3 years 5 months and 19 days

That’s how many days will have passed from the last time I went to work until the day I start back on March 23rd.

***

On July 25^th 2014 I had Cryo Ablation performed on the tumor in my back. I was one of the first patients to undergo this procedure at the Montreal General and it was somewhat of a trial run (in terms of the cases it could be used on, mine was rather straight forward and low risk). It was a new experience for everyone involved, so much so that representatives from the company that made the equipment were present to make sure everything functioned as expected. Everything went off without a hitch, though I wasn't too impressed when a large wrench was required to close off the freezing gas. Something about the sight of a common garage tool makes everything seem less fancy (at least it was a shiny new wrench). From there it was back to the exciting world of day surgery recovery.

The days afterwards were expectedly slow and painful but within a few I was back home on my own. After a few weeks I started to notice a difference in what I was able to do and started to push things (Like sitting!). In September I decided I had enough of my cane and opted to stop using it. It was slow going at first but soon enough my leg was stable enough to not regret my choice. To be perfectly honest, the best feeling was just having 2 hands free at all times. It’s something I didn't realize I would miss as much as I did. It’s not often you can literally say that you doubled your ability to do something.

Once the progress and improvement in how I felt became more pronounced, my insurance company stepped in and made a huge difference (who would have thought they could use their power for good). In November, my file was handed over to a rehabilitation consultant and within a few weeks I started a rehabilitation program at Concordia Physio Sport. I began seeing an occupational therapist at first and soon after began seeing a physiotherapist and an athletic therapist as well. While progress was slow going and sometimes hard for me to see, improvement was constant. From working on sitting properly, relearning to walk without a limp or learning to swing both my arms when I walked (this was so much harder to do than you can imagine, it’s a really awkward thing to think about. I was always convinced that people could tell I was trying too hard to look normal and would know I was faking it), I was constantly improving. Obviously it wasn't all smooth sailing, it didn't take long for my shoulders to start hurting from old volleyball injuries and I’m quite certain I told my athletic therapist that she single handedly ruined Christmas. Regardless, thanks to my team, and the 3 sessions a week that insurance was paying for, I was able to improve almost every aspect of my life from sleep to almost everything that wasn't sleep.

The first time I really realized that I was things were making a big difference was when I had the opportunity to play some hockey for a friend’s birthday at an indoor rink. I grew up playing hockey but it had been 15 years since I had played and roughly 4 years since I had played any sport at all. While I wasn't sure how it was going to go or even if it was a good idea to play, I wasn't going to let anything stand in my way. After a trial skating run under the supervision of my occupational therapist went well, I received the green light. I went in with what I thought were realistic expectations, I didn't want to throw up, everything beyond that was going to be a bonus. While I was a little uncertain at first, once I stopped thinking and just let muscle memory take over, I was having the time of my life. I only had the cardio to make it down the ice in one direction and coast back but the fact that I could make it all the way was more than good enough to me. The best compliment I received was when I would tell people how long it had been or what my situation was and they couldn't believe it. I certainly didn't expect to be able to keep up with everyone out there and play without a worry in the world. The worst thing that happened was how raw my throat got from breathing heavy after an hour and a half and a lot of coughing but I definitely counted that as a win. Not only was I able to do that but I was also able to go out that night. While I certainly didn't feel great the next day, it was the kind of pain that a regular person would feel and not the back pain I was accustomed to.

Once I had progressed past the point of just doing exercises at home, my occupational therapist was able to convince insurance to pay for a gym membership in February. From there, I started going 3 times a week and felt better each time I was there. While I’m convinced everyone looked at me and could tell that I was a fraud and didn't belong, I saw them doing their workouts with horrible technique so in terms in judging, we’re even. In addition to the gym, insurance arranged for me to see a job consultant to see if we could trick/convince a company that I was worth hiring (spoiler alert: We did it!).

With things progressing so well and the job search period of my rehabilitation plan set to start in April, I decided I would get a jump on things and start doing some looking around to see what was out there. After some disheartening searching, I decided to see what would happen if I looked on Craigslist. Lo and behold, a listing popped up that was exactly what I was looking for. I decided I had nothing to lose and sent them my CV. Within a few days I heard from them and they asked me to come in for an interview and do to a test. While getting to the place and the interview are stories of themselves, I’ll skip to the good part: They offered me the job on the spot. They said that after an interview that good, they couldn't let me walk out without offering me a job. I, of course, did what anyone who hadn't worked in years would do, I told them I was flattered and would get back to them in a few days to let them know what I decided. Needless to say I accepted the job and that leads me to where I am today.

