Tag: recovery

I need Jesus like I need a hole in the head

At the end of the summer, I let a doctor cut a big hole in my head. It hurt so much, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I had a trigeminal schwannoma. This is the “good” kind of brain tumor: Slow growing, benign, and extremely survivable. It messed with my facial nerves and vision, but nothing really scary like memory or cognition. That being said, they did cut a big ol’ hole in my head, carve a lump off my brain, patch up my skull with metal plates, and reattach my scalp with forty-one staples. It hurt! It hurt like nothing has ever hurt my body before.

The first thing that hurt was just knowing it existed, and not knowing what might happen next. What? A brain tumor? On ME? But I did not ask for this! How could this be mine?

So, within seconds of finding out I had it, I kind of huffily marched over to Jesus and said, “Look, I did not ask for this, and I definitely don’t want it. Therefore, it is not mine. Therefore, it must be yours. You deal with it, please.”

Spoiler: He did.

The surgery went very well. They got most of the tumor, and I may not even need radiation for the nubbin that remains. Staples are out, opioids are done, and my head is returning to head shape, rather than the bulging squash thing I had going on for a while. The surgeon even gave me an unexpectedly cool undercut.

But it hurt, a lot. Sometime in the first few nights after surgery, I felt myself pressed up against a wall of blinding pain. I couldn’t even tell where my head was. I thought I had a steel beam coming out of my face; I thought I had tusks. I thought I was all head, and made of sizzling brick.

Then it got worse. There was no me at all; just the pain-dealing thing I was up against, and the pain. There was no air in which to concoct presumptions or spiritual vanity; no capacity to build any kind of mental or emotional facade. There was just the pain that was me, and this thing making pain. This wall, this stone, this beam I was pressed up against.

Oh, a wooden beam. The tiny splinter of cognition that remained threw out a thought: I know what that is.

I knew, because I have known all my life, that God is real and God is love and God died on the cross for me. In his mercy, I remembered those things even then, even though they sounded ludicrously implausible. What I felt was barbarically alone with pain, and I only had two choices: Pain for no reason, or pain for some reason that God knew. The second one sounded better, so that’s what I picked. I had no say about being crushed almost to annihilation against this wood. I did have a choice about what that wood might actually be. I declared it was the cross. It was the most terrible, glorious thing I have ever had the chance to do, and it was the most powerless I have ever been.

It was good, so good, to know exactly what was going on, for once. Things were simple. They were so horribly bad, but they were so magnificently lucid. I was hurt. God might be there. That was it. Existence was so clear. With a kind of excruciating joy, I comprehended what free will is, and how to employ it. Pax inter spinas. I got it.

Anyway, that passed. I was in the hospital for five days, and I had some really bad nights when I did get home. At one point, the pain reached such a hysterical clamor that all I could think of to do was walk around cradling a stuffed duck, breathing shakily and pretending it was the one who needed to be comforted.

I slept a lot. I cried a little. I ate some soup and some applesauce, and later thought to wipe the dribbles off my numb face. I went outside once a day to totter through my overgrown yard, gazing dumbly at my bolted lettuce and rotted eggplants, willing my legs away from blood clots. Little by little, my mind cleared, my scalp started waking up, and my life felt less dire as the pain receded.

And that was good, surely. Less pain is good. So why did I feel so bereft?

Read the rest of my latest for The Pillar [subscriber content].

Image: Jesus carries his cross., István Schaller

What’s for supper? Vol. 484: It finally happened, I used up all my words writing and now I can’t think of a title

Hola, amigos. I know it’s been a long time since I rapped at ya. (And now ends the part of this post where I find out how old you guys are.)

Happy Friday! Coming up to five weeks post surgery, I am still doing VERY LITTLE INDEED. Lots of naps, lots of lurking about, lots of soup. Damien has been doing an absolutely phenomenal job of not only taking care of all the kids and all the household stuff and appointments and driving and also doing his actual job, but also constantly reassuring me that I’m not being lazy or crazy or malingering or anything, and the whole craniotomy thing really was a big deal, and it really is my job to rest, rest, rest. So that is what I’m doing. 

