X-Ray-ted SAW

It was a good feeling getting home - being stuck on the lounge in your own house is way more comfy than hospitalisation. A few of my friends came around to see me that arvo, and it was good to catch up - I'd let most of them know that there was no point visitng me in hospital because I'd probably be doped up on morphine (how wrong I was!), so this was their first time to see me up and about.
I did have a very interesting talking point at that stage (apart form the bloody, swollen wound on the back of my neck and the brand new scar on my throat) - X-Rays. Between the cage, the plate protecting the cage, the two rods and the extremely large looking screws holding it all together, it is reminiscent of a torture contraption out of the SAW movies ( anyone know how to scan an x-ray film so I can put one up here?).

After a few days at my home, I headed up to the family home for some more rest and Christmas. Not much to talk about there. My first night back at the pub just before Christmas I had to go home after only a few schooners because I was tired from all the sitting/standing, and Christmas Eve I should've gone home early rather than drink a bit much. I probably over-indulged a bit for a few weeks there, but I'm easily led and between Christmas, New Years, a mate's bucks and my sister's 21st birthday I didn't really feel inclined to miss out on the fun - which I should've when I discovered the wound in my neck had an infection where the drain was.
It wasn't that a big a deal. After the op, I came out with a tube hanging out the back of my neck to let any fluid build up drain. This was because they couldn't be sure how things would heal where they cut into the old scar tissue. The drain (and it's disgusting pouch full of blood, pus and who knows what else) came out after a few days in hospital, but left a gaping crater in my neck. Somehow, two weeks after the op this got infected and I ended up on a course of antibiotics. I, of course, did the stupid young male thing and continued to party on despite this. Feel free to shake your head and "tsk tsk" here. It did heal up fine though, although I owe eternal gratitude to my mate who was changing the bandaging every morning considering what he was looking at and the hangover he must have had.

I went back to work pretty soon after that, and my first visit to the doctor was fine. There were no complications, and everything was still structurally correct. Two visits later and I've now got the OK to go back to normal life (i.e. play sport), and soon I'll start seeing a hand therapist to try and get the most out of my hands. My fist game of casual soccer gave me a bit of a scare - I had a collision with one of the boys. I staggered away, convinced that I was about to be in agony but then realised that I was fine, and that it just felt strange because I wasn't used to the movement in my new neck.

So that's pretty much the close of the story, for now at least. I'm healthy, trying to get fit and feel pretty good. The scar on the back of my neck isn't that much bigger than it used to be, and the scar on my thrat looks more like shaving rash than anything else. Which is slightly disappointing - I'm sure evidence of a cut throat would be a great way to intrigue girls at the pub.
The only thing I'd really like now is to get some improvement in the movement and strength in my hands - it'd make me pretty happy, but as long as things don't get worse I can live with things as they are now. It's not like I'm a brickie's labourer, jeweller, or surgeon or any other job requiring strength or motor skill.

Future updates? We'll see. I've got a CT in March to see how the bone is growing, and in the meantime there's the hand therapy. If anything of interest comes out of those I'll post.

It's Been A While

As was recently pointed out to me, this blog has been particularly silent since my operation. Fortunately this is not because of anything bad, quite the opposite in fact.
The operation itself went smoothly. I got to the hospital at 6am on the Monday morning with the understanding that they'd be operating at 7. Unfortunately things took a bit longer, so I was sitting around in a backless gown and compression tights for a lot longer than I felt comfortable with.
When they did come get me I went through all the usual pre-op without any anxiety. I was amused when they gave me something to help me relax, within a few seconds of it being injected I felt like I'd had about six beers. Pretty soon after that they wheeled me into the operating room, all I really recall from there is a lot of bright light.
Eight hours later (four longer than I'd been expecting) I woke up in recovery. They did all the usual stuff like asking me to wiggle my toes, and then made sure I could press the button on my self-adminstered pain killer. I was incredibly thirsty (I'd had nil by mouth since the night before), and after what felt like an age they took me out for a brief chat with my parents before taking me to ICU, where they thankfully gave me some ice to suck on.
It was at this stage that I realised that not everything was as I expected. For one, I didn't seem to be in any pain. Secondly, I could actually seem to move my neck. Waking in the morning and talking to the nurses reaffirmed my suspicion - I'd come out of the whole thing magnificently. I was in no pain, I had no need for the morphine - the nurses couldn't believe that the only drugs I took the whole time I was there were some Panadol for a slight fever I had on the second night. People who visited me couldn't believe how healthy and mobile I was - especially those who'd seen me after my first operation.
Unfortunately, even though I was feeling so good I was stuck in ICU - simply because they were out of beds in the rest of the hospital. ICU isn't the greatest place for reting or privacy, so I was pretty happy when on the Wednesday I got taken to my own room. By this stage I was able to get up and walk about on my own (after having the horrible experience of having my catheter removed that morning). The only thng that felt wrong was some dizzy spells when I got up, apart form that I wanted out. Hospital is a funny place - if you told me I'd be able to lie around for a week reading, watching TV and having someone bring me food for hours, I'd be stoked. When it's reality and you're stuck in the hospital while that's taking plce, it's maddening.
I did get permission from the doctor to leave on Friday morning. I was dressed and ready to go about 30 seconds after he'd left the room. He'd also left me with an interesting piece of information - I was now four centimetres taller. I'd thought he was joking at first, but it was true - my neck had bowed so much over the previous years that when they rebuilt the structure with the titanium, it straightened up and gave me the extra height.
The next entry: On going home, X-Rays, recovery, and some of the stupider things I've done.