While I’m excited to start a new chapter in my life (or reopen the book in general), I’d be lying if I said I was anything other than terrified. While I’m confident in my ability to do the work and adapt to that, I have not had to think that much for that long in years. I can’t fathom just how tired I am going to be. Not since beginning school at age 5 have I gone this long without regularly waking up and doing something. While I am miles ahead of where I was just a few short months ago, I came home after the interview and all I had the energy to do was lay on the couch and barely stay awake. It’s going to be a long uphill battle but I’m looking forward to it more than anything in my entire life. Seriously question, what’s an acceptable amount of time to finally learn and remember coworker’s names?

***

Chances are I'll never really get to feel normal and will always have to live with pain but compared to how things once were, I'm finally walking down the path to rebuilding my life and living again. 

Surgery 2: This time it's personal

It’s that time of the year again. I’ll be heading back to the hospital on Friday the 25th for another fun adventure in surgery land. To keep things fresh and interesting, this procedure will be a brand new one that hasn’t been performed here before. I’ve been told that my doctor has performed this procedure in Europe but it was never mentioned how long ago they were in Europe.

The procedure itself is going to be more or less similar to my previous one except the complete opposite. I was told that I would have a spinal block and drugged up again so it’s going to be exactly the same for me so I’ll have at least that nice level of consistency. The procedure is going to be similar in that it’s going to involve various needles and instruments but different because rather than burning the tumor, they’ll be freezing it to death. The supposed benefit of this is that with the use of a CT scan (this will be performed in CT) they can actually see the flesh that is being frozen. This means they can better limit the collateral damage while also insuring that they kill everything they intend to kill. It would be nice if the doctors had some experience to be as exact as possible but that’s the cost of being the first name on a brand new waiting list. Hopefully they practiced on a lot of steak (not a joke).

For my first surgery, I allowed myself to start running before I could walk again (figuratively, I don’t think I’ve run anywhere in a few years). As worried as I was about a lot of things, I really focused on the future and of course was let down when things didn’t quite work out. This time around I’ve mostly just ignored this whole lead up for better or for worse. I’d rather try and just take each day as it comes than get caught up in everything that comes with either success or failure. That being the case, I’m not actually in the mood to write much more as it completely goes against what I said I was going to do.

I’ll be back with fun stories from the hospital in a few days. Wish me luck… or don’t and be a dick. 

6 months

When I started this back in the December, the idea what that I could use it to keep track of how things moved forward and the progress I made towards a return to normal. I honestly did not think I would find myself 6 months later in hardly any better shape at all sitting around waiting for the phone to ring. April 11^th  (the planned date of Surgery 2: Electric Boogaloo) came and went due to some complications at the hospital. First it was getting all of the equipment and pieces, then it was getting everything approved by Health Canada. The last I heard they were working out when to schedule training for the new equipment. I can’t complain that much since I would hate to go through the entire procedure only to find out they couldn't figure out how to turn the thing on and just hoped that I wouldn't notice.

Last night I came home from watching hockey at the Bell Center and felt pretty worse for wear (losing makes everything worse). I was tired but I've learned better than to lay in bed in pain. There’s no point to it except to grow more frustrated and bored. By 3 am the pain was still getting worse, so for the first time in several months, I reached over and grabbed one of my bottles of pills hoping that I could find some relief. I finished up whatever random late night tv I had be staring at absent mindedly and made my way to bed (not before brushing and flossing, of course). After reading a bit on my phone, I noticed that my pain was actually coming down a bit. The pain was leaving my leg and was more localized in my back than usual. Rather than take that moment to let the drowsiness take over and get some sleep, I actively did the opposite. Suddenly I didn't want to be asleep, my pain was decreased and I wanted to stay awake to appreciate this rare moment of peace. Granted it was 5am at this point and my options for things to do were rather limited but still, I opted to read, to watch random videos, to do pretty much anything that wasn't sleep because it seemed like such a waste.

A few months back I was rather happy that I had managed to come off all my medications. I really viewed it as a door opening to a more healthy way of living, albeit with more alcohol. The reality of the situation was far from what I imagined it would be. While I would be lying if I said the pain didn't come down, it didn't exactly come down the way that would have been helpful. My baseline pain levels have decreased and that can make doing nothing easier but activity still sends my pain levels rocketing up in no time. Rather than being able to do more, I find myself more down than ever. I sit around feeling ok and decide to do something only to regret it almost immediately. I can no longer trust my body to give me an accurate prediction for how I’m feeling. When I was in significant pain all the time, it was actually easier to force myself to do something because I knew that pain was going to be there anyways. All of that is best case scenario at that. In reality, more often than not I’m in “recovery mode” from whatever I’ve done recently. The smallest amount of activity can haunt me for days making every subsequent action that much more difficult to do. While my head is in better places these days, my body still acts like an anchor dragging me back to my bed or couch; a constant reminder that I need to make my actions count because I’ll be paying for them for the near future. Sometimes it’s not even things I do by choice, last week I slept on my back wrong and could hardly walk the next day. The concept of doing anything during the day is almost completely foreign to me these days. Wanting to do anything requires hours of physical and mental preparation, time to test how my body is going to react that day. Usually with careful enough planning I can do what I need to do, sometimes I roll the dice and lose. It sucks to lose.

