The Heart of the Waiting Game

The past few days have been tough for me. Physically, I’m doing fine. The emotions, on the other hand, are playing by their own rules. They listen to no one - especially reason. 

I am healing as quickly as expected. Quicker, say the doctors. I know this. And yet, I keep getting frustrated because I want things to speed up. I’m supposed to take it easy. And I am. But every once in a while my foot slips off the brake and hits the accelerator. And I like it! Then, just like on the roads, when I exceed the recommended speed, I pay for it.

The first week at home (the week after the surgery), my dad took me to Badger’s Creek to relax and watch birds. We had a great time. 30 minutes driving to get there. 2 hours sitting on lawn chairs. 30 minutes driving home. It was great fun! The next day, however, I was absolutely wasted. I had exerted too much energy.

Last week (four weeks after the surgery) I rode the bus to Healesville Sanctuary. While there, I took it easy. I walked slowly, looking at animals and taking photos, for 45 minutes. Then I sat at a picnic table and read for an hour. I walked again for 30 minutes or so before resting for 30 minutes while having lunch in the cafe. Finally I rode the bus home. I wanted to ride the bus to test how it felt. I had a great day and everything went great. The next day, amazingly, I was fine. 

Feeling so supreme after my day of bus/walk and the day following of peaceful rest, I decided to try something else I hadn’t done yet. That night (last Friday) I slept with only one pillow. Since the surgery I have been propped up while sleeping. In hospital, I had a bed that sat up. The first two weeks at home I slept on the couch in a half-seated position. I tried bed, but it was too uncomfortable until week three. For the past couple of weeks I have propped myself up in bed on two massive pillows and two standard pillows. This gives me enough height that my head is above my heart and I don’t get thumping headaches. 

Friday night, laying flat with one pillow, I slept like a log. My body had been aching for a relaxed sleep for over a month. But the next morning, wow my head was not happy. It wasn’t pain so much as a hazzy/foggy/groggy sensation. It was like being inside of a see-through box. I could see everything but it was hard to navigate through if I tried to move. I could hear everything but it sounded muffled and distant. Understanding people was the hardest thing. And, being Saturday, I went to church. The sound system at church was intriguingly annoying. The voice of the person in the middle of the stage was coming from somewhere else. Having one ear deaf and the other filled with a drawer full of socks, I was very uncomfortable. 

I left and went to the Junior Sabbath School room where I helped my wife teach the lesson to the kids. It was better to be in a small setting.  It was nice to sit in a circle where I could see everyone’s faces. It was comforting to have the voices come from the people they belonged to rather than from a box overhead (or a wall over there). 

We didn’t stay for church. My head was not feeling well at all. The horizontal night, while it had felt great to the muscles in my body, had not been good for my brain. That night I slept propped up again. Sunday was a little better. I told Jenny it felt like I’d gone backward in my healing process by a week or more. 

It had all been a test. Every five years, all the ministers from Australia gather together for a week of fellowship and worship. It starts tonight, at Avondale College. I have been looking forward to it for months. I had arranged a room and a ride to get there. I told myself, early last week, that I would allow myself to go to the ministers meetings if I had one good day out during the week and a comfortable day at church. The day out would test my ability to walk around campus. The day at church would test my ability to participate in the lectures. 

Friday I was bouncing for joy. I was going! The first test had gone better than I could have imagined. I was good to go! Then Saturday happened. I was in a foggy box all day, and part of the next.

To say I was frustrated would be a dramatic understatement. I was angry. I wanted to be as well as I had believed I was on Friday. I had been so active on Thursday and perfectly fit on Friday. I thought I was getting back to normal. But I wasn’t.

Sunday afternoon I told my ride I would not be going. That was extremely hard to say. I wanted to pretend everything was fine. But, I knew it would be unwise to go. The 10 hours in the car would be uncomfortable. The sound system at Avondale would be disorienting. The schedule and setting would be new and potentially overwhelming. I know this. And I know I made the right decision to stay home, but I’m frustrated.

It is a dramatic shift from being self-sufficient and independent to being reliant on others for just about everything. Accepting help doesn’t bother me but knowing I can’t do it on my own is taking a tectonic mental shift. The quakes are unsettling - aftershocks come in many forms. I still try to convince myself that I’m fine and capable of doing anything, if really needed. I know where the car keys are - if I really needed them. Then I get in the car with someone else driving and am dumb-founded at how disoriented I am by the movement of the vehicle, and dismayed at the rapid start/stop/merging ebb and flow of traffic. While in a vehicle, I can’t imagine being in control of it. This is disheartening. I love driving. I love freedom. I can’t drive. I feel trapped. 

