My time in the hospital was fairly uneventful. I couldn’t really do much. I was heavily medicated and the drugs used to prevent vasospasms caused drowsiness. Apparently that, in addition to everything I had just been through was just too much.
I was constantly being evaluated. Daily I would have a transcranial doppler ultrasound to check my brain. Then there were the Neuro checks and stroke evals, which included checking my strength, feeling, and ability to answer questions. I never did well with the questions. I didn’t know what day it was. And I always got the “where are you” question wrong. I always gave them the name of a hospital that was closed for years. In all fairness, it was a hospital I knew as a kid and had no idea that it had closed. Of course, I also couldn’t remember that they had already told me that it was closed. They also liked asking if I knew why I was there. I usually responded with “my brain blew up.” It seemed to be a pretty fair assessment, in my opinion.
I felt like I was living in a nightmare. Every time I opened my eyes, I saw blood oozing down the walls. Not just slow drips. It was pouring from the ceiling. It looked like I was on the set of a slasher film. I asked my husband what it was. I explained what I saw and he looked at me with a mix of fear and concern as he rushed away to get the nurse. As she asked me to explain what I was seeing she said that she was going to call the doctor. It wasn’t long before the surgeon appeared and asked me to explain everything. I described it again as he looked into my eyes with a bright light and performed yet another neurological exam. He told us that it was nothing to be afraid of. It was the result of the massive amount of blood in my brain and they should eventually go away. During my stay, the disturbances morphed from the blood to brightly colored floating bubbles to black shadow people walking past to giant spiders climbing the walls.
I had become friendly with the nurses. They would bring me popsicles and jello and we’d talk about our lives and joke with each other. I don’t know if it was because I was the only patient who was conscious, but at the start of each shift, they would come in and argue over who would get to take care of me. The ones that would lose, would still pop in when they could to chat. It was a great break from the monotony. A nurse from the ER had even come up to check on me. She walked in and asked me if I remembered her. I just stared wide-eyed at her and looked at my husband. I was panicking because I wasn’t sure what was happening. Was this someone I should know? He stepped forward and said “she took care of you when you got here. Don’t you remember?” I looked from him to her and just slowly shook my head. I thought I was losing my mind. I’ve never seen this person before. I don’t just forget people.
Family and friends stopped in, bringing me food and keeping me entertained when I was awake. My sister would visit and help me get cleaned up. She helped me with bedside baths and would wash my hair with these weird packs the hospital gave me. We’d reminisce about how she always had to help get me ready when I was little. I guess some things never change. It didn’t take much to wear me out and I often fell asleep while people were talking. The doctors told us sleep was the best thing for me. It was a good thing because staying awake wasn’t something I had the ability to do.
My brain was muddy and confused. Every day I asked the surgeon if I could go home and if I could ride rollercoasters. My husband looked at me strangely because I hadn’t ridden a rollercoaster in over 15 years. I just looked at him and said “I want to go to Disney World!” Every day I asked the charge nurse if I could take a shower. I desperately wanted to feel the water run over me and to wash my hair. I felt gross and unkempt. And every day, the answer was no.
The days seemed to drag. Eventually physical therapy came up to evaluate me. They were going to take me for a walk and brought me a walker. It was the first time I had really been out of bed, yet I was completely annoyed that they had a walker. In my stubborn mind, I had been through 12 knee surgeries, what would I possibly need a walker for after a brain injury? We started with the walker and I adamantly told them I didn’t need it so they let me try without it. I had clearly lost strength. I didn’t understand how that had happened so quickly. What had happened to me? I was fairly steady, but I was slow. Because we live in a multi-level house, they made me climb steps. They were challenging and exhausting. I needed help to steady me, but I managed. We returned to my room, where I immediately crawled back in bed and slept. The therapist felt this was the only appointment I would need because I was doing better than anyone had expected. I wasn’t sure if I agreed with that assessment.
One day, a hospital executive was taking a group on a tour and came into my room to ask about my care. Never one to miss an opportunity, I told him everything was wonderful except I would love to take a shower. He asked why I couldn’t and I told him I didn’t know, but I kept being told no and that was all I wanted. He wanted to know how long I had been there and I looked at my husband because I had no idea. I didn’t even no what day it was. Hell, I couldn’t even remember where I was. The executive went and got the charge nurse and asked why I couldn’t shower. She told him that they weren’t equipped to handle that because there weren’t even showers on that floor. He instructed her to take me to another floor where there were handicap accessible showers, stay in the room with me, but let me shower. I was so excited as we planned for me to shower the next day after my husband could get soap, shampoo, and a razor that I requested. The charge nurse just chuckled at me and told me she gave me credit for persistence. I suspect she was highly annoyed with me, but I didn’t care…I was going to take a shower! I can say, that was, by far, the very best shower I have ever taken in my entire life!
We had become so close with the nurses that I asked my husband to bring them donuts the next morning. I wanted to thank them for the incredible care I was getting. My life wasn’t the same anymore, but they were making things bearable. Amazingly, my surgeon announced that if everything looked good on my next brain scan, I could go home on Friday. My husband wasn’t thrilled with this. He wanted them to keep me longer, after all, it had only been 11 days at this point. We lived 3 hours away. What if something happened? I personally couldn’t wait to be home. In my own bed, with my cats. I just wanted this nightmare to be over so I could get back to my old life. I had no idea that my old life was a memory.
Friday came and my surgeon said I could go home! It had been 13 days since my rupture. He came into my room to give me the good news and I immediately asked him when I could go back to the gym and if I could ride rollercoasters. Clearly I thought rollercoasters were a bigger part of my life than they actually are. Nurses came and went, offering hugs, well wishes, and congratulations for surviving (which I’m still not used to hearing). The surgeon shook my hand and encouraged me to “live my life” (with a few restrictions during recovery). There was no information on what I may experience in the future, no warning that my life would be completely different now, no advice on HOW to live this new life. He then did something I’ve never experienced from any doctor…he gave us his personal cell phone number and told us to call with ANY questions or concerns at any time of day. He told us that he will be there for us. In the last 22 months, I have used that number on occasion and he has even randomly called me to check on me. I can truly say that despite not knowing what to expect, this surgeon is a blessing in my life.
With that, we went on our way for our 3 hour drive home. I couldn’t wait to get home and crawl into my own bed. I was already talking about going back to work. I knew it would be a few more weeks, but I just had this vision that this was no different than my knee surgeries…you go through surgery, you have therapy, you’re all better. That’s the way everything works right? I had never heard of a traumatic brain injury, but I was sure it wouldn’t really be different. When I drifted off to sleep, I truly believed that.
For the record…22 months later and I still haven’t encountered a rollercoaster.