I was a sorcerer in AD&D. Here I hope to be interesting--at least to someone.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Letter to a Child

Thursday, December 13, 2007
Hello Xxxxxx,

My name is Xxxx. I work at the Veterinary Medicine Library where your near-relative Xxxxx Xxxxxxxx works.

I’m told you’ve been feeling poorly due to some recent brain surgery. Having been a patient of brain surgery several times in the past (and quite likely to have more in the future), I can give you some information about the recovery afterwards.

I was 18 years old when I had my first brain surgery. I had to go to Rochester, Minnesota (the Mayo Clinic), to get it done. No doctors in my area were up to the task. I had a tumor on the right side of my head, inside my skull, putting pressure on my brain. It was a hemangeoblastoma, a growth coming from a blood cell in close proximity to nerve fibers (actually it was surrounding several nerves), and it was interfering with my ability to walk, stand, or even talk properly. The tumor was very large, about the size of an adult’s clenched fist.

The surgery to remove it was difficult. I was on the table 12 hours, and due to an existing blood vessel that hadn’t been spotted in pre-surgical tests, I died. The blood vessel was a large one, and the doctors accidentally cut through it; I bled out in approximately 30 seconds. Because Mayo’s is such an excellent hospital, they were able to replace my entire blood supply, and had my heart restarted in 2½ minutes.

I was very sick after the surgery; not only did my system have to get used to the new blood and the bacteria in it, I had to cope with the loss of one of my inner ears. The loss of an ear caused tremendous problems with balance, and I was very ill in my stomach (very much like constant seasickness). I spent 2 weeks in the hospital recovering, and then 9 months at home before I could walk properly again.

Recovery from the surgery left me feeling very depressed. I had this huge bandage on my head, scars that would never disappear, and my head had been shaved for the surgery, leaving me with hair only on one side. I couldn’t move the left side of my face because the doctors had cut through the main facial nerve on that side to remove the tumor (the nerve grew back in 9 months, but I never recovered movement there). I couldn’t close my left eyelid, and I had to use eye-drops, and had to cover it with a plastic bubble every night to keep it from drying out. I got some eyelid movement back, but I still use eye-drops to cope with dry eye.

Coping with depression was the hardest of all. I didn’t want to see any of my friends or family. I thought the scars and bandages made me ugly. I was certain everyone was glancing at my appearance when I couldn’t see them, and wincing. I became reclusive, refusing even to talk with people over the phone. I was certain my life was over.

I was wrong.

My friends and relatives wouldn’t let me be. They all loved me, and they wouldn’t allow me to sink into despondency. I was always being treated with the fullest respect; nothing had changed in their minds except for my lack of mobility. They all decided that if I couldn’t come to them, they would come to me. My friends had a bi-weekly poker game that moved from house to house; for 9 months it became set in one house: mine. They always talked as if nothing had happened to me, and I gradually emerged from my depression. I had friends and family that cared. I also had suggestions from my doctors that I attend support groups, but at the time support groups were relatively new, and I didn’t trust them. I trust them now.

I feel I must tell you that I am an atheist. I made my decision about atheism when I was young, before I got my first operation. This didn’t stop all my friends and family from praying for me. I was gratified for their concern; while I personally don’t believe, I respect others in their beliefs, and I was stunned when I found out how many people had been praying for me.

I won’t try to tell you how to live your life; that would be wrong. Instead, I’ll suggest that you look around at all the people who love and care for you. They aren’t supporting you out of depravity, avarice or wrongfulness; they truly care for your well-being, and hope (and pray) for your healthy and happy recovery.

I believe that my life is all I have, and that to give up the chance to live it would be sheer stupidity on my part. There is only once chance at life; don’t blow it. I most strongly suggest that if you don’t want to speak to your family and friends, try a support group, a psychiatrist, or a psychologist. Don’t quit. Never give up that one chance to live.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
and I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep,
and miles to go before I sleep.”
--Robert Frost

Monday, December 03, 2007

Self-Responsibility

Have you ever found yourself wishing for something utterly impossible?

Recently, I've been wishing that professionals (doctors, lawyers, businessmen, etc.) would take responsibility for their actions. I realize the impossibility of the concept; who wants to open him-/herself to potential (likely) legal action?

So it's impossible. Still, somewhere in the back of my mind is a wishful thinker, someone who hasn't yet been plowed under by the cynicism that otherwise permeates my brain.

Yes, there is a reason for my wish... I wish I could get an apology from the doctor who told me that the cause of the loss of hearing to my left ear (when I was twelve) was a heretofore unknown virus, and that we'd probably never identify it; so don't worry about it.

He prescribed hearing tests for me, tests which had no use except to get more insurance money moving into his accounts. Sometimes I get so angry at his lack of caring that I want to throw something. I was aware that I might have VHL (Von Hippel Lindau Disease); so was he. The information was listed all over my records. If he had just been willing to pay my records a little more attention; if he had been willing to get an X-ray of my head each year, instead of the hearing tests--or even with them--he would have discovered the tumor long before my 18th birthday, and I wouldn't gone through all kinds of hell getting the damned thing removed (it was bigger than my fist by then).

Unfortunately, too many people have learned that a simple mistake on the part of a professional can often be the stimulus for a financial profit by way of a lawsuit. And thus, said professionals clam up; they will never make the effort to accept responsibility for their mistakes, largely due to their attorneys' telling them that their malpractice insurance is null-and-void should they do so.

This is yet another example of why I believe self-responsibility has gone the way of the Dodo Bird; extinction was inevitable.