4 days post op. Doctors do rounds at 6:20 am. And this is what the neurology dept saw today.
They say only good things about my progress, but won’t commit to breaking me out just yet, not until I can meet with radiology. There’s a chance I’ll go home today, but I’m not holding my breath.
If I don’t go, they’re going to have to give me yet another IV. Big ugh. I’m bruised beyond bruised from all the anti-clotting shots. And have become the hardest stick in the history of sticks in the past 8 days.
I’m not allowed to wash my hair yet, and the steroids have made me so swollen. The skin on my face and lips hurts a good deal — like a bad sunburn because it’s stretched to the max and it happened so fast. When I’m in the most pain, my right eyelid gets droopy. That’s my tell.
The smell of the dry shampoo they have here coupled with the previously mentioned hand sanitizer smell makes think I should do a vomit pool or something. I hate it.
My hands and feet are are at various stages of ballooning as well. My appetite is getting better & better, and I have been promised more french toast sticks, yogurt & a banana for breakfast.
Just had a dose of my muscle relaxer a while ago, and 1000mg of Tylenol before that.
Watching the sunrise over St. Louis and waiting for breakfast from my private room. Rare tumors get you things, apparently. I do not feel like an unperson or anything, but these people are fascinated by rare brain stem tumors. They all but high-fived each other when I said I’d be seeking treatment here too.
Look for me to be mentioned in The New England Journal of Medicine some day. A patient only known as a tumor number. 
😜
I like to pretend I’m going to play some part in a cure.
Sometimes I say things out loud like like “I have a brain tumor.”
When all of this MRI stuff started, I joked to Dan that I wanted a diagnosis cake that said, “Congrats! You HAVE MS!” Now I want a stork cake that says, “it’s a tumor!”
