So it's late but i still said i'd try and log all my thoughts and considering if i keep myself awake until midnight i won't have to be woken up anyway in an hour to take my next dosage of decadron (the tumor shrinking steroid that gives me hot flashes, sweat, and characteristic hyperness seen mostly when i miss a consumption of my A.D.D. meds)
A few minutes ago the neuro specialist, Dr. Shnitker (i don't think i spelled it right, but i wanted to be able to pronounce his name correctly so i asked him and he told me "it's two syllables....shnit-ker", at least that's how it sounded to me, personally i like Dr. Snicker as a name. He's sweet and delicious! hahaha...just kidding)
Anyway, so what's it like being stuck on the Neuro/Ortho floor of Memorial? Well, i have a feeling the nurses like me. I think i'm the youngest person on the floor. Earlier a nurse took me on two laps around the floor (her name was Katrina) and considering the stiffness in my right leg from those locked up muscles, which no matter how often i stretch never get more flexible which just isn't right, she thought i was gonna run into a wall at one point, but i swerved and missed then shared with her i was ok, that i'd been walking around with a little less balance for a while, that i was the one who drove to Memorial (mother riding shot-gun of course and holding the passenger door with a death grip). Katrina just kinda said "you can't be serious" or something along those lines. Needless to say, by lap two i was moving a bit better, still like someone with a stiff knee brace on but walking easy all the same.
One thing i've noticed for a long time is how my feet roll. I learned how to properly walk to a strict degree my freshman year of high school when i was in marching band. We marched with the roll step, heel to toe. My left foot does this easily, but i've noticed that the tendons and muscles around my achilles and right ankle just don't want to bend, so when it comes down it dosen't roll, it goes heel-slap. I can't control my foot to roll naturally. Hopefully with the tumor gone i may get that movement back, and stop jarring my joints with such a hard movement (that and rolling that ankle, which i've noticed i've been prone to doing, especially when the ground was harder and i worked out at the barn where the ground was bumping and frozen hard)
I also have this habit of trying to get any medical staff who comes to take care of me smile if only for a moment. I took a medical ethics class during the Spring semester at IUSB (on accident, i clicked the wrong class when signing up but it turned out to be very interesting a true learning experience) so i am well aware that hospital staff work long hours and have a tough job. I know i'm here to get better, i've already assured them that i don't want to be here but that it's not because of them, it's me (which has gotten a smile or two), and i am determined to keep a positive attitude because, heck, the only one who knew about this growing tumor is God himself, it's no ones fault so there's no reason to have a negative outlook on this. God has a reason for everything he does, and right now i know one thing that he's proven about me is what a trooper i can be, having had to adapt to these small handicaps for the past year or so and just keep going on with my life. God gives us struggles so that we are truly grateful for those times when there are none at the moment.
Truly one of the most reassuring things through all of this is how Dr. Shnitker and Dr. Clayton (my general physician and supplier of my A.D.D. scripts) have spoken about this problem. Without worry. Sure, the problem is serious but nothing the Dr.'s have told me has given me any concern that i won't be seeing the light of day come Thursday after the surgery.
Closer to this morning, Dad dropped by with some clothes and a few more things essential for living in what i have come to see as 'a small hotel room with amazing room service that want you to live so badly they check your vitals every five hours or so'. Dr. Clayton ended up stopping by which was a relief and a surprise because no one was able to reach him yesterday when the Radiologist who looked over my neck MRI, Dr. Gratham, told me i should go to the emergency room. Upon his arrival i was happy, but again suprised. I told him this was strange, he looked 'normal'. In other words, a polo shirt and khaki shorts and not with a Dr. coat on or a stethoscope around his neck. He did a few reflex tests, balance and strength, etc. Asked if i had questions, and when Dad asked about the seriousness of my position, Dr. Clayton didn't hesitate to answer and say "oh yes, this is very serious. Anything putting pressure against the spinal column is very dangerous and should be dealt with ASAP." I'm sincerely grateful for his honesty. Again, it helps me know that i'm gonna be ok in the long run; God has sent competent doctors who i can trust to help me and with him guiding their hands i'll make it through.
So yes, yesterday during the ER waiting room time, i had a moment where i nearly fainted getting blood drawn out of me, which is a first. That's Beck's MO, not mine. I suppose the anxiety that was stirring underneath at all these things happening so suddenly decided it needed to show itself, that while i myself haven't felt any real fear from learning about the tumor (God's kept me alive this long, i don't think He's gonna quit on me now!) i was nervous/anxious. And so when a nurse was drawing blood samples out of me into 5 or 7 tubes (only one was filled all the way, the others just half), i suddenly commented that i wasn't feeling very good. Noises seemed to be coming from far away, and my vision was crossing. That, and my body got hit by a wave of heat so intense that i started sweating as if i had been stuck in a desert for hours. As i tried to keep myself as still as possible (reflex reaction so as not to collapse or fall on the floor) Mom leaned down in front of my line of vision and exclaimed, "whooowe, yeah, your pupils are huge". I ended up being able to rest forward on the arm rest and stayed like that as i was reminded to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. Eventually i steadied and i was wheeled out to the waiting room. I had a second anxiety attack when a catheter was inserted in my right arm (with Mom's help i might add. She has so much experience with hospitals that she was able to point out a vein an inch or two up my wrist that wouldn't impede wrist or elbow mobility). This attack i think was brought on by the pinch of the needle, but i felt light headed, extremely hot, and then extremely cold from the sweat evaporating and the AC blowing against my now somewhat damp body. I ended up getting two blankets on me (courtesy of a nurse) and also some food. I hadn't really eaten that much Friday (kinda busy) so the can of G2 orange gatorade, half-cut turkey sandwich, and zesta crackers were welcomed, and helped to settle that strange queasy feeling in my stomach.
My throat was really tight, like i was gonna cry, and before i did go to sleep for a few hours (until i was woken up around 5am because the nurse left my door open and so i heard all the noise of medical staff talking and wheeling things around. To combat this interruption, i took one of the pillows provided and laid it over my head while turning on my left side, still being ever so careful to not move the arm with the catheter in it. Ever since it got stuck and taped on me it's felt like someone keeps poking me with a needle when the reality is that i just have a rubber tube in my vein. A needle was used to initially open a hole, but it retracted once the tube was inserted. So now i'm easily given injections through two little plugs. So far all i've been given is Saline to keep my blood from clotting in the tubes, but it does have a side effect. My arm gets a cold flush and i get this metallic taste in my mouth, as if i had licked a penny. Other than that, the steroid is taken orally as a pill) a few tears did get squeezed out, but i still didn't have any sensation of fear or horrible saddness, just a visible form of the anxiety coming out from within me i guess.
The catheter, after having it in for a day, has made my arm kinda sore, and i'm careful to move it in certain ways or else i get a sharp jab of pain, but it's gonna be there for a while so i might as well suck it up. Considerig how every place i moved it hurt when it was originally in, it feels a lot better, proof of the amazing healing abilities God granted our bodies when He created us.
Well, it's nearly midnight, 8 minutes till. I've written quite a lot, and if i'm gonna be able to remember not to kill first and wonder why the floor is a bloody mess when i get woken in 6 hours for the next steroid, i should get some rest. I'll finish the rest of my thoughts tomorrow. Until then, goodnight.
Sarah
11:54pm EAST.
This tumor on the spine just makes sense for so many things, who'd-a-thunk-it?
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