The next time I woke up, I was on a ward. I opened my eyes to see Lydia, my Mum, and my Dad. All looked ecstatic to see me opening my eyes. I felt a bit more connected to my brain and body than I had on first waking up, and as I chatted with my family, it dawned on me that the mist that had shrouded my thoughts for so long, had now lifted. A smile spread across my face, followed by a sharp pain on the top of my head. I had no headache as such, but something was causing me discomfort. It only took me a couple of seconds to put two and two together.
The incision made to access my skull had been from above one ear, all the way across the top of my head, to the opposite ear. As I was smiling, the stretching of my skin was tugging at whatever was holding my head together. "What's going on up there?" I asked, raising my eyes towards the top of my head. Lydia stood up, and reported back. I still had my hair, but a number of staples were holding my head in one piece. I asked Lydia to take a photo, so I could see what the score was. She showed me the photos, and I could see a lot of hair, separated by a neat row of two-dozen silver coloured staples, which resembled a zip fastening.
There was no taking it away from me...I was happy, comfortable (as long as I didn't smile too much), able bodied, almost fully thatched, and could think clearly for the first time in a long time. We made small talk for some time before Ryan stopped by. The surgery had taken seven-and-a-half hours, as opposed to the four hours expected, and I can only imagine how my family had felt as they waited for news. Ryan explained that the surgery had gone well, and they felt that to a couple of cells, they had got the lot, and there had been no complications. My experience was that surgeons close ranks when you try and get any real detail about the surgery. It appeared that what happens behind the theatre doors remains there, but saying that, I doubt many people are quite so demanding of all the gritty details.
I asked Ryan if he had managed to get any photos, and was surprised when he reached for his pocket. A short rummage later, he produced what on first glance looked like an iPhone. "I got one of the nurses to take some photos with my iPhone", he replied. It was his iPhone. He handed me his phone, to reveal two photos. They were grim, but at the same time, fascinating. He pointed out the various tissues, and most importantly, Ivan. "So what does my brain do now?" I asked. "It'll fill the space." He answered. It was that simple. My brain had accommodated this mass of tissue until it had no more space...that was when the problems started. Your brain is supposed to be surrounded by fluid to help absorb the shocks sustained in day-to-day life. My brain had been forced to fill this space as Ivan moved in, and then the symptoms had started. Like babies fleeing the nest, my brain now had untold space to live the life of a normal brain, and was revelling in the opportunity.
My thoughts were clear, my word selection back. The fog had gone, and the headaches had hopefully followed. As I looked around the ward to take in my surroundings, I was surrounded by three extremely groggy, disoriented people, and felt on top of the world...certainly far better off than my ward-mates. I was also extremely tired again. The experience had taken its toll on all of us, and I felt my eyes closing. I told my assembled crowd that I was going to have to go to sleep, despite my overwhelming urge to enjoy my new-found clear cognitive processes. I gave in, and drifted off again, safe in the knowledge that my loved ones had seen the fruits of the surgeons' labour.
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