Snarky, Self-Effacing Blog Title

Saw neurosurgeon #3 today.  He’s my favorite, and will be the one I go to if the time comes, which he said he kind of thinks it probably will.  He echoed number two, marveling at the fact that I can even walk, much less work.  "You have clever nerves" he says. He also marveled at the enormity of my herniation.  It’s starting to get a complex about its size.  I asked him to give me a really compelling argument not to operate electively.  And he did.  Paraphrasing: "I’ve seen it happen–granted, not on herniations as big as yours–where that tissue shrinks back and becomes absorbed by the body.  As long as you’re getting better, as long as the weakness in your leg is mild, as long as you don’t experience any of the emergency symptoms (foot drop, incontinence), we need to hold out hope that this can happen for you." 

Okay.  When you put it that way, I get it.  Also, apparently, surgery does weaken the spine slightly.  Pretty compelling side note.

We discussed future baby.  "Get an MRI before you start trying to get pregnant" he says.  If the herniation is still the same, we need to talk about surgery again.  No matter what happens, he says I should probably elect cesarian birth, as natural birth would be enough to cause more serious damage to the blown disc as well as the bulging one and the ones which look dehydrated and iffy.  And while it’s not ideal, pregnancy at any stage does not contra-indicate anesthesia and spinal surgery if necessary, or another MRI.

I am amazed at how not afraid of the future I am any more.  I feel like I have all my plans, my backup plans, and my backup backup plans in place.  And you know, when you make plans nothing ever goes wrong.  But they do make you feel better about the unsure.  Plans, that is.  Make you feel better.  Well, they do me.

So I feel pretty good.  I don’t know how the nerves find their way around that blob, but whatever.  If it works, don’t fix it.  And if it stops working, we’ll deal with it.  Now I have three neurosurgeons who know me and have my insurance information.  I’ve got doctors in two boroughs and I can schedule surgery within a matter of days if the time comes.  In the meantime, I’m cleared to begin gentle excercise (hold off on the climbing, and I think the boxing gloves will need to be permanently hung up) and can go about life like before.  Well, not like before.  Because I’ve got to go about it differently to stay well. 

So I can go about life…anew. 

For now. 

And that’s okay.

Donkey: baritone, sweet, gullible, physical comedy; Ensemble: character voices, physical comedy; Man: multipart/puppets, baritone/tenor, comedic timing; Child/Bunny: male or female, multipart/puppets, under 5’5”, high tenor/mezzo. Note: NO PERFORMERS UNDER 18 YEARS OLD.

Seeking—

Auditions will be open call on Sunday, June 8th from 6:30 - 8:30 P.M. at Shetler Studios: 244 West 54th Street between Broadway & 8th Avenue. Prepare an uptempo song and a ballad. Bring pix & résumés, stapled together. For more info, visit www.tuckaberry.com. Questions? Email tuckaberry@yahoo.com. Small stipend provided at finish, based on ticket sales.

Figured out how to export the slides from the CD rom to my computer.

So here’s what the inside of me looks like.

Yes, the spinal column is  INSIDE the spine, but the nerves come out in shoots at each vertebrae on either side the ligament which keeps the spine together in back and front.

Look, at least it’s not a fetus.  You can look forward to that sonogram blog in about a year and a half.

Met the second neurosurgeon yesterday, and followed up with number one.  (Both named Cohen.  As one of the managers at work said: "Good.  A nice Jewish boy.")

I’m responding very, very well to conservative treatment.  Conventional wisdom and protocol say that when a patient responds well to conservative treatment, surgery is not necessary or wise.  Both surgeons agree on this, and they both say that as long as I’m improving, we should hold off.

However, that being said:  they both agree that I am a good candidate for surgery.  They both marveled at the enormity of my herniation (7.5 out of 10) and Cohen number two stated: "You look a lot better than your imaging.  Based on this MRI I expected to see someone in much worse shape, with pain and numbness on both sides."  I told him he should have seen me a few weeks ago.

So here’s what makes all of this so difficult:  If I don’t get the surgery, my chances of another flare-up (it’s a foregone conclusion that it will be worse each time) are better than 50%.  If I do get the surgery, chances of another flare-up are about 5%.  And if I wait until another flare-up to do it, the success rate drops.  And what if said flare-up occurs when I’ve gone and gotten myself pregnant?  Can’t do a cortisone shot then.  BUT.  My recovery from this episode will be much longer.  I’ll be out of work for a month.  If I continue to improve and gain strength with conservative treatment, I could feasibly be climbing in time for the end of the summer season outings.  If I get the surgery, no climbing till 2009.

Not that climbing is my main motivation to improve, but it’s a good marker of wellness.  "Well enough to climb" is as good as it gets.

So what to do?  Once you choose to cut, you can’t go back.  But the numbers do look better on the surgery side.  I thought that by doing gobs and gobs of research, I’d feel empowered and capable of making this decision.  But case studies and randomized studies tell nothing useful.  This condition is too varied from case to case.  And mine is not an obvious choice.

I made this for Marleah’s birthday at her behest.  And I feel like sharing her gift with the staggering masses who read this blog.

Happy birthday, Marleah.

Saw a neurosurgeon today. The first of three I’ll be seeing over this month for multiple opinions.

He recommends surgery for me. Says the benefits outweigh the risks, and the risks of not getting the surgery are just as awful.

I don’t want to be me anymore.

On a side note, the Impact Theater is no more, the landlord was very kind and considered our proposal to take over the lease, but after meeting with his accountant, the numbers just weren’t enough for him to make ends meet, and we couldn’t offer any more. So that’s the end of Tuckaberry’s little home on Underhill. We’ll start shopping for new homes real soon. Just as soon as I get better. Or paralyzed for life. Ya know. One or the other.

So, since all I do is go to doctors’ offices, they’re pretty much the only people I interact with. I had to see my new General Practitioner this week to get a referral for a psychologist. That’s right. I’m finally getting around to having my head shrunk. It’s about time. Well, in order to get the referall, I had to explain what it was that’s got me down. So basically, my GP gave me a therapy session. I don’t know how this happens, but I seem to get the new-agiest doctors. I pick doctors based solely on location off the Oxford web site, so this isn’t by design (unless we’re talking about The Grand Design. But we’re not.) After I succinctly described my emotional baggage, he went on the longest, boringest, but earnestest diatribe about how I am being too hard on myself and how impressed he is with how I’m reacting to my current situation. It was a really good thing he couldn’t hear my thoughts as I nodded dumbly at him. Mostly it went like this:

"Wow. He’s talking for a really long time. He’s really animated. I kind of think he wishes he were a psychologist. Seriously–he’s still talking. I’m never going home today. Wait a minute. Is he high? I think he might be high. Or from California. It’s hard to differentiate. Wow. He’s using the oxygen tank as a prop. And still talking."

He gave me not only the referrall, but another therapist he prefers in case I don’t like the one I picked off the Oxford web site based solely on location. And then he gave me a really long hippy hug, complete with patting and soft reassuring words.

I’m pretty sure he grew up on a commune. In California. I adore him.

I am starting to get better, by the way. Slooooooowly. And with relapses. I’m pretty sure this is going to be rectified sans surgery.