I went to my GP today. She is an awesome doctor. I feel very assured because she is honest with me. She doesn’t hide behind niceties. Today I asked what signs she would be looking for to assure her I was ready to drive. She stared at me like I had sworn at her. She shook her head. “You are not driving,” she said. I explained that I understood that but just wanted to know what things needed to happen. 

She softened and explained in detail the mental and emotional process I was going through and would continue to go through for the months ahead. She finished by saying, “In brain surgery cases, the final checkup is between 18 months and 2 years after the surgery. You will progress from now until then. Life will go back to normal during that time. Rushing your healing is the worst thing you can do. You will drive again. You will go back to full-time work. But I can not foresee those things right now. Now you need to rest. Do what you are comfortable doing. Don’t push yourself beyond today’s capabilities or you will slow tomorrow’s healing.” 

So, for those of you wondering where Dave is... I’m here. I’m at home. I’m on the couch. I’m in the spa. I’m walking slowly through the shops. I’m having a coffee with my wife. I’m writing a blog because writing feels great. I’m reading books. I’m playing games and watching TV with my kids. I’m sitting in a lawn chair in the backyard watching the cat stalk the visitors to the bird-feeder. I might be at church. I might ride the train into work for a few minutes or hours. I might be on the bus, if you look in through the window. I won’t be the driver in the car next to you at the stoplight. I won’t be the guy running from one end of the stage to the other bringing a story to life. But I will be planning stories to tell and road-trips to take in the future. For now, I am resting. I am healing. I am patient. 

And I will be happy while I wait. That’s the heart of the matter - my emotional response is my choice. And I choose joy!

When I was a kid my dad had a sign on his home-office wall. It had ten words on it. He told us these ten little words could and would change your life: 

if it is to be it is up to me

A Short Thought on Suffering

The events of the last few months have caused one question to continually be on my mind. It is more present at some moments and less at others but it is always somewhere nearby.

It’s the most often asked faith-based question in the world. Every faith tries to answer it. Spiritual leaders wrestles with it. And when it wrestles with you — spiritual or not, leader or not — you will ask this question as well.

You may word the question any number of ways:

“Why is there so much suffering in the world?” 
or
“If the world is created by an all powerful God, why is there so much pain?
or
“If God loves me, why am I suffering?”

Over the past few months I have seen and experienced plenty of suffering. And the question comes back. Not so much because of what’s happening to me. I’m fairly laid back and trusting. But, watching those I love who are suffering from leukemia, parkinson's disease, pancreatic cancer and more brings the question into sharp focus. Why is this happening? Must they suffer? Is there reason amidst the chaos? How can I understand and explain this suffering?

It wasn’t until I was in hospital, listening to the stories around me, and watching the ones who serve those who are suffering (nurses, spouses, parents, children) that I realised I was facing the topic from the wrong angle. I was facing it from a victim mentality instead of a victor mentality. We can choose. There is plenty of evil in the world to decimate the victims. But there are warriors among the dying. Why?

Because they have repositioned themselves in their approach to suffering. From watching them, I think many of these servants would be unable to explain their viewpoint. But they live it.

Here’s what I’ve seen:
There are those who ask: “Why is this suffering happening to me?” 
And there are those who ask: “What can I do to lessen the suffering I see?” 

There is a huge paradigm shift between “Why me?” and “How can I help?”
The warriors among us have transitioned from trying to explain suffering to working to expel it.

And that, I believe, is the best answer any of us can give to the suffering world.

How can I help?

The Eyes Have It

Time for another healing update! Things are progressing nicely... slowly, but nicely!

My daily routine involves getting up around 6am and submerging myself in the spa for a soak and stretch. We only got the spa a couple weeks before the surgery and I'm so glad we did! Every morning I have spent a couple of hours in the warm bubbly water stretching my sore right thigh. Yep, it’s still sore! 

For the past few nights I have rolled onto that side (my favourite way to sleep) and tried to find a comfortable position. It feels like I’m laying on a hardback book under my thigh. The book gets a little smaller each night. Thursday was my best night sleep since the surgery. I went to bed at 10pm and didn’t get up until 7am. That’s 9 hours! A usual night (like last night) is about 6 hours sleep. I still prop myself up with a few pillows and sleep on my back to keep my head well above the rest of my body. This keeps the thumping down.

Because of the great sleep Thursday night, I was feeling great Friday. The strength in the left side of my face was stronger than it has been for over a week. I took pain meds at 7:30am. The next time I needed them was 3:30pm. And then again at 10:30pm. That’s the best I’ve done since the surgery. So, as we all know, sleep is important!

