Charlie

It was now 2005 and the date for my cranial decompression was scheduled for the 7th of March. Now I just had to make it to March. Having a limb (or side of my body or side of my face) go numb was now occurring more frequently. I only ever experienced my entire body going numb once and I am extremely thankful for that. The pain in my head was increasing. Dr B had mentioned that what I was feeling was cranial swelling. The herniation was causing pressure on my brainstem and the pain I was feeling was across between a headache and a mini seizure (FUN!). 

During the month of January, I was growing concerned with two major problems: first and for most was I was going to have brain surgery but more than that, how was my family going to pay for it. We were told that the surgery was going to cost around $40,000 and we didn't have any medical insurance to speak of. I was beginning to panic, both my parents were working but we didn't have this kind of money. Little did I know that there were two blessings coming my way. During this time, dad had been talking to his "Men's Group" about all that was going on. Two members of the group, a father and son, asked my dad if they could start collecting donations from the community. A week later there were cans all over town with my picture on it, asking for help (on a side note: it is very weird to be standing in line at the grocery store and see a can with you picture, a quick explanation and a request for help. Now like I said, everyone in Meeker knows everyone else. This wasn't what was weird, what was weird is the fact that people would put money in the can and then wish me healing. What do you say to that? All I did was blush like an idiot and say "thank you"). The other blessing came around the same time. Mom was told about an insurance organization call "CHP+" (again, this is where I turn things over to the internet and rejoice for copy and paste).

CHP+: Child Health Plan Plus (CHP+) is low-cost health insurance for Colorado's uninsured children and pregnant women. CHP+ is public health insurance for children and pregnant women who earn too much to qualify for Medicaid, but cannot afford private health insurance.

Thankfully I was six months away from being 18. I was approved and there was a peace that took hold in my heart. Help was coming and it wasn't going to destroy my family financially. However, a new obstacle had arisen. The school was not comfortable with the idea of me missing roughly three months of school for surgery and recovery (I can't completely disagree with them on this issue, but come on, brain surgery was not on my top ten things to do my senior year). I remember we had a meeting with the school to discuss this issue. Mom and I sitting in a room with several faculty, the principle, and a few board members. I explained my feelings about the situation and was beginning to grow upset by the conversation. Mom, however, calmly listened and when she noticed I was pushing my very fragile limit she asked me to go wait in the hall (now, my mom is not a woman who yells. I have rarely, if ever, heard her raise her voice. That is not how she works. When my brothers and I were younger, she never yelled at us, but when we got in trouble, she would speak and you better believe we would listen. Usually afterward we wanted nothing more than to crawl under the couch and die from guilt or the impending punishment). When I left the room my mom spoke, calmly but with a very protective and stern tone. I can't remember what she said exactly, all I remember is thinking "glad she's on my side!". After about 30 minutes, she came out and we left. The situation had been resolved and all I could do on the ride home was look at her with a new respect (and fear) and think, "I am never, going to get on you bad side. That much is for sure."

So here we were, the 6th of March had come and mom, dad, Caleb (my younger brother) and I were in GJ and were at Chili's having my last meal before my required fasting hours. I remember sitting at the table barely touching my food, scared out of my mind. Mom was silent, dad and Caleb were eating. All the sudden, my dad puts down his fork, gently places his hand on mine, looks at me with fear in his eyes and  says, "Tim, I just realized, your going to have major surgery in the morning. I'm really scared!" Mom turned to him and said, "WELCOME to the party Jack!" and then began to cry. So here I am, white as a ghost already, mom is crying, dad is freaked out of his mind and this so happened to be the moment the waitress decided to check in on us. She came to the table and said, "How is everything, can I get you anything?" Caleb looked at her, looked at each one of us, looked back to the waitress and says, "I think we're good."

That night I laid in the hotel bed staring at the ceiling. Sleep was not going to happen tonight, there was no way. I remember trying to watch TV just to pass the time. As I sat there, I saw Caleb in the next bed (little jerk, I was going to have surgery in the morning and there he is snoring away! If I made it through, he was going to regret sleeping while I was freaked out!). Actually I remember wondering what would come in the next few hours. I had complete confidence in Dr B. The surgery seemed simple enough but the thought of sharp tools so close to my brainstem wasn't something one can forget easily. We needed to be at the hospital at 5:30 a.m. and it was now 4:00. I got up and headed for a shower. Shortly after I got out I heard a soft knock on the door. Mom and dad were at the door (didn't look like they got any sleep either. At least Caleb did and he would regret it!). The sun was not in the sky yet, but the colors on the horizon alerted us to it's approach. We walked into the hospital and my nerves were getting the best of me. I couldn't stop my hands from shaking. Thankfully, my parents were allowed to be with me during the entire 2 hour prep time.

