So my cancer isnt growing, but in another epic twist, I had to have another operation.
The last month has been a challenging one for me, I have had an incredible time traveling and seeing the world, as well as spending time with family and friends in Europe, but at the same time I knew that my scans on the 24th October were approaching and I would have to face my fears and get back in that tunnel/MRI and let them have a look at the tumor in my brain. Well the 24th has come and gone, and after embracing many sleepless nights and lots of reassurance from family and friendsI awoke on the morning of the 24th in a half-slumber in which memories about America resurfaced and I was inclined to think about the three questions that changed my life, as well as the fourth question, which at the time I was not aware of.
The three questions I have faced to date were on the 15th December 2011, when my Durban Neuro-surgeon Stephan Joubert confirmed that I had a blockage and whether I was ready for an operation immediately that afternoon. “Yes, lets do this”, I replied. The second question was posed by Griffith Harsh in America prior to having my biopsy, “Brad, I need to get in there so we can draw out a sample and determine what type of cancer this is, would you let me do that?”, “Yes, Griff, I trust you”. And my third questions was at dinner in Palo Alto when I received the results of my biopsy, “Hi Brad, Its Griff, we have ascertained what tumour you have, and with your permission, I would like to conduct a craniotomy tomorrow morning, 6:00am, does that sound okay?”, “Yes, Griff, just like before, lets do this and get this over and done with”, I replied. It is so immensely hard to try and explain how hard it is to reflect on those questions, but at the time I was not aware of the massive questions I was answering because at the time I was so focused on one thing.My fourth question came on the 25th October, 2012, one day after my MRI scan. All I knew was that in situations like this you have to say, “Yes”, because “Yes”, is the most positive you can be and it is the most positive word we have at our disposal. “No” is a pessimistic word, and a word that I do not like to use frequently. Since my diagnosis I have become very fond of the word yes and the power it holds. It is used in so many happy and positive sentences. It lets someone know, “yes, youre okay”, “yes, I will marry you”, and “yes, youre going to be fine”, it calms us down and lets us know that we will be fine. Yes to me is one of the most powerful and positive words available. I am aware that it can be used in a negative environment, but I am inclined to not think like that.
I had my MRI on the 24th and the nerves I experienced prior to it required I started taking some mild tranquilizers in order to calm down as the gravity of the importance of the scan became apparent. It was my one year scan, and it held a lot of weight and importance. I realised that Dr Brada had the potential to either make my day or shatter my life, and that is something you have to come to terms with. These doctors are there to help you, and aid you in the best manner possible. It took my dad and I about 20 minutes to find the correct building to have the MRI, as the LOC and Harley Street Clinic is such a huge institution it is hard to find the right building. The MRI itself was short, perhaps 25 minutes, and once again I was allowed to listen to some Coldplay which helped calm my nerves. I quickly got changed and met up with my dad outside, and he could see the fear on my face so he ushered me out the hospital and we attempted to stomach some food. After lunch we headed to Dr Brada’s rooms. Just before heading to 95 Harley Street we met up with my sister, Nix and Bella. The sight of both of them calmed me down and drew my attention away from the result of the scan. Bear in mind, we had been given the MRI results on a disc that we were supposed to give to the doctor. Its an eerie feeling walking around with images of your brain on a disc. As we arrived at Dr Brada’s rooms, he was standing at the entrance to the lift, and his first words to me were, “Youre fine, the tumor hasnt grown, so you can relax”. Now that is the ideal way to calm someones nerves prior to a doctors consultation. I immediately felt any uncertainty slip away and I was once again under my own control, for the mean time. We went over the scans, but I could see he was holding something back. Just before concluding he said that there was one concern, that my ventricles were very enlarged and that he wasnt comfortable with me flying to the USA the following day. That was hard news to take as I was so looking forward to traveling around America with my girlfriend, Alice, and her sister, Emily. I realized that he would be saying this for no reason and that his warning must hold some substantial evidence. He put us in contact with a consultant neuro-surgeon, Dr Bhangoo of the Harley Street Clinic.
We arrived at Dr Bhangoo’s rooms at 11:15 on the 25th, and these doctors rooms are unlike you have ever seen, they are expansive, with dark wooden finishes and there are books, and even coffee dispensers readily available. I quickly tuck into a glass of water in an attempt to quell my nerves, well no amount of water could have calmed me down from where I would be shortly after entering into his rooms. Upon first contact Dr Bhangoo seems just like all the other neuro-surgeons I have dealt with, unbelievably smart and attentive with a good bedside manner. He cuts to the chase, and runs me through a list of procedures that they could conduct, but then proceeds to highlight one procedure, the ventriculostomy, which he believes is the best possible solution for the situation I now face, a blocked shunt. That is not welcome words for someone who has had 3 brain operations in not even one calendar year, and I am realistically looking into having my fourth. Dr Bhangoo confirms my worst fear, we are going to have to operate. He walks out the room in order to give my dad and I time to discuss the options. I begin to pace up and down his clinic room. The room instantly becomes smaller and claustrophobic, I am now looking square down the barrel again, at the prospect of having to go to sleep for the fourth time for brain surgery.