The interesting thing about the Panadol and Neurofin is that I don’t often need it for pain anymore. Occasionally I feel some head pain, but the main reason I take the meds is because of the other stuff that happens in my head. First, my left ear (the deaf one) starts hearing the sound of a roaring sea as well as the usual tea kettle. It starts quiet and builds to a tempestuous crescendo. Then the right ear (the good one) starts to get muffled. Voices and sounds seem to be at a distance. They move away slowly until concentrating on any sound is very difficult. Then my vision starts to blur. And shortly after that, the headache starts. That process used to happen, from tempest to thumping, in 10 minutes or less. Now it can take hours. So, depending on my level of human interaction and activity, I decide when to take the meds.

During the past week I have tried to be active. Monday, I went shopping with Rachael for a couple of hours. We walked from shop to shop at Eastland. I sat on a variety of benches. Rachael explored shops. I had a look in a few shops, too. When we got home I was wasted. Tuesday I went to the optometrist and got my eyes tested. I was there for a couple of hours and that tired me out. Wednesday I went to the doctor for a 1 week checkup after the staple removal. Thursday I was absolutely smashed. And it was 37 degrees! I sat on the couch all day, watched tennis and took pain meds often. I felt like I’d gone backwards in time by a week or more. Then I had that great night sleep and my spirits were lifted! 

I’m so glad I went to see the eye doctor! He looked into my eyes with his fancy machines for quite awhile and did the usual sight tests. He then told me that my left eye was concave below the pupil because it was severely dehydrated. He said if my eye wasn’t less sensitive due to the tumour I would be in a lot of pain. Evidently, I have been sleeping with my left partially open for months. He recommended I use medicated eye drops called “Blink Intensive Tears” every 30 minutes while I am awake and apply lacrilube at night before taping the eye closed for the night. I am amazed how much this has helped. My left eye was very blurry. The optometrist didn’t say how long to keep doing it, so I’ll keep going until the supplies run out.

The reason I went to the optometrist was to get glasses. I have known for 6 months or so that I needed them. But, when I found out about the tumour I decided to wait for the glasses until after the surgery. I thought the tumour might be having some effect on my vision. Considering the dryness, I was right. But, it still would have been wiser to go to the eye doctor before the tumour surgery as he would have discovered the dehydration and started me on the drops before the dryness was so bad. 

Yesterday, my glasses arrived. WOW! I didn’t realise how much of the world around me I was missing. There is so much detail to be enjoyed. Australian birds are even more beautiful than I thought! I put seeds on our outdoor table each morning so I can watch the birds while I sit in the spa. Right now (it’s 7:10am Saturday morning) there are two rosellas and a king parrot on the table and two more rosellas under the table - all happily cracking seeds. (I just had to come back - 7:28am - two rainbow lorikeets on the table. They are my favourite!) Reading is also comfortable again. I’m loving the glasses!

Tuesday, Jenny and I will journey back into the city for my post-op CT Scan. I am quite sure they will discover that I am healing very well. So far I have been very blessed. There have been no complications with my surgery or healing. Thank goodness for great doctors, nurses, family and friends. Thanks again for all your thoughts, prayers and words of affirmation.

Blessings.

Facially Speaking

During my week in hospital the neurosurgeons visited me numerous times. Every time they would ask me to do the same things.

Stick out your tongue. Move it to the left. Move it to the right. Good!
Now close your eyes as tight as you can. Good!
Puff your cheeks out and try not to let any air out. Good!
Smile. Show me you teeth and smile. Good!
Can you hear this? (rubbing thumb and finger by right ear) Good!
Can you hear this? (rubbing thumb and finger by left ear) Didn’t think so.

Then they would ask me the same questions.

Are you having any trouble swallowing?
Do you hear anything in your left ear? What do you hear?
Are you having any dryness in your left eye?
Does the left side of your face have any numbness?
Do you have any trouble controlling the left side of your face?

They were so very impressed with me. I was glad I was able to make them happy.
Then they told me something. They said it every time after the tests. “Over the next few weeks and months things will change. You will most likely experience some if not all of these things. Your nerves are finding their way back to normal. Don’t worry. Things will stabilize in time. Please rest. Try not to do anything for at least six weeks.”

Amazingly, in the last week, many of the things they tested for have started happening. Right now I can’t puff my cheeks without loosing all the air through my left side. My smile is unbalanced. My left eye is dry - I’m using fake tear drops often. My left eye doesn’t like to blink! Closing my eyes tight is not easy and doesn’t look even. My tongue and swallowing are still fine. And I’m still deaf in the left ear (that’s permanent). It is also cool that the numbness is gone. I’ve been able to feel my face since after the surgery.

