Getting Back Up.

I am happy to start off the inevitable barrage of social media nostalgic end-of-the-year posts for you guys. Maybe just read this ONE and then I fully support going underground until 2019. Nobody cares what trash music you listened to this year, so please spare me from seeing yet another ‘Spotify Unwrapped’ screenshot. I have been thinking a lot about the general feeling that this year is ending on, especially compared to last year.

I began 2017 in a weird, unbalanced place; friendships had shifted, relationships had ended, and I was in a hurry to smooth out those kinks. Those knocked me down. I took organic chemistry and didn’t excel as I had hoped. That knocked me down. 2017 ended in a dark place when I was told that my face would likely never get back to where it once was, and that my nerves had stopped regenerating. That knocked me down.  I spent the remainder of that year (all of two weeks) feeling defeated by this news, but then it was 2018, and it was time for me to get back up.

2018 was the year of getting back up. I graduated from college. Had 5 surgeries. Presented my own research at two professional conferences. Submitted my first journal publication as a contributing author. I came back for organic chemistry, and I fucking crushed it. I feel like this year has been an overwhelming success, but it wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies. Of those 5 surgeries, 1 failed and 1 was an emergency fix FOR that one that failed. The other three are probably successes, but I will only know that by their lack of failure.

2019 is going to be one hell of a year. It will be the year that i take the MCAT, the year that I apply to medical school. The year that I get my last (hopefully) round of surgeries. There’s no telling how any of those things will go, but the one thing I know is that I am showing up, and I am ready.

 

 

Three months of hell.

Lots of full-circle posts as of late, but I don’t mind and hopefully you don’t either. Recently, I registered to take the MCAT, right after I complete my prep class in March. The class is several hours a day, every weekday AND Sundays, and my work has so graciously worked with me to figure out a realistic schedule. The date of the exam didn’t stick out to me when I registered, but it dawned on me once I saw it on the confirmation email.

I am taking the Medical College Admissions Test on March 15. The 3-year anniversary of my stroke. I will be taking an incredibly difficult, grueling, and important test knowing that this is not the worst I have faced. Choosing to fight for my own life, despite the paralysis, deficits, breathing problems, that’s the hardest and most important test of my life. And I passed, with flying colors (in my opinion).

Don’t get me wrong, I am incredibly stressed about the MCAT. Right now, to me and other pre-med students, it feels like the single most definitive barrier between us and the rest of our lives. But seeing that date in the email and realizing how it related to me was the perfect reality check. Yes, this test is important. Yes, it will be incredibly hard. But I have seen worse.

My success on this test will largely dictate my eligibility to earn the title of medical doctor. But, in theory, my decision to live and thrive after my accident also affected that same eligibility, among many other things. Throughout the day, I trend more towards panic. I buy into the general feeling of panic and dread associated with the MCAT. I know that there is no logical reason to feel this way, for the reason explained above, but it’s tough to listen to that voice when everything around me is telling me to panic.

It’s three months of hell, but this is the rest of my life we are talking about. And I have known three months of true struggle, and nothing will ever trump that.

A ‘good healer’

I was in NYC these last few days to follow up with my surgeon at NYU who operated on me this past July. This trip, we stayed at the same hotel we were in while I recovered, and being there brought some memories of my recovery. 

I only stayed one night in the hospital, and my room was filled with laughter and food until I kicked everyone out so that I could sleep. My saintly boyfriend slept in the hospital bed next to me that night, and didn’t complain when they drew my blood at 3AM, or when they changed my antibiotic IV bag at 4AM, or when the team of residents came to remove my drains at 6AM. Well, technically the nurse made him sleep in a chair after 4 so that he wouldn’t get in trouble with the residents. 

When we got back to the hotel that afternoon, I was near my limit of human interaction for the day. My pain was manageable, but I was covered in yellow betadine and dried blood left from the surgery. I had rejoined society, and I really wanted a bath. Anyone that knows me, knows that there are few things that make me happier than a great bathtub. This hotel had the MOST amazing tub; deep, standalone, luxurious. The problem was that I had dissolvable stitches in my leg where they removed the nerve graft, and I wasn’t allowed to submerge it. 

I was on the verge of a meltdown- I was exhausted, in pain, and I wasn’t allowed to do the ONE thing that always makes me feel better. My poker face is apparently not nearly as good as I think it is, because my boyfriend immediately got to work on solving this problem. He emptied out the bathroom trash can and turned it upside-down and put it inside the tub, creating a pedestal foot rest so that I could bathe without submerging my foot. At that point, I was well into my meltdown and had decided that nothing would work and that it was just a terrible day. 

