Another Badge of Courage

The surgery is over. My world-class neurosurgeon did it again, which makes it hard to dislike the sonuvabitch. The man will never be accused of being too compassionate toward his patients, but he sure can remove a tumor, and since that's pretty much the foundation of our relationship, I find it annoyingly difficult to hold a grudge. There is little to say about the past two weeks that won't sound like whining. Brain surgery is hard, as taxing emotionally as it is physically. If you can avoid having it, then I strongly suggest that you do so.
I had a lumbar drain, which is a tube inserted into the lower spinal area that drains off a controlled amount of cerebral spinal fluid, which I either produce too much of or am unable to absorb normally. The lumbar drain is supposed to guard against a spinal fluid leak, but it is it's own brand of torture. For four days, I was confined to bed, unable to raise above 30 degrees. As with the brain surgery advice above, if you can avoid having a lumbar drain, I suggest that you do so. It makes recovery a lot longer and a lot slower.
I realize I am bitching and moaning, and even I am tiring of my own surliness, so I do think it's important to look for the positives in a thing. The past two weeks, as bad as they were, did serve to remind me that I have been gifted with the most wonderful husband a woman could ever hope for. He stayed by my side the entire time—sleeping sitting up in chairs, eating nothing but cafeteria food, running for days with only hospital coffee for fuel. He reminds me every day that even though life is hard—sometimes painfully, unbearably hard-- it's worth it. Thanks, Michael—again. I love you.