It is so weird how, at one point in the day, my entire face will work fine. Then an hour later I’ll be slobbering water when I drink or slurring words when I talk. Then I’m back to normal again in an hour or two. My facial nerve is having a heyday. WOO-HOO look at all this room, lets play! 

Of course, I’m looking forward to the day when my face works perfectly. But for now, it’s all very intriguing. I do enjoy the mirror these days!

10 Days at Home

Today I washed my hair for the second time this year. Seventeen days ago, I went into surgery fully expecting them to shave my head. I came out with a nearly intact head of floppy hair and a warning that I was not to wash it until two days after the staples came out. That’s today. And what a glorious day it has been!

 I have thought many times about writing an update but have been waiting for something truly momentously blog-worthy to happen. Today was the day. My head feels so nice. I feel clean. Now for an update on everything that has happened since the last post. 

I just wrote the MRI-ALARM post. That was blog-worthy... don’t know why I haven’t written it before... lol... anyway, here’s the last 10 days, after coming home on Tuesday afternoon, in a nutshell.

For the week after coming home, I moved between the couch, the bed, the spa, the lawn-chair and the toilet. Each of these resting points served their purpose well. In the hospital I was always propped up (the bed was motorized) so that my head was much higher than my feet. This kept my head from thumping. When I arrived home, I quickly realised that I wasn’t going to be laying down flat for awhile. I have yet to sleep laying down. The two most comfortable places to sleep are sitting up on the couch and in bed with four pillows carefully placed to sit me up. When I am in the right position, I sleep very well.

I take pain medication every four hours. Sometimes I sleep too long and wake up with an absolutely smashing headache. I guess having your skull drilled into has it’s downsides! In the hospital the nurses arrived every four hours with my meds. At home, I thought I would just take Panadol when my head hurt. Bad idea! Taking Panadol BEFORE my head hurts is much wiser. It didn’t take long to figure that out!

Saturday afternoon I noticed my head-wound was oozing. It had been dry for more than a week. And now it was — ‘flowing’ might be a better word — oozing. We called the nurse hotline and she recommended we go to the doctor. Dad took me to the Maroondah Hospital emergency room and, after a brief (lol) wait, I saw a doctor. He said the wound looked very good. No reddness. No swelling. The oozing was safe and to be expected. The staples were holding. He cleaned and dressed the wound. Then he did two things for me that made the trip to the hospital worth it — VERY worth it. First, he prescribed me a course of anti-infection medicine to make sure everything stayed healthy. Second, he told me Panadol and Nurofen work independently and can be used together or overlapping. You can take 4 lots of 2 panadol a day. And you can take 3 lots of 2 Nurofen every day. I was thrilled. Since that night I take 2 of one, then four hours later 2 of the other. I have had a few times where I’ve gone up to seven hours. The headache is getting less as the days go by.

Wednesday morning I got my staples out. That was amazingly painless. After taking 12 out, the nurse asked if I know how many there were. I said 14 and she said she could only find 12. She cleaned the scabs a bit (the doctor had told her not to clean the scabs away) and found the other two. I’m not sure if it was the staples or the idea of them, but since they have come out the wound hurts less. I used to get stabbing sensation in the wound. Now I don’t. 

So, goodbye staples! Thanks for holding my brains in!

Today, after washing my hair twice and blowdrying the hair and wound (doctors orders!) I got out the electric shaver and made the other side and back of my head match. Now my head looks and feels quite normal. My hair flops quite effectively over the undercut all the way around. You can’t see the wound unless I lift my hair away, or the wind blows. 

It is truly amazing what doctors can do. They’ve gone in, taken the tumour, sewed up the hole and predicted everything that would come afterward... more about that in the next post!

MRI-ALARM

I didn’t go home from hospital as quickly as I thought I would be. The surgeon visited on Monday and said I wouldn’t need an MRI and could go home Tuesday morning. Then, at about 10AM on Tuesday morning a lady arrived at my bed with a wheelchair. 

“I’m here to take you to your MRI.” 

Luckily my nurse was nearby and saw her approach. They chatted and decided, since I was still on the MRI schedule (and the limo had arrived), to call the surgeon. He said if they were still expecting me at MRI, I should go ahead and get it done. So, I hopped (shuffled, actually) into the wheelchair and was pushed to the MRI centre. Once there, I waited for nearly an hour before my turn. I fell asleep sitting in a plastic waiting room chair. They took my wheelchair away once I got down there and I was expected to walk from room to room. My leg was still extremely sore, making walking difficult and my brain was befuddled which made the experience quite taxing. 

