The pinnacle of the football season has finally arrived. Are you in the Los Angeles Rams’ camp or is it Go Cincinnati Bengals? I grew up in Los Angeles, however, my father hailed from Ohio. I guess it will be Rams for me — peer pressure over in my hometown.
Here is a picture of my cat watching the latest Rams game with me and Kevin. She is a big fan.
When we think of the Superbowl, we most likely think of parties, friends, too much food (if there ever is such a thing), beer, super duper commercials, noise and the infamous half-time performances. For many of us, that can be the highlight of the game! I have a rather fond, if not rather bizarre, memory of a half-time during the Superbowl. It’s a bit of a long story. It involves my brain.
My baby girl, Betsy, was born in October 2003 through a planned C-section. It had taken two miscarriages to finally bring this blessing into our lives: she was, and still is, the epitome of feminine grace and beauty. After her birth, I was happily taking care of her with the help of my husband, Steve and my son, Ernie, who was 12 years old and a doting big brother. All was well…until about November, when…
I started getting strange sensations, including dizzy spells, lightheadedness, headaches and seeing spots. I also had a spot in the center of my lower back that was completely numb. Occasionally, I would feel a bit off-balance, too. I attributed all of these symptoms to post-pregnancy vitamin deficiencies. Maybe I needed more iron? The numb spot on my back? Must be because of the epidural I received during her birth. I remember being with my son at his dental appointment and as the dentist was talking to me, I felt faint. I kept repeating to myself, “Don’t faint here. Don’t faint here.” Fortunately, I didn’t faint, but I finally made an appointment with my doctor and had blood work done. Nothing unusual showed up. Not one speck of anemia.
Then, a few weeks later, in December, I woke up with a pronounced floater in my right eye. It was as if there was a huge blob of mascara across my vision. “It will go away,” I said to myself. “I’ve had the blood work done. I’m okay,” I reassured myself. I told my bff, Barb, about the floater over a casual lunch. She suggested I have my eye doctor take a look at it. She is more proactive than me about health issues. I made an appointment for the following day with my optometrist.
Thinking it would be a quick appointment, I brought my baby girl and son with me. Ernie would watch Betsy while I was in my exam. The doctor examined me and said the unmagic words, “Something is putting pressure on your optic nerve.” He called a local ophthalmologist and told me to go there right away. With baby and pre-teen son in tow, I traipsed over to the next office.
The ophthalmologist took a series of photos of my eye. He gave me eye drops that made me see vivid, bright colors. I felt as if I was on a 1960s hallucinogenic acid trip. If only. (Just kidding.) Meanwhile, my children were in the waiting room. My son was a real trooper looking after his little sister. My husband was at work, and I didn’t want to bother him. I kept thinking that this was all nothing, and we would go home soon. After all of these strange tests, the doctor didn’t tell me anything more than he was “concerned” and referred me to Cedars Sinai to meet with a neuro ophthalmologist. Now I was getting worried. Anytime anyone says “neuro” it is next level scary!
The following day I met with the neuro opto doctor who told me that I could possibly have a tumor, or “something else.” He wouldn’t know anything for sure until after looking at a MRI. Doctors have a way of cushioning the blow of bad news. Then, when they know for sure, BAM! a hammer drops on you! I was still in naive land, thinking that whatever was ailing me was nothing. I had an MRI scheduled for later in the evening at Cedars Sinai. I remembered the Woody Allen film, Hannah and Her Sisters where he thought he had a brain tumor and he went for an MRI. Haha!
It was weird walking around the hospital at night; I had a lot of memories from there — not good ones — of visiting my mother often when she was in her final years. Ernie came with me that evening, too, for moral support, as Steve watched the baby at home. (A very belated Thank You to my amazing son!)
The next morning I got a phone call from the neuro doc. “I need to see you and your husband at the hospital right away.” There was no denying it anymore…this was NOT GOOD! To make this incredibly long story a wee bit shorter, I was diagnosed with an Acoustic Neuroma; it is a tumor that is in the ear canal (hello dizzy spells!) and extends to the brain stem. According to one science journal, an acoustic neuroma “also known as a vestibular schwannoma, is a rare benign (non-cancerous) growth that develops on the eighth cranial nerve.”