My 6 month anniversary of my procedure coincidentally coincided with my 1 year anniversary of using a cane. In that time I've learned a few things about myself and other people. Firstly, I certainly took having 2 free hands for granted. I have had to become very adept at balancing things and wedging my cane against things when I do need both my hands. Secondly, it’s really embarrassing when my cane falls. Nothing makes me more self-conscious than the loud bang when my cane hits the floor. The heads that turn to see what happened only to see a guy in his 20’s needing a cane. I know I need it and that’s life, but having attention brought to it like that, like it’s a glaring weakness, really cuts deep. That being said, I don’t mind talking about my cane because at least it’s on my terms. What’s strange is half the time people ask me about it, they ask it in a way like they’re going to catch me in some sort of lie or that I’m going to admit that I’m just guy who likes using a cane for fun. Regardless of how it’s asked, my answer is always the same “I have a tumor in my lower back that pressed on nerved that go in to my leg”. At that point, it’s more awkward for them than it is for me and I’m fine with that. Thirdly, the most important lesson that I've learned is that PEOPLE DO NOT GIVE A SHIT ABOUT A 28 YEAR OLD WITH A CANE. In the last year, I can count the number of people who have given up a designated seat for me on a bus or metro. I would need the hands of all of my friends to count the number of times I've been cut off, bumped out of the way, or ignored while someone else takes one of these seats in front of me. I've even had people give me understanding looks when I look frustrated that someone took a seat in front of me, all while they themselves sit in seats with no intention of getting up. These days I know better than to expect anything, my only hope is that at least the odd few person feels bad about not getting up but waiting too long that they think it would be awkward if they did. That might be a stretch but a guy can dream.

I sure am getting tired of this so here's a generic "everything will get better" song...

A Series of Fortunate Events

For the past few weeks, I've been trying to write. Actually, I've been doing much better than just trying, every time that I've sat down to do it, I do. Unfortunately, I’m never happy with what I end up writing. I want to pretend like it’s an issue of quality but in reality it’s all about not feeling comfortable knowing that people will read it. I've been trying to write about what depression has been for me, how it was never like how I thought it was (I wasn't actually sad… who’da thunk it). I've decided that rather than end up with a whole bunch of stuff that I’m unhappy with, I would go about this a different way. Over the past month and a bit, I've experienced some firsts and some milestones that I’m quite happy with. I wrote these pieces at different periods of time but decided to keep them all together like this.

This was written roughly the third week of January

I feel like shit today. I’m happy I feel like shit today, because I’m the reason for it. Today is the first day that I have gone without a fentanyl patch since last March. I've been working on coming off of fentanyl for a few weeks now slowly reducing it over time and yesterday I took off my patch and didn't put a new one on. For those not familiar with fentanyl (if you've spoken to me in the past few months, you’ve heard this), it was explained to by my pharmacist like this: it takes 30mg of codeine to equal 1mg of morphine, it takes 5mg of morphine to equal 1mg of dilaudid, and finally it takes 100mg of dilaudid to equal 1mg of fentanyl. Since March, I've worn a patch, not unlike a nicotine patch, that has delivered a constant dose of this medication. The past couple of weeks have consisted of all the fun of having the flu but without the bad side of having the flu (this is possibly the worst sentence I have ever written and I will keep it for that reason). I’ve had cold sweats, which are much worse when it’s -40 and you live in a basement, I've had full body aches, headaches, been nauseated and pretty much all around feeling crappy.  That being said, there’s something satisfying about being in control of how I feel, even if that means feeling terrible.

