My Sojourn at NYU: A Week of Highs and Lows

So I had quite a week. One for the books. The theme I am consistently experiencing is an extreme sense of alternating victory and defeat. All in all, the highs are outweighing the lows. Here are some highlights:

High Point	Low Point
Being told they are going to suck fat out of my stomach to “caulk” the holes in my head (and protect against a troublesome condition called Cerebro-Spinal Fluid leak). Bonus: free liposuction!	There is no such thing as a free lunch. Neurosurgeons don’t care if your abdomen is asymmetrical; they just want your brain to be ok. So much for lipo – it came out more like a little fat cantilever.
Being told I was well enough to move out of ICU.	Being wheeled to a tiny-tiny room and being introduced to possibly the most insufferable (not to mention racist) roommate on the face of the planet. I am not kidding –the nurses, residents and doctors all cheered when she got sent home (without indicating any disrespect).
A thrilling brush with celebrity: I was awakened to a big commotion in the hallway on my first night out of ICU. From what I could eavesdrop, some famous baseball player had been brought in with trauma to the head. He didn’t know what year it was. There had been a crash at home plate. It would have been eight runs, but instead it was only seven. People were demanding to know why there wasn’t a private room available to this man. An open investigation was being called for. He was moved into the room next to mine. This was going to be big, and I was going to have a great neuro-surgery celebrity brush with fame.	Realizing the next morning that I’m on the neuro-ward. There are a lot of crazies around (including me, especially considering the drugs I was on). And I can only hear out of one ear. It's possible that my eavesdropping skills may have been hindered. I am told the guy in the room next to me is apparently 53 years old. Not old, but probably not on the Yankees' starting line-up. Also, I later was told it's not even baseball season yet. I thought it was!?
Private duty nurses. Worth every cent. (Favorite quote: “Do you want me to give you a bath, honey? You poor thing, you look like we just scooped you up off First Avenue.”)	No low points. ALL the nurses on the neuro floor were absolutely amazing. Truly super-human. (Additional private duty was not necessary, but a luxurious extra – and the overworked floor nurses love it too.)
Witnessing a new sign of recovery every day.	Watching the bruises bloom on my body minute by minute. It is hard to believe I was simply lying on a table for four or five hours instead of beaten with a bag of stones and dropped off a rocky cliff. Don’t those surgeons know I like to be coddled!?
Making it to my mid-thirties with no medical emergencies whatsoever. Then in one quick week, going from neophyte to expert: a life-long trump card at cocktail parties: “Well, that reminds me of that time I had a brain tumor removed…”	I don’t care how much of an instant expert I am, waking up with five IVs was a valid cause for consternation for the life-long needle-phobe.
Being told I could go home. The stabbing pains and noises inside my head are normal. I shouldn’t be concerned.	Being told I had to go home. NOW WHAT!?

The one undeniable high: my amazing family and friends. Thanks for everything. I know I still have a long road ahead, but it won't be long before I can talk on the phone, and soon enough I'll actually be able to see you guys. In the meantime, email and blogging has proven a great way to stay in touch. Thanks for all your messages - I LOVE them, and they're keeping me going.

And don't worry - I'm staying on top of the Anna Nicole Smith case. I'm sure you've heard by now: accidental drug overdose.

xo

jv