My husband, Bob, had a seizure on January 26th. Since he had no previous history of seizures, a CT scanned was performed and the initial scan showed an obvious mass--we sat together and watched the hospitalist bring the image up on a monitor. Further MRIs that evening revealed a distinct tumor. This was successfully resected during emergency surgery on Wednesday the 31st. While the surgery was fairly straightforward (as brain surgeries go) the after effects of the surgery were…to put it mildly, not fun. Again, mercifully, they were mostly temporary. He’s still the same sarcastic, slightly ribald guy I fell in love with (and am occasionally embarrassed by in public). He was in and out of the ICU and the Recuperation Unit in a matter of days.
For a plane crash, this has gone as best it could. We were home and near a hospital when it happened. He didn’t fall, hit his head or die of a stroke before the tumor was discovered. Mostly I am beyond relieved we were together, he wasn’t out alone, or driving, and I could quickly get him help. Just an hour before the seizure, we were in rural Bodega Bay, miles from any hospital. If the seizure had happened even 5 minutes later, we would have been down several flights of stairs where the timing of getting him to an ambulance would have been exponentially more difficult. Because of how it happened he has a chance to recover.
The not great news is that this is a glioblastoma. No one wants to say scary words like ‘brain cancer’ but that is what it is. This means yucky stuff like chemo and radiation are in our future. We’re well aware of what is ahead. Everyone wants to know more. Bob and I both have a hundred things to think about and comprehend--but we have help. A lot actually, from so many people. Thanks go to my friends Robyn, Shannon, JD, and our many friends off FB, including Irene, James, as well as Bob’s friend (and best man) Mitchell, Bob’s brother, Rabbi Les Gutterman, and our neighbors, who’ve provided crucial support to me and to Bob during this period. We could not have done this without help. People brought food, helped with shopping and sat and hugged us while we bawled like children. Like all 'acceptance' speeches, I'm sure I'm leaving people out.
The list is long. A huge shout out across the medical spectrum (Nurses, Doctors, Surgeons, Specialists, and Therapists) that provided the best care for us and got us through this period. My thanks are endless.
Helpful: Love. Patience. Good will. Vibes. Prayers. Putting good energy out into the universe. Cookies. Cat Videos. Whatever helps.
Not helpful: Intrusive or troubling contact. I’ll delete anything on either of our pages which is upsetting or inappropriate.
What's important now: Bob needs to focus on getting better and move on to the next steps in his recuperation. And no, we’re not talking about diagnoses and timelines. We know what the doctors have said. We know what we know. Anything else is conjecture and our business alone. It could have happened to anyone. It’s just happening to us. We’ll take the foamy tops of these waves off as we go surfing. This is the starting line.
