Since my realization about life, death, and survival, my life has gone on.
I have returned to various doctors, since I never really stay in the same place for very long, for my neuro follow-ups. I've been through three MRIs and one angiogram and have gotten the all clear every time. On my last visit, where I saw Dr. Hodes (who knows Dr. Alexander and his work! Color me surprised!) in Louisville, he said there's no reason for him to see me for ten years, unless I start getting symptoms. Hurrah!!!
Dr. Alexander is no longer at Duke Hospital. He's now the director of the neurovascular center at Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles. Around my eleventh Lifeday, I wrote him a note about how grateful I was to him for saving my life. I haven't heard back. He's a very busy man, just look at his bio.
After much discussion, my husband and I decided to start trying for kids under the stipulation that I would plan for a cesarean section. Because MRIs are impossible for pregnant women and any procedure with contrast dye could be harmful to a fetus, there was no way of knowing, once pregnant, if I had an additional active aneurysm. In May of 2010, we had news that I was pregnant with our first child, a girl born on January 5, 2011 via c-section. The aftermath of birth and delivery left me in a constant blue state, which is another post altogether. But that state prompted my mom and my sister to cut us loose from parenting for a weekend. We went to Little Switzerland, NC. Remote and mountainous.
While there, we found a little coffee shop/bookstore. Honestly, it wasn't much of a "find," as it was the only one anywhere around. But we stopped in the morning after an absolutely awe inspiring storm (we watched lightning forming in the clouds through our windows, then when the storm passed, watched the lightning in the same storm from above.) The girl who was working there was flustered and deeply apologetic as she hurriedly tried to set everything up since she was late to work. What rush were we in? We let her go about her morning routine while we perused books. After a few more minutes, she serves us our coffee, crying. She explained that the night before, during the storm, her boyfriend had to be rushed to the hospital. (If you haven't gotten that this place is remote and that rushing to the hospital is a big deal, look at this.) Her boyfriend had a ruptured aneurysm in his brain and she was deeply worried about him.
My mouth hit the floor. I've never felt more strongly that I was exactly where I belonged at that moment. I tried to soothe her and let her know how sorry I was that she had to experience this, but there was hope. I told her that although mine hadn't ruptured, I had a brain aneurysm. I was breathing proof in front of her that miracles happen and that modern science has come a long way to prevent death where, in the before times, it was almost certain. I don't know who that woman was or how her boyfriend fared, but I hope that my presence that morning helped calm her nerves.
Since then, I've learned so much more about aneurysms than I knew, even at that chance encounter. All of which will follow in another post. (It's a lot of information and I'm still wrapping my head around it.
Everything happens for a reason. And I'm starting to feel like everything happened for me to help be a change for aneurysm awareness. This is me, figuring out how to do that.
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