The fear you experience is unlike that of what you have ever experienced. I cannot comprehend nor try explain what goes through the mind during this time, but death certainly creeps into there somewhere, and it is scary, but at that exact moment you have a decision to make. I walk over to my dad, lean in and look him square in the eyes, “Dad, do you think this is the best decision?”, he says, “Braddi, we came here to see the best, in order to get the best treatment with the best possible outcome, you can be scared or we can face this thing, one last time”. In truth I didnt need to reply, because we both knew my answer and what I was going to do, I just needed the nudge off the ledge, and the nudge pushed me into a controlled free-fall, where I found that same steely resolve that I had in America. The resolve that meant one problem and only one possible outcome, success! Dr Bhangoo walks back in the room, he can see the stress on my face as well as a slight grin because he knows Im ready for this, to stand and fight, for what is hopefully the last operation. He knew I was going to say “Yes”, and had already aligned his schedule the next day to include my surgery. After some formalities and one ultra-sound scan to pick up where the shunt was lying in my tummy, we are on our way home, and I have to break the news to my mom, sisters and Alice, that I have to have one final operation. I race home to Alice, and tell her that they plan on operating tomorrow, Friday, 26th October.
Needless to say, I didnt sleep all too well that evening, I think it had something to do with knowing that I was having brain surgery the following day. Alice and I are up at 5:30 and by 6:30 we are on our way to hospital. In what turned out being a very boring day, we waited from 8am until 6:30pm to have the operation, and every time someone walked into my room I thought it was the nurse coming to collect me, so by 6:30pm, my nerves were shot and my sense of humor had completely failed. These doctors literally operate all day, I was just hoping that they werent jaded by the time they saw me. Nevertheless, at 6:15pm, the nurse walks into the room, robes in hand, and calls my name, because by this stage I had my entire family in the room in order to try calm me down. I beckon my parents to come down with me, and the nurse allows it. I hug Carmie, and I can see she is just as scared as me, and for her and Ally this was the first operation that they were there for before I went in. I hug Carm and let her know that I will be fine. Ally by this stage is just as stressed as I am, perhaps even more, because I know that in 20 minutes I am going to be knocked out and she will have to endure an indefinite amount of time that I will be asleep. I hug Ally, and I can feel she is worried but at the same time she knows I will be fine. She really has been so strong throughout all of this, and she is determined not to cry in-front of me before I head off. I tell her “I love you”, before giving her one last kiss. I walk out the door saying, “I will see you just now”.
I get into the lift, parents in tow escorted by a nurse from Lesotho who I proceeded to chat to in order to calm down. We are at the doors to surgery before I know it, and I have to say goodbye to my parents as my surgery begins in the next few minutes. Goodbye hugs are never easy, especially before a surgery with any potential outcome. I hug my mom and dad, and let them know that their boy is fine, and ready for this one final operation. They have both been so so strong through all of this, and I havent exactly made life easy for them over the last year. It makes you realize the important things in life, and forget the trivial. I walk into the theatre, lie down on the bed, and before I know it the anesthesiologist is there injecting wonderful cocktails into my IV drip. Just before they kick in, I reflect on what is about to happen and what I need to do, I need to keep my mind strong, my will focused and the energy within me positive. Shortly after I have done this, I drift into an unconscious state. Its go time.
I wake up with the sensation of gagging, and I later found out that this was because I was trying to rip my throat tube out of my mouth. I am rather glad they calmed me down and did it for me. I wasnt aware of where I was, or how I had gotten there. I did know that Alice and my family were there, so I calmed down once I had ascertained that fact. As I was coming out of the anaesthetic, the pain of the operation hit, and it was like a tsunami, a big pain at first that didnt reside. I remember the wise words of Stuart Kidgell when he said, “dont be afraid to ask for more pain killers, when you are in pain, dont be a hero”, and that was coming from a man who had made the same mistake I made in Palo Alto. It pains me to say, but at this stage I feel like an experienced campaigner when it comes to brain surgery, so I know the game. I immediately ask for more morphine to numb the incredible pain at the back of my skull. The pain was emanating from where they cut my bone, pulled out the shunt and then inserted some sort of bone meal to fill the gap where they cut and sawed. I then realized that that was not the only place that was sore, so was the top of my head. I move my hand over my head, and feel a fresh new bump... “odd”, that wasnt there before. The male nurse, Eddie, reminds me that it is a disc that they inserted during surgery. The disc is there for the rest of my life, and serves as an alternative method of drawing fluid from my ventricle should there be a spike in pressure if the ventriculostomy fails to work. Once I gain full consciousness, I look around and survey my surroundings. I am in ICU (IT). The first person that pops in to view is Alice, her friend Tal Shear, my parents, Carmen was there but she had left just prior to me waking up.
