M.L. Olmstead

After my last post, I was reminded of what came after I woke up in recovery, and how that hospital stay really transformed my life and my writing. Writers process experiences, memories, and encounters by absorbing and then molding them into something tangible: words on a page. Through either fiction or non fiction, we share our hearts in an effort to connect and relate with other people in the world.

And so the continuation of Living my Writing commences…

Five months prior, I was at home with my two baby girls, the oldest 18 months and the youngest 2 months old, and I was eating a peanut butter sandwich. Because I was rushing, I took a huge bite. While attempting to swallow it, I felt this sensation of pressure that came from my throat and rose into my brain. Terror gripped me as the sights and sounds of the room started to fade away and the darkness settled in…I knew I was passing out.

Somehow I was able to reverse it, I’m not really sure how, but I was fighting to stay conscious. I knew I was alone with two babies. I was sitting and slowly everything came back, but my anxiety was through the roof. You see, this was not the first time I questioned the quality of my swallowing, but this was the first time of a near black out. And I knew what this meant…

I had been seeing my Neurosurgeon for 8 years at this point. Truly, he was a good man to continuously see me, and yet I refused the surgery each time. That’s not really how surgeons do things. If you say no, they usually drop you as a patient. But not him. In those 8 years, he always reminded me of the major issues to look out for, ones that meant I needed to chance the surgery. And trouble swallowing was on the top of the list.

I made an appointment and explained all that happened. While I was there, the familiar nods from the PAs and nurses taking my story confirmed it. This was a symptom of progression in my condition. As I waited for the neurosurgeon, my mind was made up. No longer a single woman struggling through pain for myself, I had to consider my family, my babies.

I think I shocked him when I told him I wanted the surgery. He sort of pulled back and immediately changed the course of the discussion. In light of what happened, he wanted to do surgery immediately, but there was a problem. I was breastfeeding, and my baby refused to let anyone feed her other than me. We tried all sorts of bottle with different nipples, and she screamed and screamed. So I gave up on pumping all together. Well now, she would have to be without me for 3 days (if all went well). At only 2 months old, this was not the time for me to encounter that stress. So I asked to postpone as long as possible, so that we could get her to the age of eating a little. They gave me 5 months.

In that 5 months, I tried everything to get her to do alternatives to me, and nothing worked. I was really started to freak out, but I had to keep trying. Just 3 weeks before the surgery, I was invited to a 3 day Catholic Silent Retreat. It was meant for prayer, reflection, and healing. I was hesitant to leave my family behind especially so close to this surgery, but I realized the genius in it. If I wasn’t an option to feed, surely my baby would give into those around her. There would be no cell phones on the retreat, only an emergency number, so I wouldn’t be constantly checking my phone and worrying. So I went, and it was a transformative experience, which is a whole other conversation.

When I returned, to my horror, I learned that she refused the pumped milk in every form given to her. Bottle, syringe, spoon, in food. This was a nightmare. While she could be fed some oatmeal and things at that age, she really needed to be drinking or dehydration would be a major issue. I thought, oh no, I am going to have to post pone this surgery. There’s no way we can do this. But our pediatrician stepped up and we came up with strategies and my husband had the assistance of both his mother and mine. Everyone felt confident that they could keep this child going for three days so I could have the surgery. And so my mission began. I needed to heal as best as possible and get out of their in three days as was the plan.

While in the pre surgical area, I laid out all of my requests. Please don’t give me any pain meds that would interfere with breastmilk production or consumption, or would require me to stay in the hospital any longer than necessary. I also explained I needed a breast pump. In order to keep the supply sufficient, I was going to need to pump every 4 hours. This is not an everyday request for a critical care unit, but they were great about both requests. As they wheeled my down to the surgical area, the fear of dying finally set in. What if I didn’t wake up from this operation…but it was quickly stuffed down. I had to wake up from this operation. No choice. My babies had never been away from me before, and I didn’t want them to be afraid.

As I described in the last post, I woke up in that recovery room in considerable pain, but at the same time, I was full of so much hope. My breathing was freer, my life felt like it would start again. Unlike all these years, this pain was a wound-something that would heal-not a never-ending pressure. I thought I can do this! I can get home in 3 days! But oh it wasn’t going to be easy.