However! I am also very gently working toward Doing A Few Things. This week, I started cooking again, and although Damien (along with some of the incredibly generous staff at our kid’s school!) was keeping everyone very well fed, it feels pretty great to be back in the kitchen, wrecking the place up.

SATURDAY
Awards dinner!

Wait, I’m confused. The awards dinner was on Friday. Well anyway, on Friday afternoon, Damien and I drove down to Boston where he received the Freedom of Information award from New England First Amendment Coalition. It was a truly wonderful event. Incredibly, Damien was introduced by Diane Foley, the mother of journalist James Foley who was beheaded by ISIS, and she and her husband were so warm and gracious. Kind, friendly, intelligent, sincere people everywhere, delicious food, wonderful venue. We were at the Commonwealth Hotel, right across from Fenway Park.

And it was a lovely night! Here’s a few pictures. 


Saturday morning, it seemed like a shame not to go do fun Boston things while we were in Boston, but I was truly a blob of glup and had a hard time even sitting up to drink my coffee, yeesh. So we made a quick stop to see Clara and Wesley on the way home and then went home, and I spent the rest of the day just blobbing gluppily at home. I think we had leftovers and pizza pockets for supper. 

SUNDAY
Brats, french fries, peach cobbler

Sunday I did get to Mass, and it was much easier than the previous week. I am less paranoid that someone is going to leap out of the bushes and whack me in the head with a hammer. Damien did the week’s shopping, and I took a nap and then picked some peaches and made a very basic peach crumble for an afternoon snack. 

I can’t find the recipe I used, but I remember messing with it anyway. Probably I used corn starch, sugar, a little salt, cinnamon, and butter, and mixed that up with the sliced peaches (skin on). I topped it with a box of cake mix mixed with cinnamon and scrunched up into clumps with melted butter. Baked at whatever until the top was slightly browned and the filling was bubbling. 

Would have been great with ice cream or whipped cream, but an unexpected warm dessert in the middle of the day was well received (declared by the kids to be yum dot com).

I also had a moment of satisfaction because the household has been getting along ALARMINGLY well without me. But when I went to get some butter for the streusel, I found this:

Turns out I was the one keeping the butter situation around here reasonable. Me!! I’m useful after all!!!

MONDAY
Ina Garten’s roast chicken with carrots and potatoes

Monday I got tired of worrying about the carrots I never dug up, and went outside to see what was going on. I discovered that something (probably some combination of wild animals and feral Corrie) had already dug up most of them. So I got what was left, and fetched a few heads of garlic from my drying corner. 

I washed and trimmed all the carrots except for these two, who already had other plans. 

This is the roast chicken recipe. I had dried thyme instead of fresh, and no fennel, and I threw in a pound or so of little red potatoes. It’s SO EASY and it takes literally 15 minutes to throw together, and it always turns out absolutely juicy and delicious, with a tasty, crackling skin, and you don’t have to baste it or flip it or anything. 

I was a little miffed that I hadn’t thought to get some nice crusty bread to sop up the splendid lemony garlicky juices,

but it was still great. And now I did something about the damn carrots. 

TUESDAY
Chicken cheesesteak sandwiches and chips

Tuesday I took care of another thing that’s been nagging at me: I made two big jars of pickles. Just cucumbers from the store, since my cucumber garden was a bust; but I had stuffed the last of the dill from my garden into a jar of vinegar, and it was just sitting there daring me to forget about it. This is basically the recipe I used, except I fiddled with it a bit, and added peppercorns, bumped up a lot of the spices, couldn’t find coriander seeds, forgot to heat it up, and couldn’t find the kosher salt, so I used table salt. 

I haven’t tasted these pickles yet, but the kids told me (about 48 hours after I made them) that they are slightly mushy, but tasty. Good enough for me. 

For supper, I picked the chicken off the carcasses and shredded it in the stand mixer with a little Tony Cachere’s. I was sort of following this recipe from Sip and Feast, except for the seasoning, and also I used American cheese. He has you cook the peppers, then take them out of the pan and cook then onions, then add the chicken, and then melt cheese onto the chicken and onions. Then you melt more cheese on top of it, scoop it onto rolls, and add the peppers. 

