So my aneurysm surgery trip didn't quite work out according to plan.
I got to Singapore fine - brain didn't go off as my plane lifted off, leading into a dramatic mid-flight death scene as had been feared. The nurses prepped me for the first diagnostic surgery. Stuck a canula in me. Loaded me up on meds. The works. Then the next day the docs came in and said "wait, you know that condition you told us you had way back when you contacted us two months ago, we finally got off our butts and looked into it and apparently, it's a big deal! People with that condition hemorrhage and rupture like crazy. It's a bloodbath in there! We can't do your procedure!" Ok, well, they didn't say it like that. But you get the gist.
Then began 10 days of all kinds of ridiculous tests. I saw geneticists, cardiologists, dermatologists, allergists, opthamologists... I got MRE-ed, X-rayed, 2D echocardiogrammed... they came and took my blood so often I even stopped waking up for it when they'd come to take it in the night. In the end, they decided that my connective tissue disorder was too potentially scary to allow for any endovascular procedures, and oh, even more problematically, I'm allergic to the metal that the stent that was going to go in my brain is made out of.
To the Singaporean doctors' thinking then, that only left one last possible treatment for my aneurysm, which was the big old craniotomy. You know, where after opening my neck for blood control, they crack open your skull, pry apart your brain and break bones inside your head to get access to the aneurysm, which they clamp off with titanium clips. That one is obvs way riskier. Higher risk of death, stroke, paralysis, brain damage, etc. So I said 'no thanks', and hightailed it back to Dubai to regroup and see what other options I have.
It's funny though, I was only in hospital in Singapore for 11 days, but man that felt like an eternity. I would get so stir crazy, many times a day I'd go stand at the window of my room and look out, pretending I was one of the lucky people wandering around below. Mali and I would wax poetic of the wonders of our bed at home. I longed for my car and my freedom. I missed my cats. I wanted food that wasn't bland and boiled. I craved activity so much I'd get dressed in the mornings and tidy up my hospital room in the afternoon.
And now that I'm home, it's only been four days, but already my hospital stay seems like a distant memory. So much so that I am tempted to forget it all ever happened, including the aneurysm diagnosis, and just go back to life as usual. This doesn't feel so bad, this having a brain aneurysm thing. Sure, I get headaches and dizzy spells, and I'm acutely aware of the 'ticking time bomb' aspect of the bubble of blood in my brain, but, at least I'm free! The idea of doing it all over again - finding a new doctor in a new hospital in a new country who has a new promise of straightforward treatment for my aneurysm, arranging new tickets and new leaves from our employers is rather daunting. Death doesn't scare me. Logistics scare me. And boredom. Sigh.
But I am working on it. I've tracked down a dozen or so doctors around the world who've done some new treatments that are less invasive. Two of them are hopeful that I'd be a suitable candidate. Now I'm just trying to wrangle some insurance coverage for it all. Inshallah that'll come through soon and Mali and I will be off on a second medical adventure, hopefully one where we get good food, free wifi, comfortable beds, and lots of fun visitors to keep our boredom at bay. Oh, and a permanent solution to my aneurysm. Inshallahkhair.