Tales from the other side of 30

I was chatting with some of my younger colleagues the other day and they were discussing aging. As a bunch of 20-somethings, for them, getting closer to 30 is terrifying and strange. All those bewildering social expectations – marriage, babies, savings, mortgages, and careers. Plus the general horror of ‘getting old’. But you know, I’m over 30. Plus about 3. And for the most part, it’s not very different than being in my twenties. In fact, there are even some things that get better as you get older.

You stop caring as much about what other people think about you. I have always had pretty bad social anxiety, which I've poorly managed in the past by trying being as amenable, neutral or helpful to others as possible. For years I had a weird version of the Ella Enchanted curse where I couldn't say no. What, you need me to look after your Schiztu and give it daily baths while you’re away? Sure. You want me to write your thesis for you? Fine. Need me to expend all my emotional energy holding you together? Ok! But it’s gotten a lot easier to say no. Aint no body got time fo' dat. If you really need me, and you’re worth it, sure. But I gotta look after me too.  

You become more confident in what you know you can do and less apologetic or uncertain. The idea of taking charge in a group without being explicitly ordered to used to be absolutely foreign to me. But now, if no one else knows how to do it better, then I’ll do it. No prob. I've also been much better able to toot my own horn when needed and fight for my rights (though I’ll give myself a stress stomachache for doing it). I aint The Shit, but I’m not shit either.

You do actually know stuff, instead of trying to find your way in the dark. Wisdom. Yep, it’s real. Seriously, my brain shocks me with the stuff it’s filed away and offers up (usually) at the right time. Yes, I DO know how to make profiteroles. You want me to analyze your business plan, no prob. I can also sew and paint. You pick things up when you've been kicking around the planet for eons as I have. :P

You aren't as fussed about your looks. That crooked nose you've hated all your life is still there and hasn't resulted in an angry mob at your doorstep to burn the monster that you are. These imperfections have been with you longer than many dubious friends and often have caused less harm. You still aren't that ideal weight the magazines tell you to be, but somehow, meh. It’s ok. You've learned how to dress the body you have, not the body you've tried starving and punishing yourself into. Sure, there are wrinkles and white hair, but the good thing is, your eyesight isn't as sharp as it used to be either, so as long as you don’t look too hard, you look awright.

You figure out better uses of your time and energy. I am pretty sure 25-year-old Zee would be horrified with what I wear to work – basic skirts, blouses, simple scarf, flat shoes, and just a lick of make-up. It takes me 15 minutes from when I wake up to when I roll out. Why? Cuz it’s a job, not a fashion show, and I got nothing to prove. Plus, I like to sleep and waking up 30 minutes early to plan a cool outfit isn't worth my time. 

You’re no longer obsessed with 'defining' yourself.  In my twenties, it feels like I spent half my time taking stupid quizzes and psychometric tests. I seemed to mostly be doing things to prove a point to God knows who. I was so consumed with trying to figure out who and what I was. I was constantly trying to find ‘my measure’ – to figure out how other people saw me, and what it meant. Now, I dunno, I've just accepted that I’m just me. A tangled ball of experiences, neurosis, ideals and instruction. Nearly impossible to sort out so best to just let it be. I’m a mess, but everyone is. 

You have a ton of stories. Ok, the advantage of this is debatable. If you're not careful, you can sound like a 'topper' - or a compulsive liar, or just a windbag. But used with caution, they're good for parties and smalltalk. I can regale you with stories of food poisoning in exotic places, dodging howler monkey poop in rainforests, and various run-ins, nearly literally, with some heads of state. Living means trying stuff and sometimes failing, and hopefully with some maturity, you can find and share the funny. 

So yeah, being 'old' isn't so bad. Don't sweat it kids. :)

Where Zee discovers she cannot remember numbers correctly and may be a junk car

Yes, yes, I know. Long time, no update. I've got my usual excuses – I have been insanely busy and extremely stressed. You may pick one or both, whichever one gets me out of the dog house. Sorted? 

I had my six month post-brain-surgery angiogram last month and Subhanallah, my brain is all good. The repair is holding up, and none of the glue they sealed the aneurysm has leaked. And best of all, no new aneurysms – which is something I was a bit worried about, because I have basically constant headaches. 

