Catching up... (Part I)

Wow, so much has happened - my blog is woefully behind! This will need to be done in parts; no way to catch up all at once. I will start with the most trying part of the previous month....shunt failure - twice! This also brought on two intracranial bleeds, which was most certainly the most painful thing I have ever felt. I was pushed past the point of what I thought I could handle.

Oh my goodness.  (let me say, this is way too much detail - and way too long, so feel free to skim...the blog is also partly a record of my life - as a back up to my journal, so it's detailed to remind me of all that happened)

So on Friday, March 15, I boarded a plane bound for North Carolina to volunteer for the Hydrocephalus Association for the weekend (if you normally read the blog, you will know I am their Utah representative). I was feeling absolutely awful, but didn't want to miss the weekend (as I always gain so much from these HA experiences) and thinking foolishly that I could basically power through anything. It was clear I was wrong as I tried to lift my simply carry-on up to the conveyor at Security and realized I couldn't pick it up. I was feeling too weak (which should have been a glaring sign), but instead I asked the man behind me to lift it; he was a toad and paused far too long, then sighed, and finally I took the bag back, mumbling, "I'm sorry I bothered you", and struggled the bag up onto the platform with plenty of fanfare (not on purpose - I simply couldn't lift it to save my life, and had to basically rock it up). Awesome.

I was texting a friend of mine (who is originally from the south) - and told him that I was officially moving to the south, as men in Utah apparently didn't know how to treat a woman. Ugh.

I tripped my way on to the plane and felt decent for the first two hours of the trip. I know this sounds like quite the Debbie-Downer post, but I was super annoyed with the girls in my row. There were two North Carolina students in my row, who were watching a live Duke conference game so they were cheering. One sports fan to another, I completely understand, but it was so loud with my throbbing head! The flight attendants told them three times that they needed to be quiet, as other patrons were complaining about their shouting, clapping, and outloud cheering. Bizarre - I have never seen people do that on a flight....and it happened to be there one where I thought my head was going to pop off.

About half way through the 4-4.5 hour flight, I realized I was not okay - and seriously not okay. That my headache was more than a headache, and I was going to vomit - and it was a serious problem. I stood to walk to the back of the plane, and realized I could hardly walk.  I made my way to the back of the plane (about 5 rows) and through troubled speech explained to the flight attendants that I thought I was experiencing shunt failure and asked if I could lay down in the back.  They could see I was not okay (as I was literally grey), and allowed me to lay right down on the sick, nasty, sticky rubber floor at the back of the plane - and I couldn't have cared less that it was filthy.  They grabbed washcloths and put them on my head, as I started to vomit.

The vomiting, speech issues, walking issues, and loss of color are all signs of shunt failure.  At that time, I knew I was having surgery in the next 24 hours.  It was a matter of whether I could get back to Salt Lake or if it would be in North Carolina.

They asked what they could do, and I told them I would need help at the airport.  They agreed and had medical transport available when I landed.  I met the coordinator of all the HA volunteers at the hotel so she could take me to the nearest level 1 trauma center in Charlotte (Presbyterian hospital) where I was quickly admitted.

As soon as I landed, I called my parents and my neurosurgeon and had a conference call with the four of us, coming up with a game plan.  It was approximately 11:15 p.m. in Charlotte, and there was a 7:30 a.m. non-stop flight back to SLC, if they could stabilize me enough to travel back.  That was the goal, as I certainly didn't want to have surgery with an unknown neurosurgeon in a place where I didn't know anyone and knew I would need to stay for at least a few weeks.

More to follow.