But seeing him working to help me accomplish my goal for the day, that’s love. Anyone who knows me well will tell you that I can be incredibly stubborn- I was committed to being upset that I couldn’t make a bath happen that day. But, I didn’t have the heart to refuse to try out his contraption. So I did, and it was a great bath. Not the luxurious experience I wanted, but it eased the part of my soul that was craving it. Sometimes, it is better to let go of that commitment to a terrible day, in favor of something good. I am so glad for Anthony’s on-the-fly engineering skills that allowed me the luxury of a bath one day post-surgery, but I am even more grateful for his refusal to accept my abysmal attitude when I am in pain. 

My appointment with Dr. Rodriguez went well- he was very happy with how everything looked and was progressing. He called me a ‘good healer’. I like to think I’m good at more things, but at least I can say that I am exceptional at recovering from surgery. Wonder how I can put that on my resume. It seemed kind of crazy to fly from LA to NYC for a 30-minute appointment, but I think it was reassuring for me to see Dr. Rodriguez, and be told in-person that everything looks great. 

It’s All Happening

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to present my research on stroke assessment at the meeting of the Society of Vascular and Interventional Neurology. I was the one presenting MY findings, I wasn’t an anomalous case study being presented TO these physicians. I’m not quite their peer- yet, but I was able to explain my research to them on my own two feet, eye-to-eye, as a fellow scientist rather than a vulnerable patient.

I was able to share knowledge with the very same group of people that helped me cheat death just a few years earlier. I went from relying on them to keep me alive, to working towards empowering them to better the care of their patients. Maybe they took it easy on grilling me because I looked more like a 14-year-old wearing a pantsuit than a seasoned researcher, but I made myself proud that night. I stumbled more than I would have liked to, but I answered questions and politely debated the pros and cons of my analyses with people who are far, far more trained than I. The overall theme of these last couple of posts has been ‘full circle’, and I wish I had more diverse things to write about, but I have never been happier to be writing these things.

As an update, the corneal neurotization (eye nerve surgery) went as well as my surgeons could have hoped for; they said it was the best it’s ever went. Granted, that’s a pretty low bar as the third-ever case at UCLA, but I will take it. I have been feeling this positive momentum for a long time, but my right eye is now halfway open- people can look me in my two eyes. It’s showing on the outside, finally. My biggest struggle has been that I feel like my outside doesn’t match who I am internally, and they are finally starting to align. I am happy, I am happy, and I am getting smarter and stronger every day. Nothing is out of reach. IT’S HAPPENING, PEOPLE.

 

Getting Pretty Good at This.

Before March of 2016, I was afraid to get flu shots or my blood taken. Fast forward to October of 2018. Six surgeries. I have had six surgeries. I’m sitting here planning my seventh like I would a lunch date, negotiating everyone’s tricky schedules. Except it’s not other guests I am accommodating, it’s multiple surgeons.

Next up on the list is a surgery that will help me regain some feeling in my eye, called corneal neurotization. It’s basically the same thing I had done for my smile, but for my eye. They take my (other) foot nerve, and graft it from my forehead on my left side to my eye on the right. Ideally, my forehead will sprout a new nerve branch through the graft over to my right ‘numb’ eye. This regenerates for 6-9 months before anything changes. If this is successful, my cornea will be ‘nourished’ by the nerve supply, and I will have feeling again. Simple as this sounds, there’s a bit of a catch.

This surgery has been performed a handful of times- less than 50, I’d venture, and only twice at UCLA, ever. These are not ideal stats, but let me explain why I will be the next case at UCLA. The surgery was invented in Toronto, Canada. They have performed 22 cases total. Ever. Nobody can deny that 22 is more than 2, however I know better than anyone that pursuing the perceived best-in-the-field does not guarantee the optimal result. Because this procedure is so new, I know that I’m not going to find a surgeon who looks me in the eye and tells me this is going to work out. Because nobody knows that.

There are other factors at play here, too. Dr. Goldberg will actually be performing some of the more intricate parts of the surgery, and I trust him implicitly. I trust the ‘main’ surgeon as well, but I’ll trust him even more after he’s perfectly executed this procedure. Objectively, this is low-risk. I lose my other foot nerve as a viable option for some unforeseen surgery, and I gain a few (more) scars. I am confident in UCLA as a hospital, and I am confident in the team I will have working with me.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I don’t like sitting on my hands for long. There’s no rush to do this surgery, but there’s also no good reason to wait. So I’m doing it.

Time to Run

Last week, I had a surgery to help my ‘tracking’, to help correct my double vision. They do this on little kids all the time, you may even know someone who’s had it. For those of you who didn’t know this about me, my right eye was basically crossed, like the opposite of a lazy eye. This causes extreme double vision- like, the two images are not even close. This is a really common issue after head trauma, but usually resolves on its own. Like everything else, I waited two years for it to wake up, then decided it was time to get moving.