The trip itself was epic, in all the usual ridiculous Zee ways. The day before I was to fly out, I got sick. Like, REALLY SICK. In fact, I haven’t been this sick as an adult, ever. I started feeling weird in the early afternoon and within an hour, I felt like a wobbly human radiator. I finally let Mali drag me to the hospital around 4:30, so we could be ok to fly out in the morning. Turns out I had a 103 fever and raging strep throat. The docs put me on intravenous antibiotics and fever reducer and after about 5 hours in the emergency room, let me go, saying I’d be ok to fly out in a few hours. I went home, went to bed, and then at 2am, woke up delirious. The fever was back and even higher. So back we went to the hospital, and this time I had to be admitted, as they couldn't get my fever to stay down. Of course, we missed our flight. I was stuck in the hospital for nearly two days (I think) riding the fever rollercoaster, living on lame liquids, and sporting a face so swollen I looked like a cavewoman. By the second day, I decided I couldn't keep postponing our tickets and appointments (the doc had a three month waiting list), so I told the doc “give me your strongest med and release me, I gotta get my brain checked.” He gave me the whole “I don’t approve of this but you're an adult” shpeel and let me go, 102 fever and all, and off we went. 

We got to Chicago and after a few days of recuperating, drove down to Nashville for my brain angiogram. Alhamdullilah, despite the bad winter weather and the rash of anti-Muslim hate crimes, we got to our hotel in Nashville fine. Checked in. Had my last meal before starting my pre-procedure fast. Went to bed. Woke up and headed out for the procedure, on time and all ready. Except, we weren't. Cuz I’m me. The Maflunctioning Robot.

We were five minutes into the drive when Mali says “huh, no traffic this time. Weird. Last time, there was so much rush-hour traffic going in to the city.” I thought about it and replied “It’s probably because it’s Saturday.” *pause* *blink* *think* “Mali, today is Saturday? But, the hospital doesn't do procedures on Saturdays.” *pause* “ZEE. WHEN IS YOUR APPOINTMENT SCHEDULED FOR?!” We stop the car and I pull out my appointment slip, which I’ve had in my purse the whole while, and check it. Lo and behold – my procedure was the day before. I had mentally misfiled the date of the procedure. We missed it by a day. Cue complete Zee meltdown.

We spent the rest of the day frantically calling, trying to see if we could reschedule. Finally, by the evening, the surgeon himself got back to us and told us he’d fit us in on Monday. We just had to wait around in Nashville – yes, the country music capital in that lovely state that only recently tried to ban Islam – for the next coupla days. Oh joy.

Mali and I spent the next 48 hours camped out in the hotel room, eating halal gyros cooked in a microwave, watching old episodes of Castle. Other than my regular "I CAN’T BELIEVE I GOT THE DAYS WRONG” pity parties, it wasn’t so bad. Though I’d be happy not to see gyros again for at least a year.

The angiogram procedure went well. They did the usual – opening up the femoral artery and then threading a catheter through my circulatory system, up to the base of my brain, where it released a dye for 3D imaging. Weirdly, this time I was awake on and off throughout it. I remember opening my eyes and seeing this big black circle over my face and thinking “WHOAAAA, IT’S THE MAGNET THEY USE TO PICK UP STUFF IN THE JUNK YARD. BUT I’M NOT A JUNK CAR. AM I?” Turns out it’s something called the ‘image intensifier’. I also remember periodically being told “Ok Zee, hold your breath now.” Apparently that’s so they could take a picture of my brain without my breathing shaking the image. This is the third angiogram I've had and they never had me do that before – dunno why this time. Ah well. I am also very proud of the fact that this time, I made sure not to try and talk while anesthetized. Cuz you may not know this, but your brain does not realize it's compromised and thinks it's A-OK and wants to be friendly and talk to people when it's drugged, so you mumble bizarro things at them and they try and respond with a straight face. At least, I think I didn't do it this time. =___= And this go round the docs and nurses made for damned sure that I didn't pop open the artery and bleed all over the place, by squeezing the gumption out of my artery for nearly an hour. It seems they still remember the last time I turned their bathroom and recovery room into a horror movie scene. 

So yes, Alhamdullilah, my brain is all good. I’m supposed to go back again in 6-8 months for another angiogram, and then another a year after that. The doc took me off of the heavier blood thinners I’d been on, so I am no longer constantly covered in bruises and randomly bleeding at the slightest provocation. Now, I get to what I’ve been needing to do for the longest – HAVE A BUNCH OF OTHER SURGERIES. Sad, but true. Smallish and medium ones. Inshallah. Worry not.

