There are no rules for recovering from neurosurgery
A few weeks after surgery, the neurosurgeon asked if I would be interested in collaborating on a manuscript about recovering from neurosurgery. Meta.
I have been keeping track all of my observations in little pieces at a time by domain.
Speech. Language. Physical. Fine motor. Sensorimotor. Proprioception.
“How are you?” old friends asked me via Facebook Messenger.
“Oh, me? I’ve spent the last six months rebuilding myself, piece by piece. Sorry I have not had time to hangout…”
Much of my life over the last few months has been packed with visits to physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, neuro-oncology, and neuro-psychiatry. If a specialty in any way involves the way we move, communicate, and function in the world, I am a patient there.
I am still recovering. At times I struggle with language. The fine motor skills in my right hand have made me a slow typist and texter. I had to relearn how to walk, and balance, and now run.
There is no rulebook for some of the things I have had to recently learn. New exercises were invented. I designed a strategy to learn to drive a car again, which involves Gran Turismo 7 for the PlayStation.
Doc Brown tells Marty to not worry about roads.
Last weekend I emailed the neurosurgeon an executive summary of my personal field journal from the last six months. In it, I outline the two domains of functional recovery after neurosurgery—as I saw it—which include: speech/language and physical/occupational.
I know clinicians these days are overwhelmed by the messages they receive in patient portals, such as MyChart. I cringe at the thought of my doctor soon regretting his offer to review my experience for inclusion for a future publication.
Little does he know this assignment gave me a sense of purpose over the last six months. I took on the challenge as if I was a researcher attempting to better understand a mystery from the inside. In this fantasy I am not a patient at all, but rather Jane Goodall making breakthroughs in partnership with my primate allies. I don’t care that this is a fantasy world I created—it’s what I needed. My entire perception of who I am and of what I am capable is threatened in a very real and tangible way.
I wonder if the surgeon knew his invitation to contribute to this paper is exactly the motivation needed to make it through the last few months.
Maybe the assignment was actually a personalized prescription for healing.
Thank you to Renee for the PlayStation gear. ☺️
