What You Lose When You Recover

Today it has been exactly six weeks since my surgery. Though fatigue from a craniotomy may last up to two months, which is probably standard for many surgeries, the 6-week mark ends the recovery period for most craniotomies. If it weren’t for the fact that it’s disruptive to switch teachers right before the end of term, I might have gone back to work this week.

The physical and mental issues that have plagued me since the craniotomy have also cleared up for the most part. If I take any painkillers now, it is usually for a garden-variety migraine or other “non-skull-based” issue. My incision is still scabby in spots and my hair, which was so quick to reemerge, is still only very short stubble. Some of it is growing in the wrong direction, so I may come out of this with a new cowlick at the top of my head. I no longer fatigue from having to look at and listen to somebody/something at the same time, and multi-step processes and complex decisions are getting easier to do. (See posts "Bears vs. Babies," "A Tale of Two Mondays," and "A Black Friday Miracle" for examples of these issues.) I am out of the fog that I didn’t even quite realize I was in for the first two-three weeks.

Fog. Mist. Forgive me, I am going to take what seems like a diversion, but it illustrates the main point of this post.

I’ve referred to Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel The Buried Giant elsewhere in this blog. It was the first book I read after surgery, and it matched my mental fog. In the novel, an elderly couple in post-Arthurian England set out to visit their son and make sense of the mist that afflicts the land with forgetfulness. Unlike a craniotomy patient, whose short-term memory may be less “grippy,” due to anesthesia, medications, or lack of sleep, the characters in Ishiguro’s novel have lost many of their long-term memories. Axel and Beatrice, the old couple, do not remember the early decades of their lives, how they got to where they are, who they were before. They seek to end the mist that befogs them, fully realizing that in doing so, they will not only be reconnecting their identities but will be calling up all the painful memories that they might be happier forgetting.

This hits home for me because, along with my relief that my recovery has gone well and I am returning to myself, there is a tinge of melancholy. My old self is coming back, which is good for the reasons listed above, but she’s bringing with her the old issues and behaviors that caused frustration, stress, and disappointment, too. You see, there were some gifts my craniotomy gave to me which are now either fading or gone completely. From least to most important :

1.     Two months off work. Don’t misunderstand me – I don’t hate my job. But like most people, I prefer my non-work days to work days. I have plenty of things to occupy my time, so boredom is rarely an issue. A person always feels more excited at the start of a vacation, when you’re anticipating the time stretched in front of you, than at the end, when what’s in front of you is the daily grind. Adiós, unstructured time without an alarm clock. November was a bit of a blur for me, so it feels like time went too swiftly without my being able to accomplish very much. I guess brain surgery does that.

2.      A legitimate excuse for being either a bit slow on the uptake, distracted, exhausted, or just otherwise spacy. Unfortunately, my time is up for being able to play the brain surgery card. It’s a pretty powerful card to play, and I don’t think I used it quite enough. (See post "A Smorgasbord of Side Effects" for other fun adjectives a craniotomate may experience.)

3.     Sensitivity to stimulus overload from TV. I’m happy that I can watch shows that I enjoy again without feeling impatient or having to close my eyes or look away from the screen. However, the old habit of switching on the ol’ boob-tube whenever I’m between activities is creeping back into my repertoire. This is a behavior over which I have complete control, of course, but habits can be hard to break. I have to be very mindful of how much TV I watch, lest I slip into couch potato mode again. And that’s good; we should all be mindful. It’s just easier when your brain is helping you avoid television instead of compelling you to turn it on.

4.     Early rising. For a while, I became a morning person, thanks to my medications. I would wake up between 4:30-5:30, lie in bed thinking—usually about what to write, and then pop out of bed around 6:00-6:30. In the past week or two, however, my old slugabed self has been returning. Without an alarm, I crawl out of bed between 7:30-8:30. I can hear you ask, “So why don’t you just set your alarm?” My answer: Read item #1 again. However, true morning people are morning people not because they set their alarms earlier but because they tend to wake up earlier naturally. Certainly, it is nice to be getting more sleep (see post “Bears vs. Babies”), but I liked being able to carve out a chunk of time to write. I had visions of myself returning to work with this behavior intact, thus not having to deal with the problem that my employment tends to interfere greatly with my writing. It’s still a bit early to call this gift “gone,” but I’m currently stuck between catching up on the sleep I missed after surgery and losing the ability to get up early without a struggle.

5.     Stillness, solitude, silence. Many days in November, my house possessed all those attributes. I was a fan of those qualities before surgery, but I craved them after surgery. It’s the Christmas season now, so I feel the pull of socializing and the buzz of activity. In a few weeks, the gravity of life will drop me back into work which requires time and movement and energy, and my classroom is noisy and full of very social people. This recovery time has given me an opportunity to just be with me, be with myself. Just to be. As an introvert, this solitude is invigorating, recharging, powerful. I will miss it. 

The peace that comes from being detached (Photo by Bess Hamiti from Pexels)

If you are facing a craniotomy, be aware that your recovery may go very differently than mine. You may sleep a lot more or have pain. Maybe Keppra will turn you into a Rage Beast. But my hope for you is that, however it transpires, you will find some gift within it. Enjoy it while it lasts.