Work horses, house donkeys, and headless chickens, oh my!

It’s been forever and a half since I updated. As all of three of you may have noticed. It’s just been insanely hectic. The Husband and I have gotten up to some serious High Level Grown Up Shenanigans, that involve moving house, buying things like toolboxes and dining seating and navigating suburbia. And in the midst of all of that kind of malarkey, we became the central meeting point for two halves of my family, and are hosting nearly four times the normal amount of people that would reside in my house. For a post-brain-op, rare connective tissue disordered, degenerative spine diseased introvert, this is all rather challenging. Yet while I did hit a wall this morning – in the literal, not metaphoric sense – on my way to work, so far so good.

Which is, actually, pretty surprising. Y’know, that I’m physically holding up as well as I am. I’ve been unpacking, installing, cleaning, sleeping little and poorly, and running around like a headless chicken for about a month now, and other than some bug I've had for a week, I’m actually doing ok.  Subhnanallah. I had thought my days of being The Tireless Workhorse (AKA House Donkey), were over. Fo sho, no longer can I single-handedly pack and unpack a house in mere days, or stay on my feet morning till night running errands, or tire out my nieces and nephews playing in the park. But I can, it seems, still do a hellova lot. And for that, I am very very grateful.

This gives me hope that a lot of the weakness I’d been feeling over the past two years -- when I first slowed down because of spine problems, then thyroidectomy, then brain aneurysm -- is from deconditioning that is reversible. Honestly, a year ago, I felt like a 50 year old. Everything hurt. I was slow to get up and move. Bending or stretching was painful and often resulted in pulls. I had no stamina and even walking a short while could cause me pain that would last for days. For my sis Zeba, that progressive deconditioning has been going on for years and she’s not been recouping, so when I was also diagnosed with the same Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome she has, I assumed that would be my trajectory as well.

Of course, EDS, like pretty much every illness, effects people differently. It seems I won the lucky draw and got the rare brain aneurysm from mine, which no one else in the family has and may it Inshallah stay that way. And though I seem to be able to recover my lost strength and stamina right now, that may change, and I may hit a new phase later where I can’t any more. But I’m glad for what I have right now. I can run up and down the stairs in my new place, and clean house and unpack and run errands, though I hurt for it later. I’ll take what I can get and thank Allah for it.  J

On a semi-related note, here’s an interesting article from the BBC on why people with disabilities seem to be happier than those without:

http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-27554754

"I coulda been a contendah, but that damned gorilla kept throwing barrels at me!"

So, you may not know this, but I’m kind of a big deal.

Ok, not really. Or at all. Actually, that was just what my brain tossed up when I was looking for the words to say that: you probably don’t know this, but I’ve kind of lived through a lot. (Alhamdullilah)

Of course, that statement is relative, subjective, and various other qualifiers, but the general verdict of anyone who’s privy to the details, is that my life has kind of been an insane rollercoaster. At one point a few years ago, I had ticked off all of the Major Life Traumas on a stress checklist, save for the death of a loved one. And that was before my cancer or aneurysm. (Subhanallah.)

Why am I saying this? Because it sort of colors what I’m going to say next, which is: I don’t get the victim mentality.

I meet so many people and read so many blogs and tweets that seem to mainly moan, cry and fixate on all the ways they've been wronged, big and small. It’s like ‘The Universe’ (y’know, that faceless, hip, and secular entity that’s replaced ‘God’ to many) is out to get them, plaguing their lives with traffic that clogs their way, bosses who sabotage their careers, parents who willfully misunderstand them, etc. They seem to approach life from the perception that they are being victimized, lending everything around them the tinge of negativity. It’s as if they living their own real-life version of Donkey Kong, with some big mean gorilla deliberately and unceasingly throwing barrels at them just when they finally made it up a level.

And if it’s not the small daily injustices that they feel are getting them down, then it’s the big “I was not allowed to become as awesome and amazing as I could have been because the world did not give me a chance, denying me what I was owed.” That sounds pretty dramatic, but think about it. I bet you know someone who regularly blames someone – a parent who didn't support them, a teacher in college who brought them down, their lack of wealth/status – on being behind their sad state today. They could have had it alllllllll, rolling in the deeeeeep, except they were born under an ill-fated star that prevented them from getting all those things lesser deserving mortals obviously got.

