serendipitiously was there when my friend with another type of cancer arrived, and was able to help her), another pastoral care person, and another who later brought me DVD's to watch, and then surprisingly, my onco's friendly receptionist. My cup overflows with friends. My wonderful friend C and her family had engulfed the youngestPS since my chemo in their loving arms and kept him happy, comforted and distracted. I waited patiently for the Doobster on Friday, but sadly he had emergency surgery, and I was in again for another night.

I slept for 71/2 hours that night and awoke at 5.26 tin the morning. A good time to read the bible and pray, and sing croakily with the birds. Room 230 is small, and has big windows looking out to a view of Mount Wellington, and the hill of Lenah Valley. I decided to open the lovely thick cream drapes. The night nurse saw my light on and came to offer me anything? Coffee would be great, and he brought me a strong cup! I settled down snugly and watched as the sun turned the browny green indistinct mountain into a glowing pink and orange sharp relief of crags and slopes and trees. Then as the sky blued, the houses on the hill began to wink and gleam. Oh what a beautiful morning!

After breakfast, and another cup of coffee the Doobster arrived! Tantantara! OK. All the experts confirm I have no more cancer in my body. The tumour - or lump in my head - is NOT cancerous. It is either a ventricular lesion or a meningioma. I was told by the nurse that if I have to have a lump in my brain that's the kind to have! I am to have 2 weeks rest and get strong, and have love and fun with my family and friends, and then on 15th June, after a comparative MRI on 14th, I will have really cool brain surgery.

I was able to come home and tell my relieved Boys and call my family in SA.

Our God is awesome!