Our lives have come full circle from the fall of 1996 when I received a double blow during my first pregnancy. I had been diagnosed with a large brain tumor and there were unexpected and severe fetal anomalies found on ultrasound. After an emergency C-section at eight months, my daughter Emily died six days later due to complications associated with Apert's Syndrome. I had no time to grieve because I had to prepare for upcoming brain surgery. The first surgery was in October of 1996 and the second attempt was in January of 1997. Both resulted in only partial resection of the tumor but my motor function had returned, although weakened. I required Occupational Therapy in November of 1996 for some cognitive difficulties I had experienced post-surgery. I had received 13 hours of anesthesia during that first procedure and it had taken its' toll on my short term memory retrieval. I also received physical therapy in the same outpatient program to repair the weeks of damage to my gross motor and balance skills.
Getting my life back together was no small feat. Returning to work was important to me but there were some obstacles to overcome. The first was the incredible fatigue I had experienced after surgery, even after my therapies were through. I needed to find my energy and my confidence. I began taking short walks downtown but I would arrive home exhausted and sleep for three hours or more. Because of surgery and the radiation treatment that followed, it took nearly a year to get back to my previous energy level. When I did start work again, it was part-time.
The second obstacle was confronting my insecurities of returning to the clinic as a therapist. During my recovery, I had received Occupational Therapy in the same facility that I was employed and two of my former co-workers were my therapists. To say that it was awkward is an understatement. When I returned to work at the same facility, I thought for sure that many perceived me as brain-damaged: a patient in a therapists' garb. I was full of self-doubt.
But if I felt deficient around my co-workers, the opposite was true with my relationship with patients. I felt I had a leg up on the recovery process and understood what most people need to hear while they're in the hospital. I understood the embarrassment of needing a nurse to stick a bedpan under my buttocks in order to go to the bathroom. And to have to look at my newly injured self in the therapy gym mirrors.
Some patients that I treated I relayed my experiences to, and others I did not. I understood that not everyone who had a brain surgery would follow the same course of recovery as I did. It depended on the type of tumor that person had and on other factors. I used my judgment as to which person I relayed my personal story to. If I decided to talk about it with them, I would wait until we had a few sessions together or at least until the completion of my evaluation. I struggled not to be egocentric.
Most patients that I talked to were grateful to know that full recovery is a possibility. The headaches will subside, normal sleep patterns will return, and life can be ordinary again. Relaying my experiences to patients was a healing process for both of us. The important thing that I learned from my trials is a new respect for what someone actually goes through on the road to recovery. For me, it was the most bittersweet of all lessons.
Four months post-surgery, I underwent radiation treatment which resulted in a notable reduction of the tumor. Initially, my neurosurgeon did not recommend that I attempt another pregnancy, but after the successful radiation treatment, I was given the "green light". Today, we have a beautiful baby girl, Sara Victoria; Victoria for "victory". I continue my OT practice and my artwork and I enjoy every moment of my renewed life.
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