I suspect there are two reasons why we fall into this self-victimization. One, is that this is just how some people get attention. “I am DYING from this cold! UGH. ” “I got four blisters walking to the Metro. Could this day GET any worse?” “My boss asked me to work late! CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS?” I’m not saying I’m immune to such pity-me posts – I can gripe as well as anyone. But if you’re doing this every day and little else, it may be that you never grew out of that baby phase of crying when you wanted your mommy to pick you up.

Yep, these regular complaints/kvetches are the equivalent of a toddler crying and pointing at their booboos to get attention. We live in an era where attention – in the form of 'likes' and comments – is currency, so Twitter and Facebook become the platform where we showcase life’s outrageous misfortunes. Complaining is an easy way to get people to focus on you – it’s the opposite of showing-off, after all. So if you’re sad sort of person who needs external validation but lacks other means to gain it from your peers/society – like accomplishments, sense of humor, charm, beauty – then attention-seeking complaining can seem an obvious route to take. 

The other reason people may have such a negative narrative to their existence is their sense of entitlement. If you constantly feel put out, offended or enraged, it seems likely that you are comparing things to the easy ride you assume you were promised. Because everyone in this great big world signed a “We shall not inconvenience/impinge upon/annoy (Insert Your Name)” agreement, which they are now reneging on and you’re within rights to complain about it. Yeah, no. We didn't. Life isn't fair. We've been hearing that since we were 5, but it doesn't make it any less true.

Let me say it again: life isn't fair. That means you were never promised or guaranteed any of those easy rides and good days you keep mourning. You got some good things, and you didn't get some good things. And the thing is, that’s how it is for all of us. I've genuinely never met a person who had it all. Even those with seemingly all of life’s gifts and material comforts can have heads and hearts full of misery, fear and insecurity. So, instead of complaining about all the things you DIDN'T get, do yourself a favor and enjoy and appreciate the things you did get. Because if there was a fairy godmother who heard your 'that’s not fair' whinges, and with the wave of her magic wand equally distributed all the world’s wealth, privilege, health, and beauty, I bet you’d be far worse off.

Of course, there are some people who genuinely do have it tough. They've been dealt a particularly crappy hand, probably through no fault of their own. And for them, I have more sympathy than annoyance if I find them hosting a pity party of one. Life can be damned hard. If I didn't believe in a religion that teaches that God doesn't place a burden on a soul greater than it can bear, and that it all difficulty will be rewarded in the next life, I’d have cashed in my chips a long time ago. So I know how life can get you down and make you feel like you've been unfairly targeted.

But you haven’t been. Unless you survived Auschwitz or something. Really. And interestingly, folks who actually have been through the absolute worst tend to be the least self-victimizing. You know why? Because they’re facing a real life-or-death situation, and they know that the victim mentality may cost them their survival.

Yep, the cost of the victim mentality can be that severe. When you go around thinking that your life and all it contains is constantly being sabotaged by various others, then you give power and control to them. On a basic emotional level, that’s going to constantly cost you your happiness and sense of wellbeing. And if you are being physically wronged/victimized, then believing that you are doomed to be a victim of these relentless bullies will prevent you from recognizing how and where you can put your energies to improve your situation. Think about it like this: in classic horror movies, which type of character always dies and which type lives? The ones that give in to fear and stop fighting usually die and the ones who keep looking for a way out are the ones who make it.

In short, the victim mentality is bad whether you've been really victimized or not. If you really are facing a tremendous challenge with nearly insurmountable odds – life threatening illness, financial woes, abusive relationship, etc. – the only way you’re going to get through is by staying positive so you can keep working towards different solutions. And if you’re an Average Joe who’s allowed themselves to fall into the victim mentality, then even your surmountable odds will prove overwhelming and cost you your happiness/security/health. Your negativity and self-victimization will turn normal everyday life dramas into unending nightmares.

Rant Over. 