There are two stages to a brain MRI. First they do a scan. Then they inject you with a colouring agent and do another scan. This gives them a different kind of picture of your brain. Before they put you in the machine, they put earplugs in. I told the doctor I only needed one, as I was now deaf in the left ear. She laughed and said she would like to protect what was left of the left. Once the earplugs were in and I was in position she inserted my head in the MRI machine. I was so tired that when I had the first scan, I fell asleep. She pulled me out of the machine, which woke me, and injected me with the dye. When she started to put me back in the machine, she stopped. She said something, but i couldn’t hear her. I removed the earplug and she said the weirdest thing.

“They haven’t said we need to evacuate the building." 

Well that's good, I thought. I don't think I could shuffle that far.

“Unfortunately, we can’t run the machine until the fire alarm is off. We have to wait.” 

Fire alarm? I couldn’t hear it. I’m not sure how long I laid there, going in and out of sleepy-land, until she said, “OK, we’ve received the all-clear. Let’s resume the test.” And back in I went for scan two. 

After being picked up by my limo-driver and returned to 10-4-1 it was nearly noon. Jenny and Rachael had arrived to take me home about two minutes after I was wheeled away from my bed. My Dad, who was there when the wheelchair arrived, explained where I had gone and they had a nice long chat.

Finally, just minutes before my lunch was due to arrive, we received permission to leave and made our way down to the parking lot and drove home. 

As we drove down the Eastern Freeway I got an overwhelming hunger. I had missed my mashed-potato, milk, apple juice and salad. I realised we were approaching Ringwood, which meant Salsa's Burritto's were within grasp. Yum. I asked Jenny if she could stop and get me a burrito. She said yes! So, Rachael, Jenny and Dad went to the food court, got lunch, and returned quite quickly. 

At least I think it was quickly, because I was asleep. Then I was eating a burrito as Jenny drove. Then I was home. Then I was in my lounge room. Ahoy, me couch, ahoy.

What a day!

10-4 Over and Out!

Well, I’ve made it. I’m going home today! (in just an hour or so!)

I still have a few months of recovery. The Neurosurgeon told me, “In laymen's terms, you’ve been kicked in the head. Real hard! It’ll take you six weeks before you should be thinking of getting involved in work, life, etc. Just relax. Be a baby again. You need to heal.” 

I’ll try doc!

I’ve got to tell you about my neurosurgeons. They are real gentlemen. Dr Paul and Dr Simon (oh my, I just saw that when I wrote it down... lol... Paul Simon gave me a new song to sing!) lol ... Anyway, Dr Paul and Dr Simon have come in repeatedly to check on me. They are the two who did the tumour removal. On Sunday, Dr Simon brought his son, 5 year old Henry, to the wards with him. That was one of the best experiences for me. Just to see childhood innocence again. And I got to ask him about his favourite show (Little Einsteins) and have fun with him. It was very cathartic. I love kids! 

Dr Paul and Dr Simon have given me lots of attention and it’s amazing really. They are very busy guys. They come individually to have a chat. Then they come together. They are very happy with how my face is working. I think they like to see me smile. :)

The tumour was enmeshing my facial nerve, hearing nerve and balance nerve. They told me beforehand that you always loose your hearing on that side from this tumour removal because they have to cut the hearing nerve and remove the part the tumour has built itself on. The balance and facial control is what they dont know until after they do the surgery. It can be really bad vertigo for some people - taking weeks or months to learn to walk again without getting dizzy. And it can be facial paralysis for some people - which often comes back after a few days or weeks but sometimes remains, like a stroke, forever. 

My tumour was wrapped around my facial nerve. And they were very careful. That’s why it took so long. Dr Paul and Dr Simon didn’t want me to be paralyzed on the left side of my face. Thanks guys! So, they carefully cut away all but a thin sheath of the tumour around the facial nerve. There’s still a tiny remnant of the tumour in there. They will keep an eye on it with MRI’s every few months. Dr Paul said, “They rarely start growing again. But, we will watch it carefully.”

I can taste with both sides of my tongue again. I can feel all of my face (a lot of the left side has been numb for more than three months). I can feel in my left teeth and gums again. I open my left eye a lot wider than I have in a long time. Pr James, when he visited yesterday, said I look younger. My wife, Jenny, says I don’t look tired. Evidently I looked tired before because my left face was droopy. Well, no more! But, I am very tired! I’ve been kicked in the head! lol

So, everyone here is very happy with me. The Doctors say I can go home. The Physio had me walk up a flight of stairs, walk in a straight line looking left and right and then walk straight looking up high then down low while moving quickly. You go try that. It aint easy.

