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And now…the rest of the story

Posted on 02. Feb, 2010 by Wes Comer in Health

Before I begin, I’ll quote Julia Childs in reference to failing to live up to one’s own expectations when cooking: “Never apologize.” So I won’t apologize for not posting since November of last year and leaving my faithful readers (both of you) hanging – but you can read into that statement what you will. :)

When last I left you, I had just finished a rousing game of “guess what kind of meningitis you have” and finished a home IV antibiotics treatment. After that, there were about two weeks where things were touch and go. Specifically, the doctor would touch my bulging noggin’ and go “Hmmm.” Over that same time, I continued to develop leaks from my incision, and we would monitor the situation, keep my head wrapped tighter than Tut, and then wait for the next one. Finally, my local doctor (the fantastic Dr. David Hauge) consulted with my surgeons in Nashville, and the decision was made that we would re-open the incision at the base, drain the fluid (really hope no one’s trying to eat while reading this), and sew it back up nice and tight. We set the surgery date for the next day (maybe it was a couple days…it’s February now so you’ll have to forgive the shaky details) and resigned ourselves to another stint in the hospital.

The day of the surgery came, and by this time I was ready to move on with my life. We were having some issues with my disability insurance payments being made, and I really needed to get back in the ol’ work saddle. Dr. Hauge did his thing, and I was in and out of surgery in no time flat. It seemed to be a success, and I was unbelievably relieved to have a normal head again.

And then I woke up.

The next morning, that is. I woke up, and the right side of my head was swollen right back to where it was before I had the surgery. We played the wait and see game, but at this point my local Doc felt he had exhausted the limits of what he felt comfortable doing, and off to Nashville we went. My first appointment was with Dr. Haynes, the Otolaryngology specialist (hearing/balance doctor). I was really afraid of going back in the hospital at this point, but I just knew that he was going to recommend opening the incision back up and repacking the fat graft to seal the leak. From all the research, this was a big deal. Going back in brings significant risks and I was, frankly, not ready to spend ANOTHER six weeks recovering. Much to my delight, he told me that he thought we could treat this medically, and without a stay in the hospital. He was my new best friend.

And then my neurosurgeon came by to consult. (Are you catching this trend of ups and downs?) He thought the best solution was to put me in the hospital THAT DAY. This was the Monday of Thanksgiving week, and we had dropped ALL of the Comer brood off at a dear friend’s house for the day. What about the turkey and the sweet potato casserole? What about that poor, unsuspecting woman who so sweetly promised to watch our kids for the DAY? “How long will this take?” I ask, hoping for an outpatient type procedure. The answer? Three days. Maybe four.

Sigh.

Our dear, dear friend was more than accommodating when we called to discuss it with her, and so off we went to the hospital.

Let me pause here for a moment to clarify a spiritual principle. See, It had been easy for me up to this point, even with the meningitis and all the leaks and issues that kept popping up to say that I had faith. But can I admit something? I wasn’t feeling particularly strong in this particular moment. I was starting to cave in to those thoughts of, “Lord, I don’t understand. You didn’t heal the tumor. Cool…fine…I can handle that. But why am I going back in the hospital for a fourth time, ESPECIALLY when you know our resources are nearly gone?” I was discouraged. I was physically and spiritually weak. But then I felt that still small Voice speak. Not audibly, mind you – but clearly. It was God calling my bluff. Stripping me bare of all my planning, and all the walls I had built, and all the “faith” I had previously displayed. You see, it was easy for me to have faith that God was going to take care of my family financially when I knew that my employer was going to keep sending checks. It was easy to have faith and be strong before the surgery when I knew the risk of complications was small (HA!). But now. See, NOW God had me where He could show me that He is firmly in control. I felt him speak. But again, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t ready to hear it in that moment.

Back at the hospital, the plan was simple. We were going to insert a small catheter in through the base of my spine to help drain the excess cerebrospinal fluid and, hopefully, it would act like a straw and a juice box. The fluid would drain, and the swollen portion of my head would collapse back into place. I’ll skip some hospital details here, except to say that spinal taps are really uncomfortable. And when the surgical student (ahem) hits a nerve with the giant needle inserted into your spine, that kinda hurts. But amusingly enough, also made my leg kick involuntarily. Weird feeling. Long story, short, the procedure worked, but took an extra day.

Here’s a God thing for you, and the conclusion of the earlier paragraph. Brooke and I did our best to plan for this and save accordingly. We try, as a matter of course, to not be foolish with our money. We saved, we had health insurance, we had disability insurance – we did all the right things. And yet, there we were in Nashville and we realize that our planning had still fallen short. Even with good health insurance, this has been an expensive endeavor. I had planned on being back at work on Tuesday, but here we were still in Nashville on Friday. In addition to the issues I was having with my employer and my disability insurance paying me, I was fighting a losing battle on my business front. I have a design company, Frontlines Creative, that I operate in addition to my day job. I had enough invoices out (people who owed me money) to take care of our need and much more, and yet they weren’t paying. I just couldn’t understand it.

I’m in the bed, literally flat on my back and unable to do ANYTHING to help our situation. So we humbly approached God right there in the hospital room. There was no wailing. No sobbing. No shouting. We spoke simple prayers to an understanding God. “Jesus, no one knows our situation better than You do. We’ve done everything we could do, and we need You to step in. We can’t fix this, but we know You can. Lord, You’ve brought us to this point to show us that You’re in control, and we’re trusting You to take care of us.”

I may be off by a couple of words, but that’s pretty close. We thanked God, and decided that I needed to take a walk. Me, Brooke, and my IV and back drain pump took a lap around the hospital floor. When we got back around to the door of my room, there was a friend of ours and his family. They visited for a few minutes and then handed us two cards – one from them, and one from someone else. We said our goodbyes, and Brooke and I opened the two envelopes. In addition to the beautiful sentiments and thoughts for my quick recovery was the EXACT amount we needed. It was the most humbling example of God’s provision I’ve ever experienced. The range of emotions I felt is hard to explain – relief, joy, thankfulness, and also the overwhelming feeling that I’m so unworthy of such a tremendous blessing. It was a landmark moment that changed me – hopefully forever.

We arrived at Vanderbilt on Monday, and checked out on Saturday.

After that, I was placed on a bevy of medications. A super-heavy-duty diuretic to keep CSF levels down to normal, an extreme dosage of steroids (I had strange cravings to watch baseball games), and a couple other assorted pills thrown in for color and texture. I’ve since tapered off of everything except the diuretic. I’ll be on this medication twice a day until June, which wasn’t such a bad thing until we discovered that it has one really, really nasty side effect – kidney stones.

As if I were on some twisted version of “Candid Camera” I gave birth to a beautiful little pebble named Goliath on a Sunday night/Monday morning at 5 AM. I’ll leave the details out, except to say that there is absolutely no way to ever in a million years exaggerate how painful those things are. Imagine your kidneys exploding while simultaneously being punched by Mike Tyson. Who then bites their ears off (I know kidneys don’t have ears…stay with me). I learned two things that night. First, whatever that drug was they gave me is really, really, really effective. And second, I was reminded that people go through more pain in one night than I’ve gone through during this whole ordeal – perspective is everything.

And there you have it. This blog existed before my brain tumor, and it will exist after this post. I may not even ever mention it again. Except on anniversaries, or the tumor’s birthday. He gets emotional if I forget. In the meantime, I hope you’ve learned something, and hope you’ll continue to stop in every now and then.

God bless!