I opted to just do one dose of cheese per serving

and I had mine with BBQ sauce. 

I thought it was totally delicious. I think about half the family liked it, which is a pretty good score. It’s nice to have a new idea for leftover chicken, anyway! 

WEDNESDAY
Whatever

On Tuesday I heard a cheerful chirping noise, and looked out my window to see Corrie clambering around picking grapes and singing. (Singing a violent parody of “Frosty the Snowman,” if you must know.) She has been steadily working her way through the first batch of grape juice we made the other week, and wanted more, so she went ahead and picked about a bushel of grapes. Her enthusiasm lasted right up until the moment I suggested she help me sort them, and then grape juice suddenly appeared overrated. WHICH I GET. 

On Wednesday, Damien, that lucky man, got to drive to Boston again after school, to bring Lucy and Irene to a Brandon Flower concert. Moe and Sophia were at work, so that just left me, Corrie, and Benny at home for dinner. We had french toast and boxaroni, and then Sophia got home and took Benny and Corrie out to the movies.

And so I found myself ALONE. Which VERY rarely happens. So I dragged the bucket of grapes into the living room, put on some disposable gloves, opened a can of diet ginger ale, and slowly, slowly sorted grapes while watching Best In Show and then an episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” Sometimes it’s a little startling to be by yourself, to be able to do whatever you want, and then your heart’s desire turns out to be a little weird. Anyway, I got the grapes sorted. 

THURSDAY
Meatloaf and rice

Thursday I got started on Clara’s birthday tiramisu! Usually Damien is the tiramisu guy around here, but it turns out I really can do kitchen stuff, as long as I allow myself three times the normal amount of time. I more or less followed the Betty Crocker recipe, except I realized we were out of eggs, went to collect eggs from the duck house, and then realized the water was off in the house, and sent Sophia to the store for eggs from the clean world. I also skipped the rum, ran out of vanilla, supplemented it with almond extract, and made a double recipe, and I decided to fit it into a large springform pan, with a little fence of ladyfingers around the outside, rather than serving it still in its glass dish. 

I have no idea if this will hold up to having the side removed, but I guess we’ll find out! I wanted to make it fancy, because we’re celebrating Clara’s birthday, but of course the whipped cream tends to deflate over time. So I did the inside layer with regular whipped cream (it’s ladyfingers, custard, whipped cream, ladyfingers, custard, whipped cream), but then I took the rest and did the thing where you bloom a little gelatin and then add that to the cream as you whip it, and I piped that over the top. 

Actually, what I did was whip the cream, realize it would fall apart overnight, mix up some gelatin with a random amount of hot water, and add that to the already whipped cream, which of course resulted in some horrible buttery rubber cream curds. So I threw that out, gave myself a stern talking to, found some more cream, found my reading glasses, and very carefully followed the actual instructions, and then piped it on. 

Yes, that’s the same picture, but I’m not lying this time. 

I also made a batch of sugared raspberries. You find the firmest raspberries and brush them with foamy egg whites using a pastry brush. I think last time I made these (for my raspberry lemon pavlova birthday bombs), I just brushed them with egg white that I had rustled up a bit with a fork, but this time I really whipped them and just brushed the foam on. Then you carefully roll the berries in sugar (supposed to be sanding sugar, but I never have that in the house) and set them to dry overnight.

It’s not difficult, but you can’t really do it quickly. (Believe me, I tried every dumb idea.)  A few of them are a little weepy this morning, but who among us. They turn out with this lovely, fragile, crackly sweet shell. And again. Who among us. 

While I was preparing the raspberries, I asked the kids if there were any wild blackberries left in the yard (there were not), and then I was musing about maybe buying some cultivated thornless blackberry bushes in the spring, so we could enjoy the sweet juiciness of the fruit without having to deal with the thorns. Well, they were unanimously appalled, and felt strongly that getting torn up a little bit was an indispensable part of the experience, and made the berries even sweeter. Which just goes to show: They certainly are my kids. 

