Post octopus

It feels like forever ago that I was wheeled away by my hospital “Uber” driver (his joke) to have my “nose job”. I was wearing those fabulously fashionable hospital gowns which really put paid to the question of what to wear to the hospital. (I have a couple of hints about making hospital a better experience – one is to remember to bring a bag for all the clothes you wore to the hospital. This fairly obvious point didn’t occur to me, and my poor mom had to find a way to carry all my MANY winter layers home – and of course we had walked to the hospital).  

Thankfully, I got to sleep through the bit where they picked my nose with many (the neurosurgeon mentioned that there are about 30 that they use - he drew helpful little pictures of a couple of them) very specialised little tools. I woke up without even a bruise. I did wake up with a weird nose-blood-catching-contraption, strapped around my face, but the hospital gown ruined any style competitions I was going to win anyway. I also woke up feeling pretty much normal, groggy, cold, very cold but normal (and then I think I may have fallen asleep again – I am foggy on the details).

Is it weird to post this? I think the science behind seeing
inside your head like this is amazing even though I hated
the MRI process itself. The dye highlights the octopus that
is looking a little like a bird from this angle. 

It truly is amazing what the doctors did and I am ridiculously grateful. Not least of all, am I grateful for the fact that the neurosurgeon called my mom to tell her I was awake and well as soon as I woke up from surgery so she didn’t have to worry a moment longer than necessary. Every doctor I have dealt through this whole thing has been amazing, given what they do I definitely feel more sheepish about putting the Dr in front of my name (seeing I just ruined the lives of way too many innocent fish) but, of course I still will because I (irrationally) blame the PhD for the whole octopus thing in the first place so figure I should at least get the title and I don't really like the Ms/Miss thing!

I was in the high care unit for the first night which meant I had people there all the time just making sure I was OK, which is pretty crazy if you think about it. I also had my first bed bath and catheter which is a good way to put the hospital gown awkwardness into perspective.  The staff at Kingsbury were awesome; friendly and helpful and concerned and you can’t imagine how much that makes it all a little easier.

There are a couple of other things I would recommend that also made it a bit more pleasant - I had stuff from people I love with me once I was back in the ward e.g. a facecloth from my aunt (I have never really understood face clothes, but it is a very handy thing in hospital), Harry Potter PJs from my sister, Body Shop soap from a wonderful friend and a brand-new toothbrush. 

All alone in the ward, and this is the
sugar packet they give me

They should really check the sugar
packets before handing them out.

The best thing about the hospital was visiting times (which were at terrible times, very silly policy) when I had my fabulous mom and many, many friends come in to say hi, bring snacks, magazines and flowers and, most importantly, make the days more interesting. I really didn't expect that a side-effect of being in hospital is presents, I felt very spoilt! 

I also had a lovely lady sharing the ward with me for one night, so I managed to make a friend for the non-visiting hours’ time (there was also a guy singing in one of the other wards, which kept things festive). My neurosurgeon also came by every day, twice a day to check on me, so I felt very spoilt and well cared for. 

Charley's Bakery cupcakes! So pretty!

Two things I would recommend you avoid (I mean, in addition to tumours and having to go to hospital in the first place) are a drip in the bendy bit of the elbow (it made bending my elbow ridiculously sore and it’s been two months and you can still see the point of entry) and weekends in the hospital - the ward was empty towards the weekend though, and the sounds from emergency were a bit disturbing. 

It wasn’t all peachy of course (the food lived up to expectations), but it really is amazing what science, paracetamol (was totally hoping for better drugs) and, most importantly, a wonderful support network of awesome, lovely, fabulous (I don’t have the words) friends and family can do. I have struggled to write this blog, I didn't know what to say and I think people are bored of hearing about the octopus but I couldn't not say thank you for all the amazing support and love so many people have showered me with. It made me feel so special and so unworthy - if you can feel both of those things at once. It would have been a very different experience without all the support and thank you is too small to express what I want to say, I hope that if anyone I love needs me I will be even a tiny bit as awesome as you all have been, and continue to be, to me. I need to invent a whole new word for how grateful I am to my wonderful mom.

I recently met someone who said that he also has an octopus in his pituitary gland and, instead of having surgery, has opted to trust to an alkaline diet to try combat it. I obviously think everyone needs to make their own choices and I don’t know his case history, but having the surgery was the best (and only, if I wanted to keep my eyesight) decision for me. I feel so lucky to have been diagnosed (my GP is still very humble about that, but all the other doctors I have spoken to have been impressed) and treated by such caring, considerate and thorough doctors that I would recommend any of them without hesitation. The pre-hospital worry about it time was horrible and even though it isn't all over, I am glad that bit of it is! Having said that, I would rather no one I know ever has to deal with an octopus - not least of all because you would really be undermining my playing that card and I am hoping it still has some traction even though my life is just about back to normal now!

Pre-op thumbs up

Ward thumbs up

Cheese!

