The return to school in late August/early September was the beautiful exhale I needed after a summer I really didn’t experience. I was gifted with courses filled with students I felt a deep connection with, cup filling hours vibrated within me as the semester settled in. It is my second year at my college and the familiarity felt welcome and desperately needed. I started a research project with my beloved dissertation chair, turned friend, and let my brain take all of the breaks she needed as we returned to academic life, a space I love deeply.
Yet, the anxiety of the ever present questions lingered in the quiet spaces, daily.
"What if I rupture?”
"Will the stents work?”
"When will my next vertigo attack happen?”
I hung my brain aneurysm awareness sign on my office door and hoped for the best.
The next attack came while driving home from brunch with friends and landed us in the ER once again, due to its severity. Once again I had a cat scan and once again the results threw us a curveball…a stroke, subtle yet deep in the left internal capsule. They were concerned, yet not sounding alarms because I had no obvious symptoms but wanted me to stay in the hospital for more tests.
After they walked out the room, I just looked over at Erik and said
“oh babe, I have no words, here we are again.”
I remember just feeling stunned into a space of silence.
He just grabbed my hand and laid his head on my stomach.
After a night in the hospital awaiting an MRI, I asked to go home and do my MRI as an outpatient, my nerves were fried and I needed to be in own bed, my safe place to process it all. There was so much to digest.
The MRI was scheduled for a Wednesday morning. I spent the days prior mentally preparing and working on meditations to help my claustrophobic self through the long test. I was so proud of myself after getting through it I snapped a photo. Walking out of there I said to our son, “MRI’s are a part of my life now, I have to get used to them.”
Later that afternoon, I was sitting in my office when the notification that my results were in the app on my phone. Expecting to see further information on my possible stroke I opened the results anxious but not overly concerned.
The words on the screen sent shockwaves through my body:
Impression: 3 areas of abnormal signal in the periphery of the left cerebral hemisphere, new since April 2023. Subacute infarcts are one possibility. Underlying infectious and/or metastatic lesions are not excluded. Recommend further evaluation with IV contrast.
Instantly I texted my husband and my best friend asking them to call me, I needed to hear their voices, now. They both called me to help me stay calm and refocus since I had to teach in less than an hour. They both helped me freak out yet stay centered. I was so grateful for them those moments.
Somehow I made it through teaching, found a way to sleep that night and woke up the next morning anxious to talk to Dr. M. As usual, his gracious and kind voice calmed my nerves when he called. He explained that he was concerned yet hopeful it was simply my brain having a reaction to surgery and an MRI with contrast would give us deeper and more solid answers.
His office was able to get an MRI schedule for 2 weeks later (this was on purpose as they were hopeful it was inflammation or subtle strokes with no cell damage and the inflammation from either would go down by then). The next two weeks were brutal yet filled with introspection. I spent a lot time praying for subtle strokes, something I’d never thought I’d pray for!
We were lucky enough to score Phillies playoff tickets for the night (a bucket list item for sure!) of the MRI with contrast. I told everyone I was hoping only for the best in both that day, a clear MRI and a Phillies win! By the grace of God and through the prayers of so many that love me the best happened.
Impression: 1. Near-complete resolution of the abnormal signal seen within the left cerebral hemisphere on prior study. There are a few subtle areas of sulcal enhancement in the area of prior signal alteration 2. This is presumed to represent resolving inflammatory or infectious process. There is no developing encephalomalacia to suggest infarction. 3. MRI of the brain is otherwise normal.
The notification of the results popped up as we were driving to the game. I think my exhale was the loudest one I’ve ever had. And the Phillies won that night too!
(We won’t be discussing how the season ended though, grrrr.)
Dr. M once again called the next morning with his gracious voice, telling me how happy and relieved he was to see these results. The gist of it all? I was having small strokes in reaction to the surgery, yet none of them caused cell damage. Apparently this happens in a very small number of flow diversion patients, it’s rare yet happens. The GREAT news though, was that the treated aneurysms on the left side were almost gone! A second opinion at Jefferson told us the same thing and strongly recommended I schedule the second surgery sooner rather than wait. Dr M and his team agreed this was the best course of action.
So, my second flow diversion surgery is scheduled for mid December, just after my semester ends, with the hope I’ll be able to fully recover for the beginning of the Spring 2024 semester. We are all anxious yet hopeful. These past few months have taught us to sit in the space we are in, while trusting the answers will come.
My vertigo continues to be the monster in our closet, with attacks still rearing their ugly head every 20 days or so. My neurologist and family doctor are proceeding with caution because of the aneurysms (changing medication right now is too risky) and decided to increase the dosage of my daily maintenance medication with the hopes this would settle down my vestibular system. They also have me taking my rescue medications with any potential trigger or aura of a migraine or vertigo. It’s a careful dance of will it happen or will we stop it, these days and each day I go without an attack, I’m thankful.
And as we begin the dance into winter, I find myself with more space, so much space, to learn how to listen to my body, trust what she tells me and lean into the exhales as they resonate out of my body. Going into the next surgery I know what to expect and I’m prayerful I’ll come out on the other side with less complications. I also know how to advocate for myself and what I need in these spaces, which feels like a blessing.