Friday, August 8, 2014

I'm all in double-down no fear.

Scott & I ready to check-in and yes, he wears pink for his wife.
My Gamma Knife (GK) day was just a few short days ago and today was my first real breakdown.  The combination of pain, pressure, nausea, fear, anticipation and tears finally exploded--for a minute I was thinking maybe I would keep a lid on the scream and cry until snot fills your mouth tears, the fits of shaking and ugly crying where you literally have to laugh at yourself because you don't know how else to stop the tears. Welcome to my evening. Luckily, the only one here to see me ugly cry is Lucy--and she knows better than to say anything. 

It is strange because somewhere in the back of my mind I have this fear that if I cry too much, or stress too much Lolli will get worse.........as if all of a sudden I ugly cry and my head will explode. Ahh, the images you can create in the depths of your own mind.  That's the thing, it is in my mind. It isn't a tumor in my breast, it isn't in a bone, it is in my mother fucking brain....I still can't grasp it. I am not sure if I ever will, it is just too unreal, too abstract for me to wrap my thoughts around it. So I continue to transition from "I got this" to "how the hell did I get here."  It is a slippery slope. 

Lolli with "brain death" outlined, yellow will die and green could possibly

thin slicing of my brain MRI to help coordinate the Gamma Knife

thin slicing of Lolli via my MRI for perfection!


Recovery/treatment is no longer a cut and dry formula; just a few options and we hope they work, that is a strange type of limbo to be in. GK was much better than I expected.  The staff was incredible and my anesthesiologist was the best EVER. I was able to be put under general anesthesia and my family was able to come back, while I was under to take photos of me with the metal cage. The downside to this is they saw me very vulnerable and "asleep" with a breathing tube. The video is a mixture of laughter and tears--I wouldn't expect anything less.  The anesthesiologist had never had someone request that their family come to take photos with them while they were asleep.....he agreed it was okay, but insisted he took the tape off my eyes (then put it back on once they left) because that would make the photo "just too creepy."  In recovery I asked how my family did with photos and he told me they were "cry-babies and then pulled it together"--I truly did have a dream team. When I looked through the photos afterwards all I saw was Scott holding my hand....there I was unaware of anything and he was still right there, just in case. There aren't words for the feelings that image brings up in my heart, me so helpless and him right there smiling through tears because his wife is a nut job who wants photos of a metal cage on her head.......

always by my side.

come on in, general anesthesia for everyone!!

smiling through tears, me with a cage drilled into my skull--you thought your Monday was rough...

Tuesday begins the next steps in taking care of Lolli. There are drugs to figure out, infusions to have, seizures to avoid, ovaries to remove and a port to put back in. I am taking it 8 hours at a time. I keep the swelling at bay every 8 hours with steroids. I will then take it every 12 hours, then every 24. I am staying as in tune with my body as I can. I keep track of weird twinges, numbness, extra swelling, blurred vision, blah, blah, blah. I am trying to relax, trying to relish in the fact that I am here. 

Once again I find myself in a place of wonder.  The support and "dielollidie" cheerleaders are in my corner. I know that I alone don't have the strength I would need to keep this fight going. That without the love, strength, and support of others I would waiver. Instead I am held strong and rooted to all of you. From the core of who I am I want to say thank you. I couldn't imagine being on this journey alone, together I feel I have a chance...or at least the opportunity for one hell of a ride.

"You sip your water, I'll drink my beer."-Lee Brice

7 comments:

  1. Love you Dori - the Shelton Barkleys

    ReplyDelete
  2. This comment has been removed by the author.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh, Dori! In the myriad ways one can illustrate the human experience, your piece is among the greatest triumphs. I'm not sure where I should be driving this post towards but if there are proper words that can be remarked, I'd like it to go there.

      I love the candor in the account of your experience, but I especially love the strength in your character. It wouldn't be fair to tell you that I felt the harrowing darkness induced from the irresoluteness of the treatment, the tears that had fallen off your eyes, or anything else, really because the dimensions from which I am deriving these experiences are bound only within the screen of my computer. But I felt something. I felt that perhaps hope, in spite of its mysterious uncertainty, would come and give rise to something favorable and concrete. Maybe I saw hope in the teary-smiles from the pictures you posted. Or maybe I heard it from the voice in the words you have chosen to put here. It's past midnight, the moon is ablaze with a sunny hue outside my window as I write this. It's interesting, in the deepest recess of darkness, there's light. Let there be hope, Dori!

      Delete
  3. I admire your love of life, and the true unconditional love of your family...wow! Thanks for writing! I think we need #dielollidie shirts!!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Please support Dori Greenaway Donate here~ http://gfwd.at/1ALeTZu Please RT @lumpsandlipstick

    ReplyDelete
  5. Dori, thank you for being your incredibly brave, badass self. Your words have given me courage to deal with my own illness

    ReplyDelete
  6. Please visit Dori's fundraising site~ Give Forward

    https://www.giveforward.com/fundraiser/n795/dori-greenaway-brain-tumor-cancer-patient-

    ReplyDelete