Of course, this certainly isn't the first time I've felt crappy due to coming off of medication. In fact, I’m still getting over the last medication I was on. While I knew ahead of time, because of what I had heard from friends, I couldn't believe just how terrible I felt when I stopped taking the main anti-depressant that I was on. I had been on Effexor since May and during that time I had achieved a peak dose of 225mg a day. While at first this seemed to help, it wasn’t long until I started dealing with some rather unpleasant side effects. After speaking with my doctor, we decided that the best course of action was to taper off the Effexor and begin taking a new medication in its place. I learned later on that the recommended tapering of this medication is 10mg a week but for whatever reason, my doctor had be tapering 37.5mg every 4 days (I have to assume it’s because he knows I’m a stone cold badass…. or the idea of me suffering amuses him). While the side effects while being on the medication were tough, they were nothing compared to what it was like coming off them. The main issue was something affectionately known as "brain zaps," "brain shocks," "brain shivers," "brain pulse-waves," "head shocks," "pulses," "flickers," or "cranial zings" (had I known I could have called them zings, maybe things would have been more fun). These zings felt like I was getting an electric shock right in my brain. This shock would lead to a sense of complete disorientation similar to vertigo but worse. Other times when it would get more severe, I would feel that shock and then be able to feel the charge travel down in to my extremities and then bounce back up, sometimes several times in a row. Unfortunately it did not take much to trigger these episodes, while they happened regularly on their own, all it took was a little bit of movement on my part to trigger even more. It didn't just take real movement either, if I was playing video games, the movement  on my television was enough to trigger them. Not only was there nothing that could be done about these symptoms, they’re not even understood by medical science. Less than reassuring but at the very least, doctors acknowledge that it exists. Of course that wasn't the only fun that I got to deal with, you can mix in a healthy dose of being nauseated and zombie like (I’m not sure if zombies are nauseated so forgive my redundancy if they are). In the end the government decided not to cover the new medication and my doctor and I decided that we would go without it. 

This was written roughly the last week of January

I was tired last night. For the longest time I've just gone to bed when I've grown bored of being awake. It didn't matter if I had been awake for 24 hours, I still didn't feel tired, I would just eventually decide that I had been awake enough and had nothing left to do. It was very hard to maintain a sleep schedule especially because I lacked a routine and had no reason to wake up at a reasonable hour. It's been different the last few days as I've noticed that I've been tired. It’s a strange feeling to not be accustomed too, I was watching tv last night and I couldn't figure out why I was feeling so blah. It was only when I found myself looking at the time, it was 5:00am, that I realized that I was tired. At that point I turned my tv off and went to bed and fell asleep within a few minutes. While this sounds somewhat trivial, I can’t remember the last time I laid in bed only to close my eyes and fall asleep. There was no need to read or occupy myself on my phone, I just slept.

Another not so coincidental first that occurred after my first night of being tired was that I got out of bed because I was hungry. Much like sleep, I've been going through the motions of eating because I knew I should but never because I felt like I had to. I've been able to lay in bed from the afternoon until the evening without even the most subtle urge to get out to eat. Granted, I’m still lazy so I made myself a toaster strudel and a glass of juice, but I made it because I wanted to eat it, not because I figured I should probably eat something. Food is a lot more satisfying when it’s actually desired.

This part I wrote yesterday

Tonight marks the first night in almost a year that I will be medication free. I spent the last 3 weeks working off my last remaining medications and last night was the last one. Compared to the other medications, this time was a true cake walk, I felt no ill effects of reducing the dose at any time. I feel that it needs to be said that my lack of medication does not mean that I am pain free. In fact, I still don’t feel particularly good, but the pain is at a level that I can tolerate on my own without the need for medicinal intervention. I’m still waiting on what happens next but I’m hoping I’ll be able to feel a little more normal during that process. I’m still not at the end of the tunnel but the light at the end of it is as bright as ever. I start physiotherapy in April (there’s a bit of a wait for it at the hospital). On top of that, I’m slowly working towards increasing my level of activity but annoyingly I still get tired after not doing very much. I’m hoping with a sustained increase over time, I’ll get back to a level of energy comparable to that of a normal person sooner rather than later.

One last thing… for those that don’t know, one of the great sides of no longer being on medication means that I have the official all clear to consume alcohol. In other words, I've been given my cool card back. Should anyone want to hang out and be cool, let me know.

An Overdue Update with Good News.

It’s been almost a month since I've written anything so I thought it would be a good time to give kind of a general health update. Several people have been asking me so I figured it made sense to just write a general thing that covers everything that I could think of. Also, this way some people that don't care will read this anyways and be stuck knowing.

Overall things are improving but it’s still been on the slow side. It took about 2 weeks after the procedure for the overall level of pain to come down to a level that was lower than before the procedure. On December 27^th I had a follow up MRI and then had a meeting with the doctor who performed the procedure. Firstly, I have to say that an MRI laying on my stomach was awful. There was no comfortable way to keep my head, thankfully I was able to move it in between images as it was very uncomfortable to keep it in one place for an extended period of time. Secondly, laying on my chest on a hard table for 45 minutes meant that I was basically conscious of my breathing the entire time. Having the weight of my body fighting against taking a satisfying deep breath was also incredibly uncomfortable. Secondly, while normally MRI’s are a cold experience, for whatever reason this machine was generating a lot of heat, so much so, that they had to have padding between me at the sides of the machine. While this doesn't seem like a bad thing, it meant that I slowly got sweaty and gross while unable to move. It might be looking for things to complain about but it was just another level of discomfort that I wasn't prepared for when I woke up that morning. After that unpleasantness was done, I met with the doctor to review the images. I wish I had thought go get a picture ahead of time but through the magic of MS pain and a previous MRIs, I’m going to my best to reproduce what I saw.