So my plan is to dust the top of the tiramisu with cocoa powder to bring out the piping, if any, and then add in the raspberries in between, and maybe some fresh mint leaves. Won’t that be pretty? And if it collapses when I take the side of the pan off, at least it will be yummy, because I did NOT burn it. (This is a big deal, as I’ve been burning EVERYTHING lately.)

Oh anyway, after I got this squared away, I made a couple of big meatloaves. Here is my recipe,

Jump to Recipe

which is honestly nothing special, but we haven’t had meatloaf for a while, and it’s pretty popular. I couldn’t find the worcestershire, so I added some soy sauce. And yes, I slathered on plenty of ketchup as the good Lord intended. 

I forgot to take the soy sauce into account when I was adding the salt, and it was PRETTY SALTY, but no one complained. Made a big pot of plain rice in the Instant Pot and it was a perfectly fine supper for a chilly day. 

Damien, luckiest of men, spent much of his day repairing the water heater (which is why we didn’t have water earlier). The lurkworm showers were kind of annoying in the summer, but now that it’s getting into the 40’s at night, we’re all pretty happy about hot showers again! The man can fix just about anything. 

FRIDAY
Pizza and tiramisu

Clara and Wesley are coming over, and I believe they are bringing pizza.

OH. And I mentioned this on Facebook, but not yet here, so I am EXTREMELY HAPPY TO TELL YOU THAT THEY ARE ENGAGED. I love these two so much, and I’m so glad they found each other. 

What a month it has been! My goodness. My goodness. I am slowly making some headway into writing thank-you notes to all the wonderful people who pitched in. It was so immensely helpful not to be freaking out about money while I was (am) recuperating. 

I did get some grape juice going, finally. Once you sort the grapes, the rest is so easy. You just mash them up a bit, bring it to a simmer and let it simmer for ten minutes, occasionally mashing,

and then strain it all through cheesecloth. Usually I am dumb and attempt to squeeze it through while it’s still straight out of the pot, but this time I am smart, and I put the cheesecloth in a colander and let it drip. 

Looks like maybe six quarts or two gallons of juice (this is the second pot). If it’s too tart, you can add sugar, but we usually don’t do this. Still thinking about making some gummies, which is just grape juice, sugar, and gelatin mixed and poured into molds. I have silicone skull molds, but have yet to mold any skulls this year! Besides my own, I mean, ho ho. 

Anyway, I am feeling pretty good about having made supper this week. My next goal is to Bring Back Vegetables, but one thing at a time. I have been trying and trying to get some writing done, and as much as I wish I could blame my struggles on the brain surgery, I think I’m just rusty. Alas. Maybe some grape juice will help. It couldn’t hurt. 

Print

Meatloaf (actually two giant meatloaves)

Ingredients

  • 5 lbs ground beef
  • 2 lbs ground turkey
  • 8 eggs
  • 4 cups breadcrumbs
  • 3/4 cup milk OR red wine
  • 1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce

plenty of salt, pepper, garlic powder or fresh garlic, onion powder, fresh parsley, etc.

  • ketchup for the top
  • 2 onions diced and fried (optional)

Instructions

  1. Preheat oven to 450

  2. Mix all meat, eggs, milk, breadcrumbs, and seasonings together with your hands until well blended.

  3. Form meat into two oblong loaves on pan with drainage

  4. Squirt ketchup all over the outside of the loaves and spread to cover with spatula. Don't pretend you're too good for this. It's delicious. 

  5. Bake ninety minutes or so, until meat is cooked all the way through. Slice and serve. 

What’s for supper? Vol. 483: Smooth dinner, smooth brain

Happy Friday! Happy nopioid day to me! Warning: This post has some scar pics in it, plus a lot of complaining, so don’t read if it you hate that! 

There have been some freaking UPS AND DOWNS this week, but I am completely off rotten old oxy, and yesterday they took all 41 staples and one super itchy lumbar stitch out, and just now I did the thing where I greeted the dog by pretending to kick him to death (which he likes! He thinks it’s funny!) and I suddenly realized I would not have been able to do that a couple of days ago. My sense of balance is back! 

