There going to scoop it out!

We waited around 3 weeks for my initially surgery, an anxious and worrying time, my wife barely left my side as I continued to take medication which prevented my brain from swelling and me risking certain death, yes Kerry was correct that I was really unwell, but we were more angry that our GP had completely missed something that could of potentially ended my life early.

We sat around, taking the world at a very slow space, I built Lego, we watched tv and cuddled. those were uncertain days, we both felt it, but neither wanted to discuss it. I found it hard to around laughter and joy, watching my kids play and have fun made me feel as if my time was running out and I would never be able to see them grow up and achieve. One of the hardest things I had to do was write a will and write goodbye letters to my family, we were in uncertain times, brain surgery sounded so alien and risky and I wanted to leave nothing to chance.

We decided that we needed to get married, our plans from the previous year dashed by Covid lockdowns, Kerry was amazing and applied for special dispensation, it was granted with no issues and within a week we were getting married to a crowd of Facebook followers, we were even allowed to live stream it so those that were not allowed to come could watch. Only an hour before we were due to leave for the registry office, I had the call to say that the following week I was allocated my operating slot.

We got married, using the marvel of modern life to stream the ceremony to our families and friends via Facebook and just like that we were married, giving that Covid was still in full swing we were unable to have a party and settled for some cake and a takeaway.

D-day arrived, Kerry dropped me off at the door to the hospital ward and we said our goodbyes and speak to you later, I guess at this point neither of us really knew what the future held, I had some many operations as a child, but having people poke around inside my skull was a different matter.

Surgery lasted no more than a few hours, where I awoke in ICU with my own nurse for the next 24hrs, unfortunately, not everything went to plan and instead of having a temporary catheter, I now sported a rather more sturdy one that went straight through my stomach and into my bladder, to say it was a shock as an understatement and not one I had foreseen.

The whole process of having this done was nothing short of traumatic for me and still something that resonates now, a year and half on. I counted my blessings that I was relatively ‘ok’ and after a few days in hospital being monitored, I was sent home with a return trip the following week for a few doses of radiotherapy.

This machine which administered my radio was akin to a scary sci-fi movie, ‘cyber knife’ moved robotically around my head seemingly of it’s own free will. It moved with purpose, making little dial up internet sounds, I lay there, my face held to the spot by my purpose made mask, I’m slightly odd in that I actually find these types of beds comfy, I get to lay there and listen to my music whilst doing nothing.

The three treatments lasted over the course of three days, which meant for the nest part of 2 weeks I was at the hospital every day, I suffered little effect from the radio, patches of my hair feel out some month later, but only in a few areas, prompting me to shave my hair, which was balding anyway so made little difference.

I was kept on the steroids for only a short time after this, thankfully as they played havoc with my weight gain and sleep and was asked to call an emergency number should anything out of the ordinary occur and pretty much left to it for 3 months.