 

It should be noted that there are a couple inaccuracies going on here. Firstly, this MRI is almost a year old and the visible layer of fat is entirely gone now. Secondly, the “dead area” should be a circle to show the spherical area that was burned but with this image, I wasn't able to use a circle without it covering too much. This image is also missing all the burned area on the bone as well.

From what the doctor told me, everything looks the way it should look and all is well. There was the expected area of inflammation in the area that was doing its job (this is also poorly represented by the white outer circle on my picture). The current plan is that if the procedure was able to improve things by at least 50%, they would do another MRI and look to see if there is anything else in the area that be destroyed in another RFA treatment. If things haven’t improved by at least that much, then it would be the end of the road for this option and I would be handed back over to orthopedic surgery.

                Last week I was actually feeling well enough to walk to the pharmacy to pick up some pills without using my cane. Unfortunately I underestimated just how rusty I was at walking on icy NDG sidewalks and only made it about 15 feet from my door before wiping out. Thankfully I managed to fall on my “good” left side and didn't do any additional damage to my back. The unfortunate part though is that with bruises on my shoulder, elbow, hip and knee, it made it impossible to sleep on my left side. This wouldn't be such a problem for a regular person but regrettably I’m unable to sleep on my right side because of my back. This made for a few sleepless nights but beyond that and a bruised ego, I walked away fine. For now, I’ll continue to use my cane until both the weather and my leg become more stable but I'll be damned if I get one of those ice gripping tips.

                For a bit of great news, I've finally been given the ok to enjoy alcohol again. While I have great friends and a great bar that didn't mind me sipping water, there’s just something about watching 2 people fight in a cage that calls for a beer. I’ll be taken it slow and easy for a while but it was a spot of good news that I will be appreciating for the foreseeable future. Also, it says something about the quality of a bar staff that I was able to walk up to a bartender that I had only met once before, give her the good news, and have a shot of whiskey in my hand in mere moments. They certainly know what they’re doing when it comes to keeping my business (For anyone that doesn't know, I’m referring to Mclean’s Pub but if you've ever asked me about anything related to going out, you probably knew that). This good news was due to my cutting down of medication since my procedure. As of just a few days ago, I’m down to only one medication of my previous 6. Anyone that knows how much I've been on, knows how big a deal this is. While I can’t say enough good things about my pharmacist throughout all of this, I’m kind of looking forward to making regular people small talk rather than discussing all the medications.

I was not joking about a lot of meds

                With some upcoming appointments in the next few weeks, I’ll be looking to add more activities to my life to slowly increase my level of functionality and overall energy levels. I look forward to the days where I won’t be tired from just getting groceries. 

Hospital Aventures

I figured that since I can't sleep again, I would use the time to talk about some of the things that happened in the hospital. I kind of wish I had found the app for this a few days ago so I could have better killed time in the hospital but better late than never. I'll do my best to create a semblance of a narrative but considering the amount of medication I was under the influence of, there may be some blanks. 

I started getting a touch nervous for the procedure while waiting in the hallway outside the angiogram room. I was sitting with my mom as equipment rolled by, and it was only then that I realized this was a bigger deal than I had made it out to be in my head. It started off with an ultrasound machine but it was the ventilator that made things real. I had never given much thought to what it meant to be under but at that moment, it stopped being no big deal. As luck would have it, the anesthesiologist decided that it would be more beneficial to do a spinal. At the time, I had no idea what that meant and when I asked, it still wasn't that clear. Soon enough it became evident that it was another name for an epidural. I had to lean forward while some guy (I assume he was a resident) held me still. The doctor apologized that he didn't have a pretty girl to hold me but I told him that if this was going to fix my back, everyone in the room was beautiful (I also mentioned that if I cried, he was supposed to rub my head but it didn't come to that). Before I lost full feeling in my legs, I rolled over and that's the last thing that I remember. 

Before the anesthesiologist stuck my back (but while the resident was putting in my IVs), the 2 doctors that were going to perform the procedure came to talk with me. They explained the risks and what they were going to do. The reason for the second doctor was because he was an expert on RFA for bone and it turned out they would be burning a lot of bone. When I asked about the concern of burning the skin, they acknowledged that it was a possibility but that they would use ice to try to keep the skin as cool as possible. After they were all done, I was told the actual time I would be out would be no more than 20-30 minutes and we were getting started at 1:30pm. According to my mom, it wasn't long before they sent someone out for more ice but it seemed to do the trick. I am burn free and won't be requiring a skin graft (yeah, that's how bad the burns would have been). 