My balance is great. In my pretesting, they discovered the tumour had already taken my balance signals coming from my left ear. Zero signal was getting through. I was hoping that meant after the surgery I wouldn’t have sudden vertigo because I had been compensating slowly for years as the tumour grew. And, it’s true. That’s what’s happened. My only dizzyness is from being kicked in the head and sleeping on concrete (sore hip). I’m good to go!

See you soon!

Oh, 10-4 has been my ward and room. I’m patient number 1. So, 10-04-01 - over and out!

14 Staples!

Ok, gross post. But it's cool!

Sorry about the oily hair. No soap allowed near the wound for a couple of weeks!

Nurses - God’s Undercover Agents

There is no way to explain how amazing nurses are. They come in a check on you with regular faithfulness, they ask questions to remind you where you are what day it is and they come every time you press that jolly little button. 

I’m serious. Press it. For whatever. And they come. I have yet hear a nurse say, “Oh get over yourself!” And actually, I’m not talking about myself. I’m doing really well. But Sandra*, in the bed next to me calls out 3 to 4 times an hour when she is awake. She, too, has had brain surgery. And her legs don’t work. So, she cries out for someone to “get my hamstrings for me” or “chuck my hamstrings out the window” or in her less lucid moments, “can you get hamstrings with that?”... And then she repeats herself. The nurse will just have left the room and she will cry out about the same need. And the nurse returns. They all give her the “use the button” spiel but they all come when they hear her call.  

One of my nurses spent some quality time massaging Sandra’s legs and positioning and repositioning her on Friday night. Then she passed through the wall into my room. Aren’t angels the only ones on earth who can pass through walls? I had been listening to her deal with Sandra’s suffering and heard the way she used love and kindness to calm Sandra and help her sleep. As she passed through my room, and asked if I needed anything, I was just overcome with her generous spirit. “You’re amazing.” I said. She tried to pass it off, but I continued, “You can be trained in some things, but what you just did for Sandra was wonderful. You are an amazing person.” She smiled and said, “Thank you. Sleep well.” And I did.

Then there’s Jack. He was a firefighter in the Black Saturday fires nearly four years ago. The nurses come and call his name until he responds when he slips away. He got stranded, ran out of water and shut down emotionally. Then he came good - for a couple of months - then one fireless day he called his wife and said, “I’m on a stump. I don’t know where they’ve gone. But I know they need me. The smoke is so intense.” The hospitals had been put on three-month standby for these firefighters. It’s Post-Tramatic-Stress-Syndrome and it can hit up to 90 days after the traumatic event. He’s been in that fire and out of it for nearly four years now. On my first lucid night - I think it was Thursday - he woke me up when he shouted, “Incoming. Get everyone out!” He was dreaming and flash-backing at the same time. His wife is amazing. She nurses him, usually. But, then he started fitting and that put him in hospital - over 3 months ago. He fitted this morning for a few minutes and spent the rest of the day recovering from it. The nurses were there through it all.

One of my nurses was doing the usual checks on me and I asked her a question. My Dad had just been to a majestic cathedral next door to experience Sunday Mass. As this is not in our faith tradition, he and I were both curious. When he returned he was telling me all about it when the nurse walked in. I said to her, “We’ve never been to mass before, so my Dad was very interested in the experience. What about you? Is Mass something from your faith tradition.” She said, “I was brought up going to Mass. I am Catholic. But I don’t practice anymore.” What makes this so intriguing to me is it took all day for my mind to make the obvious link that I normally would have made instantly. Just before she had come in, My Dad had read this “Good Samaritan Card” that he was handed on the way out of Mass. It was a beautiful description of why that church does all they can to help whomever they can at whatever opportunity they are given. Race aside. Creed aside. Faith aside. They will reach to anyone. Tomorrow I will give “The Good Samaritan” card to that nurse. She hasn’t stopped practicing. She’s just started.

Blessings, people. 

*I’ve changed the names to protect the people in this story. They are just every-day Joe’s and Jill’s like me and you.

St Vincent’ Saturday – 4:40pm

This is the first day and time that I have enough energy or concentration to get out the laptop after the surgery.

All I can say, is, “Wow! That hurt!” The surgery started Tuesday about 11AM and went for about 9 hours and 3 hours were spent getting me out of deep sleep. By far, the most pain came from my left hip on which they had me laying for the entire surgery. Imagine 9 hours, asleep on one side, on concrete. Then, if you want some subsidiary pain, imagine having your head bolted to a brace that held it in place for the surgery. I was in my bed, in recovery by 11:30 pm and Jenny stayed until 1AM. I cannot imagine what it was like for her to wait so long!

Wednesday, they let me sleep all day. Which is a good thing, because that was all I was doing, anyway! It was so hard to focus when I was awake. I was in a half-way la-la-land. My Dad or my Wife were here every time I opened my eyes. That meant a lot.