In no time at all I was sporting the latest in medical fashion: a blue and white checkered gown, leg and foot stockings, wrist bracelet and IV to match (I felt sexy). The nurse that was assisting me and put in my IV was a wonderful woman. She had been doing this for years and she had me laughing and talking up a storm (which by now you can imagine may actually be physically possible for me if you get me on the right rant). And then she mentioned the catheter. Needless to say I was adamant about not having one (I may have freaked out just a little). I explained to her that I would hobble my ass to the bathroom if need be, but I was not going to have a catheter. She smiled at me and said "ok" (Ha! victory).  As time approached Dr B came into the room looking very excited and ready to begin. He told me that it was time to go and I looked at mom and though, this isn't so bad. Either I will wake up and see her and dad or I will take up and see Jesus. Besides, I was already dressed for the part, there was no going back now. I was wheeled into surgery and there I met the nurses and anesthesiologist (yes, hello, nice to see you, how are the kids?). Next came the face mask and I counted down.

The next thing I remember was a voice telling me to open my eyes, that I needed to look at the nurse (my thought was…. NO! I don't wanna) but I finally relented and squinted at the owner of the voice. Then I slipped back into unconsciousness. Next thing I remember was a sharp pain and then extreme thirst. Apparently I had made it and I was in the ICU. I don't remember much of that first 24 hours. I was told later that not only had a few people come to visit but I had also gotten quite angry at the automatic blood pressure machine. According to my mom, I not only expelled a lot of words that she had never heard me say (oops) but also some unfriendly gestures to the machine as well. I woke up the next day and I felt pain. But I also felt something else, I felt…. and I looked…. and there is was, a catheter! (they got me while I was out, sneaky!). Truth be told, I was very thankful for that thing, moving seemed to be quite a challenge. 

Later that day I was hauled up to the head trauma ward. Which seemed appropriate because my head felt like it was splitting open. To make matters worse, I was puking, a lot. I remember that for the next three weeks I would puke at least once (if not more) a day. All I can say is that "percocet, thou art heartless!".  The nights in the hospital were the worst. Most of the time I remember lying there in pain watching the clock tick, waiting for the nurse to bring me my next  batch of pills. I was having a really hard time swallowing, so they usually came crushed up in pudding or ice cream. I remember I would lay there wanting to scream from the pain. I was so nauseous I couldn't sleep. But it was during this time that I realized that my situation (as grim as is was) could have been a lot worse.

The man in the room next door was named Charlie. I asked a nurse about Charlie, I was told that Charlie was lucky to be alive. He had fallen down a flight of cement stairs. He had gone through 14 surgeries, mostly trying to repair his skull and brain. Charlie was now permanently disabled and mentally handicap. Essentially he was now "Rain Man" and extremely intelligent man stuck in the brain of a 3 year old. Every night Charlie had to be strapped to his bed so that he wouldn't pull at his staples or claw at his wounds. Every night Charlie would cry out, "Let me out, please let me out. I'll be good. Let me out!" It was heart breaking to hear the first few nights, but after a few nights of the crying, I couldn't help but want to say, "Let him out. He said he'll be good. Please just let him out!" Sleep didn't come during the nights and time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. 

As I sat here writing this post, I became humbled. Not only because of the collection cans around Meeker, but because I was someone who was blessed enough to just have Chiari type 1 and not someone who fell down a flight of stairs. In the past couple of years I had forgotten about Charlie and I am ashamed of that realization. While I am still in pain and the headaches are increasing again, while I seek for answers to this problem and worry about how I will pay for it, I need to remember Charlie's story. Even though he doesn't know it, Charlie changed my life that night. Possibly more than the surgery did and I need to remember that. I am blessed enough to write this blog. Blessed enough to do whatever I please. But mostly I am blessed enough to remember a man named Charlie. TBall