Note: It is now 6:15am and due to pain I have had to take an oxy to try and manage the pain. While I hope to catch it all when I edit, I apologize if anything after or before this, is of lesser quality or confusing. While I don't get a high from the medication (or very much relief), it still has an effect on me.

The next moment that I remember is being in day recovery. I remember a nurse being around me but I wasn't entirely with it. I asked what time it was and she replied that it was a little after 4pm. Being the sensible gentlemen that I am, I politely replied "No it's not", followed by an explanation of why she was wrong. After being informed that I wasn't making any sense, I decided to stare up at the ceiling until I stopped seeing double while trying to figure out why that nurse insisted on being a liar. Putting that puzzle aside, I slowly regained full awareness of what was going on around me. I'm not sure what image people have of what a day recovery ward looks like but let me assure you that whatever you picture, it's more boring than that. All you do is quietly lay there while a machine takes your blood pressure every half hour. You're not able to have someone with you so you just have the choice of spying on other patients, staring at the ceiling, or sleeping. As per usual, I chose a combination of all 3. It was only when I started stretching that started noticing some things. Firstly, I noticed that my IV was in the opposite arm than when I was last awake. There was also dried blood on the old side and for some reason dry blood on the new side as well. Secondly, I noticed that I wasn't in pain. Finally my third and perhaps most obvious observation (which explains the second one) was that I had absolutely no feeling at all in the lower half of my body. Unsurprisingly, it's an incredibly strange sensation only made stranger when I was suppose to tell the nurse my levels of pain on a scale from 1-10. She didn't seem to appreciate my score of 0 but if anyone can come up with a better explanation for no sensation at all, I'd like to hear it. Because I say things like this and some people might wonder, it is very strange to encounter your own penis when you cannot feel it. There was definitely a moment of "what the hell is this" before simple logic decided to show up. By the time day recovery was closing, 6pm, I had only regained the ability to slightly bend my knees. Since I wasn't quite in a state to go home, I was shipped off to regular recovery.

I wasn't kidding about the dry blood

On my way to the second recovery, I got to see my mom for a few moments. It was at this point that I learned the nurse wasn't a liar and that it took around over 2 hours for the procedure to be completed. I also found out that I was given the same medication that killed Michael Jackson (those are seriously the exact words that my mom used, I still don't know what it was but I prefer to say it like that). Day recovery was boring, there's no denying that, but regular recovery is pretty special in its own way. When I say special though, I mean that it's exactly like day recovery but now all you can do it stare at the wall in front of you (or in my case an ice machine). Also, all the nurses in there hate you. They hate you for having to recover and would rather see you sicker or completely recovered. Either way, they hate you and they don't want you there. Unlike the previous area, this one has no closing time and you're there until you're recovered enough to go home. It was while I laid there that I found out that one of the doctors arranged for me to have a private room to stay in if I didn't feel able to go home that night. Around 7:30pm (this is a guess, I don't actually know what the time was) I was asked to try and move my legs. I was still only able to slightly bend my knees but could also slightly feel my thighs. Regardless of my incredibly limited movement and sensation, I was chastised for treating recovery like waiting area while I decided whether or not I wanted to go home. While I tried to explain that there was no deciding as I had nowhere near enough returned sensation to leave, I was told I would have to be moved up to the room that was being held for me. While this seemed infuriatingly dumb, I was told that even if I went to the room, I could leave any time I wanted. It also meant that I could finally have my parents around so it didn't seem like that bad an idea.

To further illustrate my point, the person who wheeled my bed to my room had to lift my legs for me as I switched beds. The room itself ended up being rather nice and it was equally nice to be around familiar faces again. My parents helped fill in some blanks about how long things took, what they were told by the doctors and things like that. Within a few minutes of being there, a nurse arrived to take my vitals. She asked how my pain levels were and by that point the pain was becoming rather prominent. She returned to the room a few minutes later with a small orange pill in a paper cup. Recognizing the pill, I asked the nurse what it was and she confirmed that it was dilaudid. I then had a moment of not being sure what to say or how to say it without coming off as rude. I eventually settled on "I can't take this! It says so on all of my paperwork and even on this read bracelet!" and I lifted my arm just in case she was going to call my bluff. She seemed annoyed by this mistake and left the room. She returned a few minutes later to say she couldn't find a doctor so there was nothing she could do about my pain. Thankfully, I had some forethought about something like this happening and I had packed some of my own medication and informed her that I would just take that, rather than wait. Thankfully later in the evening the problem had been remedied and she was able to help me when the pain began to get more severe. Around 9:30pm, my level of sensation and mobility had greatly increased to the point of wanting to go home. When the nurse next came by to check on me, I let her know but was promptly told that there was no way that I would be able to leave. When I explained that was told I could leave at any time, she left the room looking annoyed again. A few minutes later she came back and told me I couldn't leave today but that I could leave the following morning. What annoyed me was that she said this to me in such a way that it seemed like we were coming to some sort of compromise. Regardless, things went smoothly the following morning. I received my sad looking cold breakfast and after I was done, I was good to go home. Even though I insisted that I didn't need it, the hospital insisted on calling in a prescription for tylenol for me at my local pharmacy.

