Fuzzy Thinking

One of the most interesting things I’ve learned this year is that neurosurgery isn’t nearly as bad as you might think.

I must back up a bit to provide context, yes? Yes.

About 10 years ago, my optometrist took a picture of my retina and didn’t like what he saw. He sent me to an ophthamologist who also didn’t like what he saw, so he, in turn, sent me to a neuroophthamologist (sic).

The latin is Pseudotumor Cerebri. “unknown pressure in your head”. It was affecting the optic nerve, and with medicine, it could be treated, so for 10 years, we treated it that way.

Then the medicine no longer was enough.

There were three options: a shunt running from my head down my spine into somewhere in my body to relieve pressure, a rather gruesome-sounding shaving of the ends of the optic nerve, or the third option: a stent in my brain.

We went with the third.

Of course, the procedure meant a hospital stay, and they had to perform pressure readings from both vein and artery, so they made two incisions on the wrist and groin and snaked cables up to my brain.

The best part was that I was conscious for it, right up to the point where they were going to insert the stent. They needed accurate readings, so they needed me awake.

It was a different experience. The people at the hospital were outstanding, and after 1 night in ICU, I went home the next day.

Surgery in the brain, home the next day. We live in an amazing world.