Topless!

I had more tests this morning, and while they didn't involve the lowering of my pants I was required to take my shirt off. First they took several vials of blood - I've got no problem with needles or seeing blood, so this wasn't a problem, although with the number of vials they took I wondered if I was going to be a withered husk by the time I walked out.
Following the blood tests, they asked for a urine test. Now, peeing in a jar wouldn't normally pose much of a problem, but at that stage of the morning I tend not to be sufficiently hydrated to produce the best results. After much effort and concentration I somehow managed to fill the jar to a sufficient (yet embarassingly low) level.
Next up was the ECG. The challenge this time: my chest hair. After a short stint with a pair of scissors I had enough bald patches to apply the pads to all the necessary locations. Despite this level of grooming, I got a partial free wax job when they were removed. Although the nurse aplogised, I'm sure she took some level of glee in seeing a grown man with a ridiculous pattern cut into his chest hair wince and tear up.
That's all the pre-op tests sorted, the biggest challenge remaining is dealing with my parents when they visit. That and trying to drink a sensible amount at the work Christmas party.

Swabs

Less than a week to go now. This morning I had a nose and groin swab, and no, it's not as fun as it sounds. One swab so far up your nose you figure they've hit brain, another down along the line of my undies. At least I didn't have to expose myself and cough or anything. The check is to make sure I don't have anything growing on my skin that'll get into the wound and grow into some new form of life. Tomorrow I get to have blood tests, I have a feeling they'll be rather unexciting, and will not require the lowering of my pants.
The past few days have been bad hand wise - as soon as I type for any prolonged period (i.e. about the length of this post) I start to get pain in the wrist and my fingers curl up until they're nigh unusable. Hopefully this stops happening after I've had the op and some physio.

The Story So Far Part IV: A New Hope

I wasn't in a great state when I left the hospital, and I'm not talking about Tasmania. The walk down to the car took ages becuse I could barely move. To add insult to injury, the drugs I was on (apparently also used to treat epileptics) had slowed my brain down to a crawl. I was, in every aspect, slow.
I went and stayed with my parents for a while, but had to leave after a few weeks because they were driving me crazy. This led to what was probably a premature return to work. I was still on the drugs, so wasn't contributing too much, and my inability to look back over my shoulder without turning my whole upper body made the daily drive entertaining, in a sort of "we're all going to die" sort of way.
As time bore on though, the hiccups stopped, I got off the medication and the movement in my neck returned. I also had one hell of a scar to show off in the pub. Unfortunately, the nerve damage in my arm was permanent and the neursurgeon offered no hope in it getting better.
About six months after my operation my flat mate and I went for what was supposed to be my first run - an easy 5k jog with a few hills. By the time I'd made it two k's, he'd gotten home and drove back in the car to pick me up. Fitness was obviously a state that was going to elude me for some time.
Over the years it did happen though. I got to the point where I could run, play touch footy and volleyball again. My neck, over this same period, started making a lot of popping and cracking noises and the amount of sensation and strength in my hands and arms decreased. Attributing it to the ongoing effects of the operation and nerve damage (and probably fear as well), I ignored it. Bad idea.
This year the degeneration in my right hand really escalated. I would constantly burn myself due to lack of temperature sensation, I constantly had a feeling of pins and needles and lost a lot of strength and movement in my hands. All of a sudden common things like using taps and doors or writing became near impossible. Time to go back to the doctor, albeit a few years too late.
The MRI's and CT scans this time showed that while my cyrinx was not an issue, my spinal column was. The C3 and C4 vertebrae had collapsed on each other to compensate for the bone removed and the weight of my enormous head. As a result, they were jutting into my spinal cord and putting pressure on it, causing the issues in my hands and arms.
The prognosis this time? Another operation. The goal is now to remove the bone pushing on my spinal cord and insert some rod's and plates to help my spine deal with the weight of my not-quite-abnormally-large noggin. One rod at the front, a titanium mesh affair that'll be filled with the ground up bone that's removed, and two titanium plates at the back, one either side on those wing-type arangements of the bone. I'm guessing airport security is going to become even more of a chore afterwards.

