The Brain Aneurysm
Monday morning, 5:00 a.m. sharp, I was wakened by a mean slap to the body and a stern, clear voice:
“Take me to the emergency room. Right now.”
A 46 year old man can still jump out of bed and throw some clothes on pretty quick, but he still has to pee, and we 46 year old men know what that is like first thing in the morning, don’t we? Try squeezing it out in a crisis while your wife is screaming, “Hurry up!”
Twenty minutes later (I didn’t know a Nissan Rogue could do 100 mph) I was literally carrying her into the ER as she was passing out and throwing up simultaneously.
I thought it was the flu. It had to be the flu.
When the man said, “Ruptured brain aneurysm” I wanted to throw up and pass out myself.
My 45 year old wife had just had a stroke. Healthy. Eats great. Exercises. Never had anything stronger than lemonade in her life. I can’t explain it any better than you can.
A team of neurosurgeons were waiting, and soon, the angiogram began, where there was an 80% chance that the 7mm bleeding aneurysm could be located, coiled off, and taken care of. Sounded like something more suited for an HVAC tech than a doctor. It was the other 20% that had me scared to death. I’ve always been a loser when it comes to odds.
Four hours later, in a waiting room surrounded by family and friends, John Wayne/Superman strolled in with a smile on his face and said, “No sweat.”
The love of my life, the 5'2" angel who had saved my life with her love twenty-two years earlier was going to make it.
As I write this, it is Day 5. She lies in her hospital bed toughing it out through headaches (leaked blood still on the brain that takes time to exit) and muscle spasms from having to lie still. She is poked, prodded, and asked who the current President of the United States is every hour on the hour (on Day 1, she answered “Obama.” I knew we were in for a long haul.)
She passes all tests with flying colors and is expected to make a full recovery. From what I understand, this is not always the case with many who go through this. I get down on my knees about 15 times a day and give thanks.
The number of lessons, sermons, articles, and stories in general that could (and maybe will someday) be written from this experience are currently enough for me to fill a library. Fear, death, love, family, marriage, the brain, hospitals, loneliness, kindness, God…It doesn’t stop.
Right now, though, all I care to write is an ending for the tough tale my darling is enduring. A very happy ending.