My tumor was very large as I had been pregnant on and off for three years (remember those miscarriages?) and hormones tend to increase the growth of tumors. The bad news was that I needed to have it removed (BRAIN SURGERY!) but the good news was it was most likely benign (YAY!) and once removed, I would be “cured.” The other part of the bad news: I would lose all of my hearing on my right side. Also, some people get droopy eyes and lose their ability to smile after this surgery. Believe it or not, (and I’m sure you do!) brain surgery involves a lot of nerves, so anything goes once you open up and tinker around the ol’ skull.
I would take the loss of hearing, no problem! I still had one good ear. But the other side affects definitely made me sad. I had children who needed a mother to smile at them! I know it seems trivial in the scheme of things — it could have been a whole heck of a lot worse of a prognosis. But since I was in denial all that time, why couldn’t I continue with the trend? Of course, I went on the internet and did my due diligence by looking at all of the botched cases following acoustic neuroma surgeries.
The surgery was set at Cedars Sinai for January 29, 2004. I am not good at remembering dates, but this one is etched in my memory forever. We had to be at the hospital by 5 am. Bff Barb came to the rescue once again by watching Betsy for us. She was certainly my guardian angel.
Anyone can tell you that it is a weird experience prior to a surgery. All of the tests, preparations and fears that surface. I had to be “marked up” the night before my surgery so I looked like something out of a horror movie with ink all over my face. Hey, if that’s what it takes for the surgeon to know where he’s going, then hell yeah! By the way, I was fortunate beyond measure to have one of the best teams of surgeons. There were three of them: one to open and close the skull, one to remove the tumor from my ear canal, and one to remove the tumor from the brain stem. The brain stem surgeon, Dr. Keith Black, is world renowned. If you click on the link below, you will see for yourself how damn lucky I was to have Dr. Black at the helm, or I should say, base of my brain!
https://achievement.org/achiever/keith-l-black/
Through this experience, I developed one of my go-to coping skills, which was to put one foot in front of the other. Not very sophisticated, I can tell you, but it has served me well through many more trials, tribulations and even a tragedy. You sometimes just have to show up. That’s it. When I knew all I had to do on January 29, 2004 was to arrive at the hospital, I offered myself a little respite from fear and worry. I trusted that I was in good hands. Honestly, I had no choice.
Well, as I am writing this over 18 years later, the surgery went well. I remember being in the “pre-op surgery area” (whatever it’s called) and getting wires hooked up to every part of my body. Between the MRI beeps and blips, and these wires, I felt as if I were a Science Fiction film monster. Now playing: Attack of the Brain Tumor!
I woke up in the ICU and Dr. Black was looking over me. He asked me to smile. I smiled. He smiled back. Life was good!
I was in the hospital for about a week. I couldn’t walk without a walker, as my balance would take several weeks to return. I felt as if I had been hit in the head by an anvil — like the old Wiley Coyote and Roadrunner cartoons, where the coyote’s head bounces around.
I was fortunate because mainly, I was alive. Secondly, my face had not suffered any nerve damage. Dr. Black visited me a few days into my hospital stay and held a phone (those old fashioned things with cords) up to my right ear. This was real high tech doctor stuff, here. He asked if I could hear a dial tone. I could! He said it was a miracle that I could hear anything because of the size of the tumor they had removed. (Later on, Cedars Sinai would write an article about my surgery and how the surgical team was able to save approximately 50 percent of my hearing. It was a first!) I would forever have tinnitus, however, and require hearing aids.
So to bring this back to football…yes, you read that right, football. I was lying in my hospital bed, probably eating jello or something mushy, and watching the Superbowl. I was drugged up and half out of it, but it felt great to sit up, and feel somewhat human. There was a nurse in there, too, with me, doing nurse things like checking my vital signs and IV fluids, etc. And then, it happened. The infamous Janet Jackson costume mishap or whatever you want to call it, when Justin Timberlake “accidentally” undid her top and revealed her breast.
As I was pretty loopy, I thought I had imagined the whole thing. I asked the nurse, “Did you see what I think I just saw?”
“Yes, indeed! That’s crazy!” She said.
“I can’t believe it,” I laughed.
We giggled about it and enjoyed being incredulous together. I was very grateful that I had had someone to substantiate what I had seen on TV and share that absurd situation with. It wasn’t my medication after all!
I look back on that half-time incident with great fondness. For months, I had been scared…terrified… about my health, my surgery, what would happen to my children, about everything. Finally, I could relax, eat my jello and enjoy the craziness and randomness of life once again! I could even smile about it.
I hope you all enjoy the Superbowl on February 13th. I will be watching and smiling for sure, turning up my hearing aids full blast so I can hear that rockin’ half-time show.
Cheryl Thatt-Burbank 