Genetic Stapling

I am going to start by apologizing to my hubby - sorry, babe, I couldn't resist.

We've recently moved my in-laws to a new home in a new state, which involved packing up their worldly possessions. What we came to realize is that my mother-in-law really likes staples. I mean she REALLY likes staples. So sorting through her paperwork has involved pulling a lot of staples out of clumps of papers. We've kidded her about it and accused her of never meeting two pieces of paper that didn't deserve to be stapled together.

So, we all had some laughs and life goes on. Right? Well, maybe not... Last week I was overcome with an urge to clean up some of our old files. I decided to start with bank statements from 10 years ago. What I quickly remembered is that my hubs (love you tons, honey) likes to save ALL the old ATM receipts. And, let's face it, there is NO reason on earth to save ATM receipts for years. And, not just save them, but staple them to each other and to the bank statements - with HUNDREDS of staples. I sprained all of my fingers and broke three staple removers ... and that only got me as far as 2007.

Yes, folks, apparently stapling is hereditary, some sort of strange gene mutation. I only hope it's not contagious.

What Happened to Me?

I used to be cool. Before my hubs swept me off my feet and moved to the Jersey "burbs," I lived in Mid-town. (Manhattan, of course, because it's the epicenter of cool.) I still retained my essence of coolness out here in the wilds of Jersey. I dressed in "cool" country-chic. Well, okay, I dressed in Levi's, but still...

Then along came this annoying brain tumor and I ended up with a funky eye that doesn't make any tears. Hence the globs of goo in my eye at all times. All the goo creates a hell of a glare, so bright light really hurts the peeper. Sun glasses are a must. So, I quickly purchased prescription sunglasses, but it got incredibly annoying constantly switching between regular and sun glasses. Then, one day, in a fit of utter madness, I went online (because it'd be too embarrassing in person) and ordered ... Fitovers. Yes, you know what I'm talking about. This is what the seniors in Florida wear.

I've tried my best to make these cool, but no matter how I cut it, I look like a bug with giant shiny eyes. I'm terrifying. I am wondering if I should dye my hair blue. What the Hell happened to me, and has anyone seen my "cool?"

Every Day

I stopped in the acoustic neuroma patient forum the other day and was catching up on old friends, saying hi to some newly diagnosed people, when I read a post that kind of got me to thinking. The post was from a guy I respect very much who had a massive tumor removed a few years before I entered the brain tumor scene. He is always able to articulate so well what sorts of things "newbies" could expect, and always does it in a way that isn't frightening. Well, okay, I know that there really isn't anything about a brain tumor that ISN'T frightening - but you know what I mean!

The comment he made was "It is not something you 'get through', recover and move on as if it never happened. Even with the best outcomes, as I experienced, a few 'reminders' are still part of my life." It got me to thinking...

Most of us in this little club have moderate to total hearing loss on the tumor side. Not something other people can see, but something we all have to make accommodations for every single day. In my case, I get up in the morning and snap a little metal box onto a metal rod that is implanted in my skull. Great to be me.

The unlucky few who have permanent nerve damage may start their day, as I do, with a blob of lubricating gel in the eye to keep it from drying out. And, those are the same people who have a blast of panic when they realize that they've left the house without eye drops/gel.

Mind you, I am not complaining. There are SO many people dealing with much worse things every day. But, I do sometimes long for my "old" life, the one that didn't involve bionic ears or eye gel. Just sayin'...

It's All a Matter of Balance...

I remember before I had surgery, the surgeon told me that I would be likely to experience "disequalibrium"... And, I thought to myself, "disequal-WHAT?" Basically that is just a fancy way to say "sorry, kid, your balance is going to suck."

Most of the time, I actually do quite well. I've adapted to having only 50% of a normal person's ability to balance. For example, I don't try to walk around in the yard in the dark, I always use the railing when I'm on stairs, and I have night lights strung out all over the house. Works pretty well. I know that when I am tired, I have to be more careful, and that when there is a lot of sensory input happening, my balance will get much worse. So, where am I going with this?