Since leaving the hospital, I stayed with my parents until Monday evening. While I likely could have managed on my own, it was much easier to rest and recuperate without having to worry about making food or any of those standard daily chores. It was also easier for my parents to not have to worry about anything like that as well. A big added bonus was that I got to be under the care of the ever watchful eye of my dog. Though it’s quite clear that since I've moved out, he now views himself as higher in the pack, it was great having him around (he seriously won’t even play with me, if I throw a toy, he will bring it back to my dad first and then my mom).

The doctors expected that things would be all sunshine and rainbows from the moment I regained feeling from the epidural but unfortunately that just hasn't been the case. The pain was rather severe once I regained feeling and in the 6 days since, that pain has only decreased slightly. I'm still left in a state that is worse off than before the procedure but I'm not too concerned yet. I appreciate the confidence of the doctors but considering how this is pretty much all uncharted territory, I'm willing to give things more time before I start to think about things not having worried. I have a follow up MRI next week and will see how things are at that point and what steps have to be taken.

What happens next?

As the hours tick down towards my procedure, it shouldn't come as a huge shock that I can’t sleep. To be honest, I’m almost always awake at this time but today seems different. I’m tired which is a change but I don’t really want to go lay in bed. While I’m out of bed, I can continue to do all the random things that I can come up with to keep my mind occupied. Once I’m in bed and trying to sleep, that’s when I my thoughts get the upper hand. Like I said though, today is different. When I turned off my xbox (with my voice because I'm cool like that), I unhooked it and packed it up. I also packed my phone charger and some clothes because I know I won't be home for a few days. That sounds more ominous than it is, I should only be at the hospital for a few hours but I'll be staying at my parents for at least a day or two to make sure I'm alright.

A lot of people that I've spoken to in the last couple days have asked me the same question, “Am I scared?”. It seems like a strange question to me. I don’t have to do anything tomorrow, what do I have to be scared of? I wonder more if people are asking my doctor that same question considering how rarely the procedure has been done (this will be #2), but I probably don’t want to know the answer. To be honest I’m really not worried, concerned, or scared shitless (their words, not mine. I wonder what they were imagining that I would have me that scared) simply because I’m going to do the same thing I've done every time I've gone into the hospital. I’m going to do walk in, smile and greet the nurses, technicians, coordinators, and doctors who I have come to know, get changed into 2 hospital gowns (one front ways and one back like I'm a cooler version of kriss kross). After that, I'll probably sign some papers and have stuff explained. Next it’ll be 2 hospital bracelets to put on (they will inevitably scratch my face at some point when I forget I have them on), have my temperature taken, have an IV inserted while they make some sort of joke related to my veins. It's at that point that I’ll kick off my shoes, lay face down on the table that is not made to have people face down on and I’ve done my part. It’s everyone else’s show after that; someone will awkwardly put the oxygen tube around my head, they’ll clean the area, talk like I’m not there and eventually I’ll go to sleep. Sometime after that, I’ll wake up, switch beds, and get moved up into the recovery ward. At that point they will reattach the heart monitor, take my temperature again and there will likely be some more pain medication. I'll probably text some people, say yes to juice and cookies, and then take a nap. So no, I’m 100% fine with how things are going to go tomorrow, it’s what comes after tomorrow that has me absolutely terrified.

If the procedure fails, I go back to this. I go back to spending time laying in my bed after I've woken up hours after I should have. Eventually I'll convince myself that I should at least lay on my couch. The sign that will convince me that I should get out of bed is that I’ll already be through half of my phone charge. If things go wrong, I know exactly what my days will be like. I know how to do this, I'm an expert at this. I'll make jokes and people will tell me that I have such a positive attitude. If things go right though, I have no idea what happens. If things go right, the entire world changes from the moment I open my eyes. People tell me that I should be happy and take things one day at a time, that the world will be my oyster (I don't even know if I like oysters). I don’t mean to sound negative but people tell people that their dead loved ones are in a better place and we all know that during that time, those words mean nothing. They’re nice words, they’re appreciated words, but at that very moment, nothing in the world is going to take their mind off of the situation at hand. I know everyone means well when they say things like that to me;in reality, it just adds to my near panicked state. When I try to put it in to words, it comes out something like this:

