A year ago at this time I was in intensive care. The memories I have of surgery day are flickers. The shutter on the camera was closed more than it was open that day, but I know I cried before going under. It wasn’t panic, or even fear, just a release. They gave me an early dose of sedative because my heart rate spiked after my head was shaved. They told us that Tina (my wife) could go with me to preop, but then a surly nurse pulled me a way and made her stay behind. I went out. I went under. And when I awoke things were irrevocably different. But then again, they already were.
I’m hoping to direct a film this summer wherein the protagonist is post-op from a brain surgery not unlike mine. I can’t write a script about superior canal dehiscence syndrome. No one would understand. It’s too obscure. So in the movie, the hero is clubbed on the head in a mugging. I want it to be violent and sudden — because even though my symptoms didn’t originate from blunt force trauma, they came on suddenly and pervasively, and I certainly felt as if I had been mugged. (Still do.) So, life was different already, and it would never be the same with or without surgery. My stamina was vastly diminished. My cognition delayed. My ability to handle stress was nonexistent. I was, in every way, out of balance. I still debate which doctor I should have chosen, and which procedure. Occasionally I’m still angry about it all — both the disease and the loss of my hearing. But I have to move past that.
Eight months later here I am. I can’t run — or at least I’m still too anxious to try — so I’m heavier than I want to be. I also can’t hear as well as before, and I still notice some cognitive processing glitches once in a while. But here’s the thing — I’m better. We say “better” sometimes and people think “cured.” I’m not cured. I’m better. And I’m encouraged enough to think I might keep getting better. I live with my health in the moment right now. I constantly do system checks. I’m always analyzing how I feel and trying to stay in the Goldilocks Zone when I’m feeling good, and I try not to do anything that might make me feel bad. Last weekend was a huge milestone for me. I directed a short film. For those of you not in the industry, directing takes everything you have. Concentration, focus, stamina, and the ability to inspire, encourage, and motivate others constantly. Not a great job for SCDS sufferers to undertake. While I had a couple of shaky moments, I held up. In fact, I think I did much more than that — I thrived. I was thrilled with every aspect of the shoot, but privately, I was just excited that I made it through without falling apart, and that I did my job. It’s been five days since we wrapped, and I’m tired. Really tired. But hey, I’m not DIZZY, and while I still have mental lapses (like forgetting to take the laundry bin upstairs thirty seconds after my wife asks me to), I’m not FOGGY. I’ll take it. I’ve been super productive of late, but I’ve had to learn how to live like a cell phone. I must calculate how much battery power I can afford to burn, and how much time it will take me to recharge. That’s not back to normal, it’s not cured, but it’s way better! And better is good.
Dr. Wiet recently did more vestibular testing on me through Dr. Hain’s office to see what function remains in my balance system, but I’m fairly certain my operated ear is still sending bad signals to my brain. He noted that the cap moved from it’s original spot over my hole, but he believes the hole itself is still plugged. He thinks a labrynthectomy is an option — removing everything from the inside of that ear, but I’m not cool with that right now. It’s another super-invasive surgery, and I’d rather just live with the status quo. He gave me a trial prescription of betahistine (Serc), which has actually helped me. It’s an expensive compounded drug, but I feel like there is much less swelling and pressure in my head when I take it, which likely indicates I was/am dealing with secondary endolymphatic hydrops or meniere’s — both of which could have been caused or exacerbated by surgery. In combination with the diuretic I take once a day, it seems to have abated a lot of my symptoms.
So that’s it from one year out. I’m not sure what I’d do given the option to go back. My gut tells me I would have still ended up having surgery by now. I feel like it was the right thing to do and that, absent some unexpected collateral damage, it’s been a success. I do know one thing for certain, though. I would not look forward to the recovery again. Physical therapy, cognitive therapy, cranial-sacral therapy, chiropractor — it as a full time job. Maybe it will be again someday, I hope not, but for now I’m focusing on being the best me I can be in this moment.
Thanks for your support.