I started off in a critical care unit designed for people who just had brain surgeries, so while there was some very serious cases in this wing, none of them were emergencies or life threatening on their own. It just meant we all were monitored for everything and had our own nurses assigned to us. I felt a little guilty because I felt like I wasn’t in as bad of shape as other people in there, and I didn’t want to ask the nursing staff for anything because of that. For the first 24 hours, the pain management is continuous but certain drugs were not used because of fear of blood clots or complications right after major surgery, which meant even with the meds, my head still hurt, and the pain medicine wore off fast.

I remember staring at the clock not wanting to move because it would just make my skin hurt more. I tried to stay calm and think about other things, and so of course I was thinking about different books I could write. I wanted to be somewhere other than where I was. As the time ticked away, the pain was starting to mentally break me down, and I finally asked the nurse when I could have the next pain meds. His reply “4 hours”. My heart sank, but I gritted and said, “Ok thanks”.

The time passed slowly, but I finally reached the time when I could take the next dosage. But that 4 hour mark was significant for another reason too. I really needed to pump, and here it came. When I saw the hospital grade one, I knew I was going to sit up to do this, and for the first time since I made my great plan, I felt completely incapable…defeated. Hours of pain and mental fortitude left me exhausted, and I just couldn’t conceive of how I could move another muscle. I wanted to lay on that bed forever, but I remembered that baby. Innocent, dependent, and waiting for me…I was her world.

I grabbed that sheet and with every ounce of my will, I grabbed the nurses hand and forced myself to move into a sitting position. Once seated, I actually felt a little better, it was that transition from laying to sitting that was the hardest part, and it would go on like this over and over again the entire first night and day. But each time I pushed myself, I grew more confident and physically stronger. Getting up was good for me. Fighting through the pain was the right decision. And it was the love of my child that motivated me to action. She was actually helping me as much as I was helping her.

Before my children, I fought hard through the daily pain, but at the end of the day I was able to give up anytime I wanted. If a training session was too hard, I was able to skip the next one. Only my internal drive for strength mattered. If anything ever interfered with my self discipline, who cares, its my life. But with the birth of my children, that voice in my head that pushed me to action was screaming at me. Get up! Your baby needs you. I could never ignore its pleading because there was more than myself that mattered.

By the second day, I was walking to the bathroom to dump the breastmilk. I didn’t even need assistance to walk anymore. By day 3, I was in my own private room watching Survivor and taking phone calls. It was astounding. The drive home was a trial though. The movements required to get into the car and just sitting up that straight for that length of time, I was already getting tired, and I knew what awaited me. My baby would want to feed and my older baby would want me, and all of my rest would go away. For a moment, I pitied myself. Why can’t I just go home and rest? Why do I have to be needed. Honestly, when I think back to that moment I feel disgust with myself, but its the truth of what happened. I wanted to give in again so quickly after I gained so much.

As we exited the garage, I took a deep breath and stepped through the door, and the first thing I saw was my little baby. We made direct eye contact. She didn’t cry or freak out. She just starred at me, like she was starring into my soul. I just called out to my mom. “Give her to me.”

I sat on the couch for a long time with both babies nestled in my arms. Everyone was fussing around me to make sure they weren’t hurting me, but I shooed them away. I wasn’t feeling any pain at all. Like before the surgery, I taught myself the positions I could be in that would make pain virtually a non issue. I was well versed and trained for the post surgery time.

The hardest part of recovery was trying to sleep without meds because I refused them because of breastfeeding. When your head is split down the middle, there is no comfortable position to lay in. But I had lived so long in pain that I never knew would end, that surely I could find a way to endure the pain that would. And I did. In 6 weeks, I was doing pretty much everything I was already doing before.

Leading up to the surgery, I spoke to a lot of people who had similar procedures, and they all said the same thing, the recovery process is where its hard. It can take as little or as long as it takes. Especially if other surgeries are needed for complications that arise. In my case, there were no complications, no need for further surgeries. Everything went as good as it could.

I firmly believe everything does happen in the time that it should, and in this case, it felt true. I don’t know that single me was anywhere near as strong as I needed to be mentally to overcome. The mother in me pushed me harder and gave me purpose, and I am sitting here today with a new life. I do still have some Chiari issues, but they are only in certain situations that are kind of specific. The amount of ability and physical strength I regained has been remarkable, and I realized how much I was truly suffering before the surgery.

And these are the types of experiences I have written throughout the Knights: Lost in the Void and its part 2 The Knights: Lost Stories. Serving others really does lead to serving your own needs as well. Man was not meant to live alone for a reason. Regardless of the pain, its worth it to keep moving forward. That’s what the books are trying to convey. My experiences transformed into to words on a page.