Imagine having a puzzle that you had spent years putting together. You loved that puzzle. Now imagine that over a period of a few years you stopped adding new pieces and instead you started to lose pieces. Only a few pieces at first but as sure as the sun rises each day, you lost another piece. At first you can still look at the image fondly and know that you made that, that you're proud of everything you put in it and of the image it displays. Except that as time goes on, it’s harder and harder to see that original image. After even longer, you don’t even recognize that image anymore. Even at that low though, you can still imagine what used to be there. As even more time ticks by, you start to see the incomplete picture as the normal image, it's unrecognizable from its former self but it is as it is and that's what you and others are used to seeing now.

Now imagine that one day when you open your eyes, things things are suppose to be different, people look at you differently. Suddenly you’re supposed to go right back to building that puzzle even though you haven’t looked for pieces in years. People will take  long looks at it and ask you what you've added to it lately. It’s understandable, why wouldn't you be putting pieces back in when you’re finally done losing them. The problem is you don’t remember what the puzzle is supposed to look like and you don't even have those lost pieces. Now you have to figure out where you would even find these new pieces because now the ones that you remember don't even look like they would fit anymore. It’s understandable at first; of course you’re going to be rusty. After a while though, it seems kind of strange that you haven’t done anything. Why wouldn't you have done something by that point, nothing is holding you back. Suddenly people can't help but wonder what you're doing if things don't look how they expected them too.

I know it's an easily defeated analogy but it's what came to mind when I tried to put it in to words.

If that makes any sense, then perhaps that will give you a glimpse into what is going through my mind. If it doesn't make any sense, then it wouldn't be the first time someone’s fears didn't make sense to others (Seriously, clowns are not scary. Pennywise and John Wayne Gacy didn't kill nearly enough people to ruin them for everyone).

This guy couldn't even chase you if he wanted to, with shoes like that

                I don’t think people realize just how much I've lost over time. It’s so easy to send well wishes and make hypothetical plans but it’s another thing all together to have to climb out of a hole so deep that sunlight doesn't even look familiar anymore (I live in a semi-basement, I legitimately don’t see direct sunlight). What am I suppose to say to someone when they want to make extravagant plans when on the inside I’m just hoping I can get back to doing things that everyone else takes for granted? If I shoot down plans, I’m being negative but how do you explain to someone that their plans sound downright impossible when all I’m wondering is how long it’s going to take me to relearn how to walk normally again. People ask me where I want to travel and all I can think about is how I want to ask them what it’s like to sleep laying on their back? What’s it’s like to sit normally? Is it true that clothes aren't suppose to hurt when you wear them? What is is like to not be in pain at all times? I'm suppose to stay positive even though I have to make sure I manage the expectations of all those around me so that I don't feel like I'm disappointing them when I'm not able to do the things they thought I should have been able to do. I’m supposed to think of what kind of fun I want to have when I don’t even know what fun feels like anymore. I don't even remember the last time anything has been fun, I've just been going through the motions. Are the things that I used to find fun still fun and it's just the depression that changed me? What if I've just changed and the things that were fun just aren't fun anymore? Do I have to relearn to do what used to be fun only to be disappointed and have to find new things? (I'll talk about his more another time) All those thoughts have me worked up and that's supposed to be fun! What about all the other parts of a normal life, where do I relearn how to wake up every day at the same time to go to work? Where do I go to get used to the very idea of working? Where do I learn to be a functional human being and contribute to society? I don’t even know how to live like a normal person, where am I supposed to relearn that?

                If that wasn't enough, I have this ever present thought weighing me down: What if it was all an excuse? What if all this time I was the reason I never achieved what I could have and only used my back as scapegoat? What if all the things my friends put up with because of my back weren't related at all and it comes through clear that I'm just a shitty person? I know it’s unlikely, improbable, idiotic and all sorts of other synonyms for stupid, but that doesn't make it any less of a possibility in my mind. If it’s not the case, what if I've fallen too far down that hole to see sunlight again (I've seen the ring, I can’t pull off long hair in my face)? What if what’s been done can never truly be undone? What questions should I even be trying to answer first?

                I’m going to go lay in bed now. The longer I write, the more things have degraded into a series of unanswerable questions that simply add to my already seemingly insurmountable hole. I can’t answer them now and I don’t even know if I’ll be able to answer them when I wake up tomorrow. I just know that once I open my eyes and I’m better, I’m going to have to figure out what I am supposed to do next.

***

Bonus Fun Fact: It's been pointed out to me that I use humor as a coping mechanism which is quite evident through my use of bracketed jokes in this piece. You can tell how stressed by noticing their frequent use. I'll address this more another time.