I lay unconscious under the overly bright lights of the operating theatre. My surgeon had hurriedly left the surgery midstream and made his way downstairs via the elevator. He needed to talk to my husband and my daughter.
“The tumor is much larger and more entangled than I thought,” he began. “I can get the entire thing out in this surgery, but there is a relatively high possibility that there will be complications. Linda may be blind, unable to swallow food, unable to walk, etc. Or, I can take out part of it, but if I do, she will have to come back in about five years and go through this again. I need to know what you want me to do.”
Someone snapped a photo of my daughter in the waiting room, my youngest grandson leaning against her chest. The look on her face haunts me. I’m glad I was unconscious and unaware of that look. I know that day carries trauma for her and for my other children and husband. But they told the surgeon to continue. They knew I would not want to go through this again (although I would go through it again anyway, nine years later).
Hours later I awoke in the hospital room. I don’t remember being in a recovery room, but I assume I spent time there as well. I was surrounded by my family…my husband and children…both mine and my husband’s two. They all tried to act calm, and cheerful, but they were anything but. Something was wrong. I had awoken to a Noah’s ark world where there was two of everything. I wasn’t blind, but there seemed to be two of everything, and the second set seemed to be four feet away from the first set, and up to the left. I looked at my oldest son…the one born when I was just seventeen…the one I feel like I grew up with. He looked at me and walked over to a corner, knelt down, and sobbed.
I didn’t know it yet, but one eyeball was skewed towards my nose and he mostly saw just the white of my eye.
My husband was beyond excited. I was alive! “You didn’t lose your hearing!” he said.
I didn’t know I was supposed to be worried about that. But as he continued to excitedly talk about this one aspect of the surgery, his voice got quieter and quieter. I was actively losing my hearing in my left ear right as he spoke, as the swelling on my brain squeezed the hearing apparatus and shut things down.
My brain felt like scrambled eggs.
Later, I found that I could not walk. There was a constant loud roaring and rushing in my head, like I was standing next to a waterfall. All I wanted was sleep…I wanted to disappear.
I woke with a start. I “saw” myself on a stage, burgundy velvet drapes hanging behind me. Several thousand women were seated in the arena, holding onto my every word. I was regaling them with the story of the miracle God had wrought. They were visibly touched, coming to the stage for prayer and to receive Jesus as their Lord.
Over and over I woke and saw this happening. “This is why this happened!” I thought. “God will use this for His glory and He will use me as His instrument to bring healing and love to others!”
I called my girlfriend…a massage therapist. I told her that she and I were going to “take it on the road” and that I would speak and she could give women massages in the other room. She seemed to think this made perfect sense.
It took several years before I realized that the steroids gave me the visions…not God after all.
It also took three years before I could walk and three years for my eyeball to move back into place before even prism lenses helped me to see single images again. I never regained my hearing. But I was alive. And I wasn’t going to waste it.
My youngest son Gabriel and me, around five years after the first brain surgery.
I was interviewed for Ilona Goanos’ podcast, “The Pebble in Your Shoe,” last month and it just came out yesterday. If you would like to see the Youtube video of this interview, click below. I talk about my life…a life that has been filled with much tragedy and trauma, but also much blessing and joy. Ilona has a Substack under the same name where she writes and interviews those who are in the third stage of life but are still going strong and doing interesting and exciting things.
Take a look if you like! You will get to know me a little better…
Thanks for sharing your story with me. I know there will be a movie someday of your life!
Wow, you've been through so much. Although you haven't gone into all the detail here, l have a glimmer of what recovery from that surgery must have been like. My daughter was critically injured in an accident 4 years ago and had to learn to walk again - she spent months in the hospital with her many injuries and even now continues to work on getting stronger. I'm glad you're telling your story! When my daughter was in the hospital, we were always searching for books or stories of people who had been through tremendous difficulties - she wanted to read about their recoveries. I'm going to listen to the interview too, as soon as l get a chance! (I'm on spring break with my grandchildren this week.)