Preliminary Diagnosis

Just before I was released, a junior Neurologist came to give me my release report, along with the preliminary diagnosis from 3rd September,

Tumour appears to be a malignant Astrocytoma grade III.

The full diagnosis would be given to me on 5th September following a meeting of the hospital's Tumour Board (a group of senior peers from Nuerosurgery, Nuerology, Oncology and Radio-Oncology), who would agree on a diagnosis and proposed treatment.

Last Day in Hospital

I've been told I can go home tomorrow.
best news since this all started.

When I was admitted for my operation, I volunteered to be a case study for a student nurse (I was picked through a long selection process that involved figuring out who was the only person admitted on the day she came on duty).

Most of this just meant she could get access to all my care reports and stuff, but as I am leaving tomorrow I had to spend an hour answering a lot of questions for a fairly extensive study on the psychological effects of being in hospital, and how your illness had affected your emotion and philosophies on life. Much to my surprise I got quite tearful a couple of times during the interview, and once again I realised how expressing emotions is really hard in a language (German) that is not your mother tongue (English).

The student nurse was very sweet and understanding, I think she may have chosen the right profession.

The Rhythm Continues

1st/2nd September
The rhythm continues, and I feel like I want to go home.
Keep getting told off for not resting enough. Spend as much of my days as possible on the balcony reading in the sunshine (but I have to wear a hat to keep my plate out of direct sunlight otherwise it gets hot).

I'm on the last book of Otherland by Tad Williams, and I'm trying to finish it before I get out of hospital. The i-pod is on random and I've started to make a list of my favourite songs of all time. It is going to be a very long list.

It is starting to sink in that my life is likely to be a lot shorter than I expected. I'm a lot less shocked by the prospect than I thought I would be.

The Scar

Apart from the usual rhythm of the ward, the only notable thing today was the changing of the dressings on my head. Why? because it is the first time I got to see my new scar!

Not really competition for Frankenstein's Monster, but still pretty substantial, and the monster didn't have a titanium plate to cover any of his holes (not that you can see it).
(Note: Picture is from about 3 weeks later and as such a little less bloody)

Recovering from surgery - Day 1

Woke up still in intensive care but felt surprisingly OK.
Doing a quick check list of everything I discover that apart from a mild sore throat (no doubt from the tubes that had been previously stuck down my throat) a slightly sore head (obviously) and that bloody catheter I really didn't feel too bad, and I was HUNGRY!

The nursing staff allowed me to sit next to the bed for breakfast. If I had known how much hassle it was going to be to manoeuvre all of the cables and tubes I might not have chosen to do so. But once installed, I tucked into a good continental breakfast.

The morning rounds (with obligatory hordes of students) appeared during my breakfast and it was obviously time for the chief's little joke. "Ah, can anybody tell me what indication of total recovery from surgery we can see in Mr. Gardiner?" and after a few seconds silence "... he is eating breakfast. Lets move along then"

After breakfast I was told I could return to the ward (maybe it wasn't a joke) and the process of disconnection started. On my insistence the catheter was first to go, and once all the pipes, cables and leftover connectors from yesterday's operation had been removed a porter was called to wheel me back to the ward. Only the solitary saline drip remained.

I have a theory about saline drips that they serve no medical purpose whatsoever, except to help you tell apart fellow patients and medical staff.

On the ward the routine of Take Meds, Blood Pressure. Eat, Snooze, Read a bit, ... fell back into its rather comforting rhythm only interspersed with the joyous moments of visitations of friends and family from outside.

Surgery

Up bright and early for a 7am start in theatre.
High on Pre-meds I can't help sniggering as I am wheeled into Theatre 13!
I go under precisely on time.
After 5 hours in theatre, my first reaction on waking is to throw up.
I believe the technical term is Post Operative Nausea.
Very impressed by the speed of the nurse with the bowl.

I'm moved into Intensive Care (normal procedure)
I FEEL AWFUL and look like something out of a 50s Sci-fi B Movie with pipes everywhere
I plead to have the catheter removed to no avail (if you've never had one, you cannot guess how uncomfortable it is wanting to continually urinate, but knowing that you are doing it already)

Vague memories of a visit from Carol
And a visit the surgeon who told me the operation was successful, and they had confirmed that the tumour is pure brain material (i.e. Primary). Hoorah (I guess)
I was told that I wouldn't get the final results from the Biopsie until next Wednesday (5th September)

Hard to imagine how I slept, but I did, like a log.

Preparing for Surgery

Back in hospital ready for Biopsy on 29th August. After settling in, I'm dragged off for another MRI Scan to see how things are going (not that I get to find out at this point).

The Surgeon comes for a visit and I'm told by that he will be using real time MRI to help locate the tumour's position during the biopsy, due to its awkward position. He seem's quite excited.

I'm also told for the first time that the tumour is inoperable due to its depth in the brain and its proximity to the Basal Ganglia which is essential for motor management.

The surgeon turns up with a brain under his arm (yesterday's failure?) so that he can show me the rather awkward path through the brain he will have to navigate to get the samples of the tumour. You couldn't get much more inaccessible.