High care thumbs up

Octopus Garden

I recently read "Lily and the Octopus" by Steven Rowley. Lily is a dog, and one day her human notices she has a tumour which he visualises as an octopus (a talking, malevolent octopus).  The previous book I read, "The Comet Seekers"  by Helen Sedgewick also features a brain octopus (although not referred to as such). It is weird that the two books that I have picked up recently, to avoid thinking about my own octopus, have had this in common. As my sister succinctly put it: "the universe is weird sometimes". 

So, it seems I have an octopus hidden in my head. It is on my pituitary gland so is not a brain octopus, just brain-adjacent which is much better. It is small for an octopus - 3.5cm - but big for the inside of my head (as far as I am concerned). It turns out, it has probably been there for years, and I am very lucky to have found it before experiencing the truly bizarre and horrible side-effects associated with this kind of octopus - headaches really don't seem too bad when compared to some symptoms.  

M's artwork

It seems a weird thing to blog about, but maybe other people have had some of the same questions and can relate? Like, what do you wear to hospital? Why do they tape your eyes shut when under anesthetic? (That seems really weird). And has the octopus changed me in slow subtle ways that I didn't notice because it has been growing there for a number of years? (OK, that one is just for me and is an irrational fear, but I stand by the anxiety about what to wear) And why haven't I thought to ask how long the surgery is? Why do they make you go to the hospital at such an uncivilised hour (6am - in Winter!!)? And, possibly what keeps me up more than the octopus itself, how will I be able to afford octopus management? 

Is stressing about this and, worse, writing a blog, a little dramaqueen-esque? This is especially true in light of the crazy disasters happening in the country, the storm, the fires, the Zuptas and the world... This personal drama seems small by comparison. But blogs are inherently self-indulgent, right? Anyway, I started out not being sure about who to tell, or how to tell people, (it doesn't come up naturally in conversations) or whether I come across like someone desperately-seeking-attention, but now the news is out there and spreading without my help so I figured I could indulge a little.

Adult Sardine otolith (slightly chipped).
They are very pretty, delicate structures

Firstly... I am fine, I am obviously stressed/scared but I would be weird if I wasn't, right? The octopus has been there for years, so right now the only thing that is different is that I know about it. I had a totally freaked out weekend where I didn't really know what was happening (sorry to the poor people who dealt with me over that period) but am feeling calmer now. I have since seen my brain - which is pretty awesome (seeing it, that is, the brain itself is pretty average looking). And I have had everything explained to me and seen pictures with way too much detail. I have also seen up my nose - which is an experience I do not recommend (and I am not sure how children get stuff stuck up there - it hurts to shove stuff up your nose). I have seen my inner ear bones which I got a weird kick out of, although I reckon sardine otoliths (inner ear bones) are probably prettier. 

I know that the octopus has kindly shoved important brain-things out to the side rather than wrapping its tentacles around them, which means it will be easier to operate. Oh, and I know that, despite my family's teasing, my nose is not too small! The neurosurgeon and everyone I have spoken to have all been incredibly kind, and careful about explaining things to me. I now know words and facts that I didn't know before and can casually throw them into conversations... but I won't. I can now also blame the octopus when I do something dumb - even though this octopus doesn't work like that, I am going to anyway. I am tired of the anticipation of it and stressing at 3am - although I have gotten through a good number of books which is a bonus. Tuesday is both too far and too near. 

I am very grateful to know about the octopus, (NOT so stoked about it's existence, but c'est la vie). I am incredibly lucky that my GP took my headaches seriously and sent me for a scan. I will never find words to describe my gratitude to him - he is a very good doctor and not just on this occasion (Dr Parr - Brampton Family Practice - he is one of those rare doctors that doesn't give antibiotics when you have a virus and diagnosed my gall stones when others didn't). I am grateful to have such a supportive boss - who also dealt with me kindly in the panicked stage. Obviously, you all already know that I have the best family in the world (I am very grumpy about missing our family holiday,  and Kulula ripping me off, but am pleased that it means the next family holiday will also include T!) And am also incredibly lucky to have had so much support and so many people wishing me well from far-flung corners of the world. I feel kind of embarrassed and humbled to be the recipient of all those good wishes. So, I want to say thank you although those two words are really too small for what I really want to say. Don't worry I am in good hands and they will downsize this octopus and stop him getting any crazy ideas! And then, I will be back, with another self-indulgent, overly-long blog. 

Adorable frog...

If you want to do something to make me happy, sign our petition to ban microbeads or send an email to appeals.southern@capetown.gov.za asking them to do a FULL EIA before allowing (or rather, not allowing) development on the Kenilworth Racecourse Conservation Area - home of adorable frogs (and other important species and rare/endemic stuff). 







Also, I really love actual octopuses, they are among my favourites - despite the fact that the plural is a less than awesome word.  And they definitely are too smart to be eaten (another book I have been reading, Last Days of the Bus Club by Chris Stewart, said that you shouldn't eat octopus because they love beauty and use shells etc. to decorate the entrances of their burrows - the boring scientist in me thinks there might be a sexual selection aspect at play, but I do try shut her up occasionally).