The surgery couldn’t restore my nerve function, but the fantastic surgeons at UCLA were able to rearrange my eye muscles so it’s at least straight. I still have slight double vision and will likely wear special glasses, but I will be able to look someone square in the eye (once they’re BOTH open). When I had pitched this idea to the surgeon who originally sewed my eye shut (Dr. Goldberg), he was not thrilled about it. He wanted me to wait just a little longer, give it one more chance. He came and checked my eye every day that I was in the hospital at UCLA with about 17 residents and medical students behind him, like ducklings. I would feel like a science project laying in my bed with all of these curious eyes on me.

The way that I was able to feel powerful was when Dr. Goldberg would quiz me on the cranial nerves in front of the students. I had known them before, but I became an expert as I was living through the issues that arise when they are interrupted. I would recite them seamlessly, and would pretend that maybe some of these brilliant, young, able-bodied students were envious of the feeble girl in the hospital bed. When he pushed back about pursuing surgery, I asked him what my other options were, because I was NOT going to live my life with one eye. I started to cry, and I think that’s when he realized how serious I was. In the hospital, I was stoic and positive through every poke, prod, every “sorry sweetie, it’s almost over.” But I was tired, and mad.

In his defense, he has tried to un-do my eye, let me have a little freedom, and I got a minor infection. But this is a much more supervised, structured path to freedom. We started with this tracking surgery. A very predictable, straightforward procedure and he was in the room to stitch my lid closed as soon as Dr. Demer was finished with the muscles. That was the deal I made with him, very low-risk for my cornea, and more-delayed gain for me. It was a problem that would need to be fixed eventually, so why not start with it? Baby steps. I spent more energy talking him into the surgery than I did myself.

When I saw both surgeons (separately) at my post-op appointment today, they were practically levitating. I don’t think either of them could have fathomed a better result. I would have loved for the double vision to go away altogether, but my cornea is clear and healthy, and my eye APPEARS straight. My lid is still mostly closed, but I have a peephole in the center so that I can actually use my eye. This is best-case scenario. Now, I need a nerve graft to my eye, the next surgery. This will help give me that ‘blink’ reflex to protect my cornea, something I do not have since I have no feeling in my right eye.

This is a very new, but very promising surgery where they take a piece of nerve from my (other) foot, and connect it from my good eye to my bad eye. Basically, the eye-version of the surgery I had in July. Dr. Goldberg, my very conservative surgeon who doesn’t like taking big risks, is rearing to get going on this next surgery. I don’t know if it was the ease with which I healed from this surgery, or the positive momentum of my recovery, or my attitude, but I’m not questioning it.

I feel like, for the past year, I’ve been saying “ready when you are” to the world. And now, the world is ready. The ground is rising to meet my feet, and it’s time to run.

Watch Me.

The other day, I spent some time thinking about how I would feel about my current job if my accident had never happened. Sure, I would have been equally as interested in my work but the first thing that occurred to me was that I wouldn’t have ever even gotten this job. Virtually everything that led me here has been a result of my accident. The fact that my doctors are involved with the company, the fact that the mission is so personal to me, even just the fact that it’s a research position is not something I would have gone for had it not been for my research experience post-accident in undergrad.

But, my job would have also scared the shit out of me. There has been so much that I have learned over these first 3 months, but there’s also still much to be learned. I would have chickened out. Learning to program in python within 3 months? No way, I can’t do that. Preparing posters to be presented at international conferences? That’s awfully ambitious. No, this is not me telling you how great my job is. This is me explaining that, faced with challenge after challenge, I have accepted with a smile and delivered. The weird thing is, people don’t normally live like this. Who is motivated by looming, seemingly-impossible obstacles? Me. I am.

This being said, you readers have heard a good amount of venting on here as well. So what’s the difference between those posts and this one? There are things you can control and there are things you can’t. When I did my first self-review at my job, I ranked my skills as ‘below expectations’. My manager was very quick to correct that- the ‘skill’ I did have was a willingness to learn, to figure it out. I was smart ENOUGH to get this job, and I am smart ENOUGH to figure out how to get better at it as I go.

When I begin looking into which medical schools I should apply to, there will be no safety schools, or even mid-range schools. They are all a huge fucking reach. But that’s ok. Someone recently told me that comparing myself to other pre-med students is like asking a fish to climb a tree- there’s absolutely no logic there.

I would also say that my skills as a potential medical student are ‘below expectations’. But, just like I am doing here, I am willing to figure it out. I know that becoming a doctor isn’t exactly something you just ‘figure out’, but I will. Watch me.