So, that's how I got to to this point. My operation is in a bit over a week, which is unfortunate considering it'll put me out of action for most of the christmas party season. Next week brings such exciting events as groin swabs (the nurse insisted!) and blood tests.

The Story So Far - Part III

The medication didn't do a lot except make me feel queasy a lot of the time and ruin the biggest New Years Eve I'll see in my lifetime. At this point I was actually getting malnourished - I wasn't digesting my food correctly due to the constant spasming of my diaphragm, which also put a good nights sleep out of the question.
So, when I went back to the neurosurgeon he decided he'd have to operate. The basic plan at this stage was to knock me out, stick my head in a frame (including screwing it to my skull!), open up my neck and put one end of a short tube into the cyrinx and the other end into my shoulder. This would hopefully allow it to drain and remove the pressure from my spinal cord. When they opened me up however, they found a bunch of scar tissue around my spinal cord. When they removed this the cyrinx relieved itself. They also removed some bone to make room for the swelling.
As fun as it is to wake up with full use of your arms and legs after spinal surgery, unfortunately, one of the first things that happened to me was a recurrence of the hiccups. This, needless to say, was not good. I was pretty uncomfortable as well - any movement caused a fair amouunt of pain. I had one of those button you press to give yourself a dose of morphine, but remembering to press it before you move isn't the easiest thing when you're semi lucid. It was days before I could get out of bed and walk, and I was in the hospital for nine days in total.
There are three experiences that have stayed with me since that time in hospital. The first occured with the reoccurence of the hiccups. A neurologist came to visit me, introduced himself and then said:
"You've really got a large head"
He turned to a nurse:
"Could you please get a tape measure, we need to measure his head"
Measuring ensues.
"Your head is nearly abnormally large"
None of this had anything to do with the hiccups by the way, but my mother was happy to know that at least there was something to justify a forceps delivery.
He left after giving me a length of hose, a bed pan and the only 100% effective way to cure hiccups: induce gagging. I kid you not. And it works. Unfortunately it wasn't a long term solution (is that a piece of hose in your pcket you use to induce vomiting or are you just happy to see me?) so it was on to more drugs for me.
The second experience happened in the days after the operation. I'd had a few visitors after the op, and on this day I was talking to two of my best friends from school and drinking a can of coke. At least I thought I was until a nurse asked me who I was talking to and my hallucinatory friends disappeared. I then looked down and could see that I wasn't holding a can of coke, but could still feel it there. That morphine's funny stuff.
The third experience, and any men out there can stop reading now if they wish, was having the catheter removed. Now, getting it in was noproblem, I was unconscious at the time. When it came time to take it out though, I knew I was in trouble when the nurse asked me to press my little morphine button and brace myself. What followed was probably the most painful three seconds of my entire life. Surely there's a better way people!
Coming up: The conlcuding volume of the story so far!

The Story So Far - Part II

Rather undramatically, I did not have a broken neck. In fact, everything looked pretty normal except for my spinal column, which seemed a bit larger than normal. So I got told to be careful and head off for an MRI and then to the neurosurgeon.
MRI, for those not in the know, stands for Magnetic Resonance Imagery. It's like a super x-ray that looks at tissue and all the other interesting internal bits that x-ray doesn't show. MRI's are an interesting experience as well. You lie down on a very skinny bed and are then moved into a big drum. The roof is only a few centimetres from your face, so if you're claustrophobic you're in strife. Then, when they start doing the tests it sounds like you're in a game of space invaders falling down a set of stairs. It's pretty noisy, and not a particularly comfortable place yet somehow I managed to fall asleep.
Later, with MRI results in hand I went to Sydney to see the neurosurgeon. He informed that I had a cyst in my spinal cord, otherwise known as syringomyelia. This thing was pretty big. It ran from near the base of my spine to a third of the way down my back, and at it's thickest was around the size of a plastic cigarette lighter. This "thing" in my neck was apparently swelling and pushing on the nerves in my spinal cord associated with my arm (hence the pins and needles) and my diaphragm (hence the hiccups). The apparent solution: medication to reduce the swelling.
Was it effective? More on that later.