I’m coming through it as well as everyone expects. The neurosurgeons have been up a few times to check on me. I was given a CT Scan on Thursday and that came back that there was no bleeding on the brain. Which is great news, to say the least!

I got up yesterday with the physio and went for a short walk. Longer than she expected, evidently! Today, I have walked to the lounge and back, had my catheter out and wandered to the toilet a couple of times. I ate a bit of my tea last night, a bit of my breaky this morning, and a big chunk of my lunch. It isn’t easy! All I want to do is shake my head and send the food away. But I know healing doesn’t happen that way! So, I eat. And, after a bit, it tastes all right.

By far the most meaningful stage on my recovery was when my three kids came in to see me today. That was beautifully special. It took everything in me not to cry while they were here. (I’m crying now). They are so beautiful. I am so richly blessed. They were all so anxious to see me and to tell me how much they missed me. I am so loved. It is truly a wonderful life!

Thank You

Tomorrow morning I undergo brain surgery. 

I want to take this opportunity to thank you all for your many thoughts, prayers and kind words. It has been overwhelmingly amazing and truly humbling to realise how many people have my best at heart. 

I have received messages from dozens of people from around the globe - family, friends past and present and many friends of the future. God is good. And you are all amazing.

There is a family that are great friends to us who live nearby. They have a family much like ours - they put family first. We love spending time with them! They are people of a very wide faith which generates the most amazing and invigorating discussions. One day, when my wife was visiting their home, her friend (the mum) said, "I've been talking to my Elm tree today. I was meditating on Dave and his brain tumour. As I focused on Dave, I was overwhelmed by all the positive energy flowing toward him. It's coming from everywhere! I've never felt anything like it!"

I don't know what your beliefs are, but if you have a moment to spare, I'd love you to keep the positive energy flowing my way. Be it a prayer, a thought, a cheer or a cry. I'll take it!

Blessings!

Dave

Come to me with your ears wide open.

Listen, and you will find life.

Seek the Lord while you can find him.

Call on him now while he is near.

“My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,” says the Lord.

“And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine.

For just as the heavens are higher than the earth,

so my ways are higher than your ways

and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.

It is the same with my word.

I send it out, and it always produces fruit.

It will accomplish all I want it to,

and it will prosper everywhere I send it.

You will live in joy and peace.

The mountains and hills will burst into song,

and the trees of the field will clap their hands!

Taken from Isaiah 55 (NLT)

Ponchenello

"He deserves lots of dots," the wooden people would agree with one another. 

"He's not a good wooden person."

...   ...   ...

I now know how Ponchello felt in Max Lucado's children's book "You Are Special."

I went to get my MRI and they said, you can go home today as long as you can be here Wednesday at 7am sharp and keep all the dots on your head!"

So now I'm sitting in the car while Jenny gets some shopping. "I've got dots! I'm not going in there!"  lol

The MRI went perfectly. Getting the dots to stick was another story. I actually said to the nurse, "Other people's dots don't stick to me very easily." She laughed and said, "That's good, I guess."

They tried everything to draw on my skin with their special pen (felt more like an ice pick that a pen) and to get the dots to stick. Finally they gave me some alcohol based "pre-surgery" shampoo and asked me to go wash my hair. I could feel the dots starting to stick. Ok, I have oily skin.

I showered and washed my hair one blog entry ago! Geeeeesh!

After the oil-be-gone head wash, the dots stuck. And so they should! But I still wouldn't be drawn! They used a Sharpie in the end.

So, now I'm not allowed to get sweaty or the dots will fall off and the ink will run. The nurse actually said, "Please try not to sweat. Just think about not sweating."

Yes dear, shall do.

An A/C in the face works wonders!

The Call

Wow! Just got "the call" and it was more than expected!

An hour ago I received a call from the hospital. I'm heading into the city now on the train. MRI today (and a head-shave!) and surgery on Wednesday.

Doctor Smith asked them to "move it along" and they did so.
I'm happy! I want to get on the recovery track rather than the waiting track. So, this is good news.

But it's also a bit of a shock! Zoom boom! Edgren, you're up!

I was in the hot tub when I got the call. After hanging up I went in to have a shower and got the shakes. I said to Jenny, "I'm shaking but I'm not cold." She said, "It's shock!"

Isn't adrenalin a wonderful thing!?  lol

So, I'm showered, not shaking and at the station. Train in 10 mins.