I have never been so cared for in all my life. I remember several years ago taking a baby to the ER for croup or strep throat or something, and the nurse noticed my throat was stitched together (just had a thyroidectomy), and she was like, “. . . are you OKAY?” and I was like, “. . . SURE” because I really didn’t have a choice! That was some year. That was the year we lost our apartment and our car died and my husband’s job was laying people off and I was pregnant and the OB/GYN noticed I had what may or may not be thyroid cancer, but the biopsies were inconclusive and I couldn’t really think about any of that because I had to find a new apartment, and let me tell you, some of that process was a little demoralizing We ended up moving in with my poor old parents, and all I remember about the trip there was that we brought the very last food we owned, which was half a box of Kix, and when I drove away from our old place I had an aquarium full of fish strapped into the front seat, and when we got to our new place, there was only a little water and one fish left, and I never did find the missing ones.

ANYWAY, what I’m trying to say is life sure has changed, and I haven’t done a damn thing for the last two weeks except accept help, listen to music, nap, cry a little bit, and eat peaches. Damien has been stupendous, not only keeping up with everything, but making sure the kids are getting little treats and everything is calm and stable, and telling me repeatedly that every crazy thing I say is normal and understandable. My friend Elisa send a fun package of little crafts I’m doing to keep my hands busy, which helps a lot. My friend Sadie came over, I think my sister Rosie is coming this weekend, my kids’ teacher and principle each sent a yummy dinner, and the dad of one of Corrie’s friends stopped by with a gift card to the local pizzeria. Damien has been making excellent dinners — buffalo chicken wings, roast beef sandwiches, homemade spaghetti sauce, all kind of great stuff. Elijah’s going to come over and make homemade pizza this Sunday. 

I myself have been sticking mainly to soup, smoothies, and peaches, because my jaw and mouth muscles took quite a beating. I somehow missed the whole smoothie phenomenon when it first took civilization by storm (some of you probably don’t even remember life before smoothies!), but Damien got me a ton of Greek yogurt and frozen fruit, and so far none of it has been specifically named in a recall, so that’s been working well for me!

Very smooth indeed.

When I was still in the hospital, my poor peach tree split. Damien knows how much I love this tree and how much I’ve been looking forward to the big year B harvest, so before he even told me about it, he got some special tree wax and straps and put it back together. It did lose a lot of branches, but he did such a good job, and I think it’s gonna make it.

Look at this beauty. 

I went out yesterday afternoon and gathered up a nice little harvest.

When Clara and her boyfriend were over last week, they gathered up hundreds of fallen peaches, dumped the spoiled ones in the compost heap, and started blanching the salvageable ones. I was able to throw a bunch of peeled peaches in the blender and now I have a little stock of peach puree socked away for winter! It seemed super, super important at the time, and I’m grateful everyone humored me with this important peach work.

My garden is actually doing so well. I picked a ton of basil, coated it in olive oil, and froze that, too. I think the eggplants are beyond saving, and all my lettuce bolted, but there is tons more basil, tons of green tomatoes still marching along, and so much corn just begging to be picked. The pumpkins are still smallish but numerous, and the carrots and potatoes can be dug up any time, I guess. The grapes are also having a crazy good year, and I think maybe we will do some harvesting this weekend and make a little juice. Or just let the birds have them, I don’t know.

One of the mixed flower patches I planted has actually started growing flowers. Not a ton, but maybe there will be more next year. I think it’s mainly annuals coming up, and maybe the perennials will show up later.

The other mixed flower bed I started only has a few flowers, but it does have tomatoes and squash growing because I added plenty of compost, so that’s something! I also–

okay, I am making it sound like I’m up and about and doing projects and getting work done, and truly, I am not. I am mostly just lurking around in bed, and I do like one thing per day just to keep myself from going nuts. Sometimes that one thing is picking flowers.

Sometimes it’s just heating up soup and eating it in the most repulsive way imaginable because my lips and cheek are still leading a life of mystery and unpredictability. Yesterday was the first day I took only one nap, instead of two or three or four or six.

