Surgery in Street Clothes

Yesterday I sent out messages to my "sporadic updates" lists to let everyone know how the procedure had come out, and late afternoon I spoke with my dear sister J. I told her that, on the whole, everyone had complied with my request not to call; I had decided to take several days apart to make certain that I had no headaches, that I didn't overtax myself, that I could adjust to new medication schedules, and get my head wrapped around the whole process, before I settled into visits and talks. She commented, "This all seems to science-fiction! When we were kids, could you have imagined anything like this happening?" And I had to acknowledge, no, I couldn't.

The film Fantastic Voyage comes to mind somehow, with little miniaturized scientists jetting through my head, zapping tissue amidst all types of improbable barriers and dangers. That just doesn't square somehow with being comfortably placed on a table in street clothes, and having someone pop one of my favorite CDs by the Gipsy Kings into the stereo system.

We have friends here who have 25 years of experience dealing with her brain tumors and subsequent medications, surgeries, radiations, and life changes. She's maintained a loving relationship with her friends and her family; she's upbeat, and accepts the limitations that have come with her condition gracefully and inspirationally. Science fiction can't begin to describe how things have changed over the years with treatment options. Even more, science fiction doesn't approach the amazing abilities of the human body and mind to cope.

I'm back to knitting, working my way through small projects. It's a fabulous relief to be able to comprehend my "alternate universe" of stick and string without panic.