Living Under the Umbrella

So, here we are on the eve of a new year and I on the eve of a new life. As I approach the surgery I am more excited than worried. I am excited about what will be different after the tumour is out. Will I feel different? (Acoustic Neuromas can have all kinds of physical, emotional and sensational effects on their host). Maybe I will be more serious and driven. Maybe I’ll be less tired. Maybe I’ll be more adventurous. Maybe I’ll be able to taste food on the left side of my mouth again. Maybe I’ll be more funny and can take up a career as a comedian. Maybe the ringing in my left ear will stop (or maybe it will get louder!). Maybe I’ll be able to ride my motorcycle backward. That would be cool!  

There is very little I can control in this surgery. I can be well rested on my way in. I can be patient with myself afterward. I can enjoy my health and family as much as possible before the surgery. I cannot tell you what a joy it has been to spend so much time with them during the past few months. I have gone out for meals and day trips with each of my children (multiple times) and taken partial and whole family trips here and there. 

These vast hours of special family time are possible because of the amazing generosity and compassion of my employer. When I told them about the tumour in September, the leadership at the Victoria Conference of the Seventh-day Adventist Church (for whom I work!) told me that they would like me to go onto a “sick-leave umbrella” which means I am on sick-leave but can report as many hours as I work each week. General Secretary Pr Darren Croft said they want me to be as well rested and emotionally healthy before the surgery as possible. Human Resources Director Karina Gurban said she had chased my sick leave backward through all previous church employers (something only possible for serious illness) and had found 5.5 Months of sick-leave which are available to me during this time. So, since October I have been living under the umbrella! Some weeks I work a full week, sometimes I work and hour or two a week. The only stipulation Pr Darren set was, “Please don’t do anything which stresses you - just do the parts of ministry which you enjoy and which bless you.” 

Every Sabbath I minister away from my family is stressful. So, I have spent every Sabbath possible with them. We have gone to church together. We have wagged church and gone bush together. We have had opening Sabbath, Sabbath lunch and closing Sabbath together. And I have sat, in a pew during numerous sermons, next to them. This may all sound mundane to most people but every church pastor with a young family will be aching with jealousy. I’m starting to think we do Sabbath wrong as Pastors. I don’t know how to fix it but I know we are not discipling our children in the joy and the rest of the Sabbath when we work on Sabbath while having family fun and rest on another day or, God forbid, work 7 days a week.

Yesterday, after running JETS Sabbath School at Ringwood church (with my wife and for all three of our children plus a bunch more awesome kids) we had Sabbath lunch with Grandma and Grandpa. Then Cyrus, Rachael and I went to Healesville Sanctuary together. It’s really wonderful to spend such moments together. This preparation time is really challenging me to rethink family, Sabbath, pastoring, ministry and life in general. I want to continue living a life of disciple-making when I emerge from under the umbrella.

Neurosurgeon Dr Paul Smith

On the Saturday afternoon before Christmas I received a phone call from my surgeon! I have not met Dr Smith and this was the first time we talked to each other. I had, however heard a lot about him from the other workers in the hospital during my various visits.

I think I surprised him when I greeted him like an old friend. He said, “Hello David, This is Dr Paul Smith. I am the neurosurgeon who will be doing your surgery.”

I said, “Good afternoon, Sir! How are you?”

I could hear his smile as he replied, “I’m good. I don’t believe we have met. You seem to know me!”

I laughed. “Well, no, we’ve never met but I have learned your name and heard a lot about you from the other fine people at St Vincents.”

“I see. Well, I just wanted to call and talk to you.”

And we talked! Dr Paul Smith came across as very professional, helpful and friendly. He let me know that I am approaching the top of his surgery list. He asked if I would be able to meet a mid-January surgery date. I assured him I would.

Dr Smith asked a lot of questions about my symptoms and allowed me to ask questions as well. One thing he said, which I actually appreciated greatly, was that this is a very serious surgery. I don’t know why but it was comforting to hear my surgeon say this. I guess it let me know that He is confident, qualified for the task and will give me the very best care possible. He talked me through the risks (“although unlikely David, it’s still important that you are fully aware”) which include hearing loss, facial paralysis, and death. He explained that all surgeries of this magnitude include a risk of death however slight.

After quite a lengthy chat, he said the hospital would contact me with a date. Now that he has talked to me, he will talk to them. And they will call me.

So, once New Years Day passes, I’ll be expecting a call from my friendly first-name crew at St Vincents Hospital. Did I mention how reassuring it was that Dr Smith didn’t introduce himself, “Hey, it’s Paul, the guy whose gonna rid ya of that tumour!” but rather as “Dr Paul Smith, the neurosurgeon.” After getting off the phone I commented to Jenny, “It’s nice to know he takes his job seriously!” 

You can check out Dr Paul Smith and his creds at http://www.paulsmithneurosurgeon.com.au