The admonition to “get a good night’s sleep” didn’t work well. It’s 5:30am. They should come in about an hour. Sara and Matt will be here all day.
I’m thinking about what I can live with. They will shave a big patch on one side of my hair. If it were winter I could wear a wool watch cap and no one would notice. A ball cap will help some. I don’t care much if people stare. The hair will grow back.
I’ll be naked briefly while they change me from hospital gown and Sara’s classy Cathay Pacific first class air pajamas to what you wear in OR. That’s OK too. I have an older woman’s body. I’m used to it.
They’ll cut a hole about a dime size in my skull. That’s a bit edgier. I can’t help think of Rosemary Kennedy. Joe Kennedy authorized two surgeons to muck around in her frontal lobes and destroy her cognitive function. None suffered any professional consequences – bastards. Nor did Rose Kennedy suffer publicly for failing to protect her daughter. She still went to Paris twice a year to buy the latest fashion. My surgeons aren’t going to do that. They will use computer technology and a thin needle to take tissue samples. A friend here welcomed me to the Hole in the Head Club. Who knew people had this done enough to be a group.
They’ll cover the hole with a titanium plate and sew up the skin. I’ll wake up, and we’ll see what we have. The mass is near my speech center. I’ll mind if my words are lost.
I don’t waste much energy wishing this things that have to happen shouldn’t happen. We have a plan. We have to know what the mass is. This hospital has great neuro surgeons. I say let’s roll and see what we have by end of day in terms of function. Actual diagnosis will take a few days – no shooting from the cuff today on initial impressions.
Maybe if I can eat, the kids will go out and get me Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough for supper.