That being said, I did happen to notice that Marvin, the apple tree, is having an incredible year for some reason. We have never done one single thing to care for this tree, except to name it Marvin, which isn’t much; and it’s always understandably produced a medium harvest of truly terrible apples. But this year, they are tons of them, and they look NICE (relatively). No idea why. So the other day, I got to that typical stage of post craniotomy recovery where you find a free 8 ton hydraulic jack on Facebook marketplace, and you happen to know that your husband could really use one for his ancient SUV, and he’s already out driving around to pick up kids, so you set up a pick-up for the jack because you love him, and also SECRETLY, your plan is to steal his old scissor jack and use it to make a CIDER PRESS. 

Basically you just have to built a rough wooden frame with room inside for a bucket, and a little stack of wood the same diameter as the bucket, and the jack on top of that. You fill up the bucket with apples and start cranking the jack, and it compresses the apples, the juice runs out the holes in the bottom of the bucket, and you need some kind of catch basin obviously. It’s possible this is a dumb idea and I should not do it, but I have a few weeks to think about it, anyway! The kids LOVE cider, and goodness knows I have plenty of wood scraps from the treehouse

(which I don’t think Corrie has gone in even one time since I finished it, OH WELL). I also have a giant metal pot with a spigot built into the bottom, which I got on the side of the road and have been using as a rain barrel. I have no idea what it was originally for, but I think it would work great as part of a cider press. 

Anyway, I talk big, but I was smart enough to stop myself from contacting the new restaurant down the road to tell them I’m really good at making cheesecake if they want to make a deal; so probably I will be smart enough not to make a cider press. But who can say. 

The truth is, now that I am off oxy and my mind is pretty functional again, even though the worst is over, and I’m truly so so glad I don’t have cancer or any real permanent disability, I am now capable of mentally addressing it all, and I am having a wee bit of trouble processing what the hell happened to me. The time in the hospital was really rough, and even though Damien came every day, it was scary and lonely 

and the pain there and the first week back home was . . . well. It was something that made me feel slightly but probably permanently different about human experience and our relationship to God.

This next picture is a pretty good illustration of how amazing and optimistic I felt when they finally let me go home, haha:

So I am a little upset, off and on. So, I’ll build a cider press if I want! Do not argue with me about that! Not that you would! You are all very nice. 

But really, the pain is just worlds better now, and that is an unspeakable relief. It’s just a medium to bad headache now, and a lot of numbness, plus some rather entertaining sensations as the nerves in my cheek, tongue, lips, and jaw either wake up or regrow, and my whole left side from my neck up is still kind of a mess. And my ear is blocked up and loudly crackling, and they said whatever was in there was probably too deep for a normal cleaning to take care of, but oh well. I still haven’t gotten the pathology report back, but I’m really expecting it to be clean. And my eye works again! I didn’t even realize how bad it had gotten before surgery, because it went haywire gradually, but getting rid of that tumor really fixed it. 

I am going to ask someone to take me to Supercuts this weekend so they can give me an identical undercut on my other side, because why the hell not.

The hair in the spot they shaved is growing in white, as you can see here from a pic taken shortly before I got the staples out

so I might as well even that out and have some fun with it.

The swelling is taking its sweet time to go down, and I’m still giving Surgeon General of Beverly Hills vibes

but I am VERY VERY HAPPY TO HAVE THOSE STAPLES GONE. They were starting to make me so angry! And yes, I’m incredibly grateful I’m not doing radiation or chemo right now. As yucky as this has been, it could have been SO so much worse. I was sorta kinda getting ready to maybe die on the surgery table, so I’m just . . . I’m working on stuff. 

In a couple of weeks, Damien and I are going to Boston so he can [pause to catch breath from surge of wifely pride] accept his award from The New England First Amendment Coalition. Gosh, I am so happy about this. They only bestow three awards per year, and last year’s winner of the Freedom of Information Award was The Boston Globe. This year, it is my husband. 

They are putting us up in a swanky hotel and it is going to be FUN. 

Okay, thank you for listening to all of that! Or skimming, or just clicking and then sighing and closing the tab! I get it! Let’s all go have some soup.