I am then introduced to Eddie, my male nurse and the person personally responsible for looking after me for the next day or two. I instantly get on with Eddie, and I think there was some talk about Manny Pacquiao as he was from the Philippines. Before I can mutter too much non-sense I pass out. When I wake up at 3am, my parents and Alice are gone, but Eddie is still there. I figure I have had enough sleep in the operating room, and decide to get to know Eddie as he is the dude that is looking after me. We talk about all sorts of things, and I learn about the man, and his family and he in turn learns about my family and where I am from. Eddie did a fantastic job at looking after me, and if he is reading this, I just want to say, “Thank you, Eddie. You did an incredible job, and put some positivity into a very beat up kid”.
I wake up the next morning, and the first face I see is that of my dad. He stayed with me until the doctors came around. The doctors did some routine checks and make sure that I am okay. They inform me that I will be able to leave tomorrow, Sunday. That is two days sooner than planned so that must have meant I was ahead of the curve. I spent the two days in hospital and on Sunday afternoon, I walked out the hospital and headed home.
The week was progressing well, Monday was a slow one for me, but its a slow day for most people, and that is without brain surgery. On Tuesday I head to Harrods with Alice and I was experiencing intense cabin fever. We walk around, and to be fair, I refused to get in a wheelchair, but halfway through Harrods I start to feel terrible and I can feel an incredible pain in my spine and neck. I then comply with her wishes to get me into a wheelchair as the pain built up. The pain persists for much of the evening, and in an attempt to rid myself of the pain I take my painkillers and go to sleep.
I wake up at 4:30, on Wednesday morning. The pain rebounding in the inside of my head is unlike anything I have ever experienced before. It is the most earth shattering headache I have ever had, and to be honest I am not able to compare it to anything I have ever felt. Simply put, it was the most painful experience I have ever been through. It felt like each blood vessel in my brain was being scrumpled up and crushed one by one. I wake Alice up and let her know that something is wrong. She immediately wakes up my mom. Please remember that I am not a fan of doctors or going back to hospital, but after taking a bath to try quell the pain, and taking a substantial amount of painkillers, Alice finally persuades me to go to hospital. We call my dad and let him know that something is wrong and that we are heading to the hospital. Every movement is excruciating, every slight head jolt makes my head feel like it is going to explode. We phone ahead and prepare the hospital for my arrival. As soon as we arrive, we are escorted back into my old room on the fourth floor. We wait a short while before I am taken for a CT scan in order to check that everything in my head is functioning properly. Dr Chandler, the American doctor who performed the ventriculostomy along with Dr Bhangoo, walks into my room. This doctor has an incredible bed side manner and has an incredible way of calming people down. He goes over my scan, and proceeds to tell me that the pain is emanating from a blood clot that is based at the back of one of my ventricles. The blood clot was formed by the extraction of the shunt. There is not supposed to be any blood in the brain ventricles, it is an area completely maintained by cerebro spinal fluid, and any blood that manages to get into the ventricles creates a very toxic reaction which is responsible for the incredible pain I was experiencing. The doctor informs me that the blood clot will eventually dissolve, much to my relief as I thought this meant another surgery. He gives me some nausea medication, some more analgesic’s (painkillers) and sends me home.
For a week the pain has persisted, and only today, Monday, am I beginning to feel slightly better. The pain I experienced in this last week has been the most I have ever known. The blood clot is still dissolving but in order for it to be removed from my ventricles it has to mix, just the same way oil and vinegar mix, they DONT, and the blood had to filter down my spine until it was reabsorbed at the base of my spine. The whole process takes about a week, and only after I spoke to Dr Stuart Kidgell, did I relax and accept that it is a waiting game. One negative from this whole operation, is that I now have a constant ringing in my ears, which hopefully, one day will stop. haha.
That is how my last 10 days have been, it reminded me of a lot of things that I had forgotten this year, that above all other things I have a very strong will to survive. That even when you think your body is spent and that you have fought with everything you have, there is always something left in the tank of those determined not to lose.
This blog is dedicated to Wesley Ingle, a friend from Durban who was recently diagnosed with cancer. Wes, my man, keep fighting this thing like you are, and if you do, this cancer doesnt stand a chance. Stay positive, find the positive and never be afraid to say, “Yes”, because yes is inherently the most positive word we have.
Yes Please.