This past weekend, the hubs and I went to the Bronx Zoo. We both needed a diversion and it was kind of like a mini-vacation. Now, if you've never been there, it is a huge place with lots of indoor and outdoor exhibits. Well, we got out little map and headed out on our grand adventure. One of the first things on our map was an exhibit called "Madagascar" - whoa, cool! In we went.

Now, let me set the stage. The floor was made out of some sort of rubberized material which gave it a slightly squishy consistency. It was dark (simulating night time, I guess). It was REALLY crowded. And, it was REALLY noisy. You with me so far? Uneven surface, dark, and mega-sensory input. All of a sudden, my world felt like an amusement park ride. I grabbed Willie's arm in a death grip, while trying to dig my fingernails into the fake rock wall on my other side. I experienced a fear-induced blast of adrenalin, and a strong desire to claw my way to safety. Happily, we made it out upright and intact. Well, other than the hubs' dislocated shoulder from where I tried to wrench his arm out of its socket.

I am happy to report that the rest of our day was spent upright and oriented - and did not include anymore dark exhibits. Sorry, no bat house. And, no Mouse House, either. Nope. Strictly large mammals for me. Large outdoor mammals.

Single Sided Deafness - Glass half-emtpy or half-full?

I was getting up on the Acoustic Neuroma patient forum today and came across a link for a very well-written essay on single sided deafness. I think this is a good read for anyone who is SSD, as well as those who have the pleasure of living with those of us who are SSD. Enjoy...

http://tribalvillages.org/deaf-essays/single-sided-deafness.html

BAHA - Ha Ha

First, let me say that I am very, very happy with my new digital ear! It is interesting that when I am wearing it, I don't even notice that I have it on. By that, I mean that I don't consciously "hear" anything differently. But, there are times when I am struck with the sudden realization that I am hearing something that I never would hear without the BAHA. Case in point - I recently had a group of my girlfriends over and we were all sitting around the dinner table talking. And, let me just say, they can talk a LOT. Well, everyone was talking at the same time, which is usually death for me since all I hear are random words. As I was sitting there, I suddenly realized that I could hear the friend on my deaf side PERFECTLY! That was one of my big (B)AHA moments.

And, of course, as with all things brain-tumor related, there are also funny moments... I was recently putting some things in the back of my little SUV and as I was leaning in to set something in the back, my head made contact with the door of the car and - WHAM - off my BAHA flew! It hit the pavement and rolled under my car which triggered some extremely colorful and inventive language from me. Down on my hands and knees, I retrieved the little guy and, with heart in throat, attached it to my head. Success!! It was none the worse for hitting the ground at maximum speed. Now, that said, I don't suggest that anyone start hurling their BAHA around with reckless abandon.

I am currently helping to rehab my in-law's 40-something year old house, which is providing all kinds of interesting balance challenges. The miracle is that I haven't fallen into a paint tray yet. But, there is still time...

Happy AN-niversary!

We are currently in the middle of renovating my in-laws house, after relocating them to Huntsville, AL two weeks ago. So, I woke up this morning aching in just about every part of my body, thinking - "wow, I feel like crap." And, then it occurred to me that exactly three years ago today I was about two hours in to a roughly 6 hour brain surgery. Hm, that makes today's aches and pains feel a little less achy and painy. The TRUE definition of "feeling like crap" is when you wake up in a noisy recovery room in a major NYC hospital, with a tight (really tight) pressure dressing around your head, pink "oops" tray nestled under your chin, another dressing on your belly, head swelled up to the size of the Goodyear Blimp, and tubes and wires hanging out of every part of your body. Yep, that will always and forever define "crap" for me!

Yep, that puts a good perspective things. Three years later, I am adept at avoiding balance-challenging situations, a master at the head-swivel to hear what people on my deaf side are saying, and relatively good at keeping food in my mouth where it belongs. I will celebrate the day by arming myself with paint and spackle and doing battle with "the house." Then, later today, I plan to open up a bottle of something nice (and, no, I'm not talking Coke, folks) and celebrating my AN-niversary! Care to join me?