On cosmic hamsters, Grainy Golden Girls, and Swamp Thing

I think I am done complaining and stressing (for now. I suspect this is cyclical and I am but a senile hamster trapped on this cosmic running wheel). Life is a mixed bag for all of us. No one gets everything. The hope is that no matter how insane your mix is, you at least get something in it that you value, whatever your values are. Luckily for me, I value my faith, and poor health not only does NOT reduce my faith, it can actually increase it. So there.

I am now trying to see what I can do to make things a bit more manageable. I’ve started trying to slowly reclaim my lost strength and stamina. A year ago, I worked out over an hour 5 days a week, but I’ve not done much of anything for about 6 months, after I started feeling my aneurysm twinge to the beat of my pulse. Earlier this week I finally returned to the gym, and have begun the agonizing process of trying to get fit again. I'm still limited to lifting no more than 5kgs, so I’ve started with walking on the treadmill at a brisk pace for 30-40 minutes. I stop when the skin on my feet starts to blister or rip (a lovely EDS side effect). Aside from the foot pain, I feel fine. Or rather, I felt fine. Until the day before yesterday. My hips, back and neck have been on fire ever since and I’ve got a limp that’s one part cowboy one part got-shanked-in-Sing Sing. I guess that’s either my fibromyalgia or my arthritis. Take your pick. Whee. :D

I’ve read a lot about the impact of food/nutrients on the severity and manifestation of various illnesses and symptoms and am looking to cut out the 'bad foods' and replace them with good ones.

I kind of grew up on aspartame (my well-intentioned mom’s attempt to keep her kids from sharing her weight problem), but have been avoiding it for the past year. The cancer in mice research you once scoffed at before somehow becomes much more ominous when you’ve had cancer yourself. So I take Stevia in my tea and coffee now and try not to rely on ready-made diet sodas or foods that contain aspartame or its ilk.

I’ve done low-to-zero carb for months on end and have not noticed any change in how I feel, so I’m not actively trying to cut them out now. I don’t eat a lot of bread or rice as it is, but I am going to try to avoid more processed foods, like cereal and crackers. And while I’m not gluten intolerant, there seems to be a lot of claims that our wheat reliance is not good for our health, with at least some research supporting that it can worsen IBS symptoms. I do have IBS-like symptoms often, which is pretty normal for EDS, so I’ve been looking at the alternatives being touted in the ‘ancient grains’ trend.

The ‘ancient grains’  trend claims that the grains our ancestors ate are better for us because they’ve not been selectively bred and genetically modified over the centuries like wheat, corn and rice. Debates on the dangers of GMO withstanding, I figured it’d be worth trying them, especially as some have more protein, insoluble fiber and nutrients than the usual stuff. So I’ve picked up a bunch of locally-available ‘ancient grains’ – quinoa, amaranth, barley, and millet – with the notion that I will start working them into salads and making ‘rice’ with them. So far though, they’re chilling in the cabinet, having ancient grain conversations. Y’know, catching up on what’s happened since Roman times, complaining about grains these days, worrying that Frankenfood is taking their jobs, etc. I imagine something like Grainy Golden Girls, with more patrician accents.

I also want to eat more highly nutrient dense foods, in the off chance that somehow my poor health is being exacerbated by a missing nutrient or two. Though I eat healthy, I tend to eat repetitively, and have had a diet based around apples, cabbage, chicken, coffee, popcorn and lettuce for years. I had a bunch of superfood powders brought from the US – acai for its highest Oxygen Radical Absorbance Capacity among fruits, flavonoids, and anthocyanin effects; goji for its beta-carotene, immune system support, energy and improved gastro function; kale for its vitamins K, A and C, antioxidants, iron, fiber, anti-inflammatory Omega fatty acid; spirulina for its protein, amino acids, gamma linoleic acid, chlorophyll, omegas, calcium and tons of other nutrients/vitamins; and wheatgrass for its vitamins A, C, and E, Iron, iron, calcium, magnesium, amino acids, and the long list of diseases it supposedly fights. A spoonful of those all go in the blender with aloe juice, coconut oil, gelatin, green tea, gooseberries, spinach, cucumbers, banana, carrots and agave – all things that have valued nutrients. I give it a whirr, and the resulting dark green sludge is my breakfast of champions. With that unbeatable mix, either I start feeling better, or I start becoming Swamp Thing. It’s a win-win.

Bottoms up!  

References to TMNT, The Simpsons and Star Trek all in one depressing blog post

It's not been a good week. For reasons unknown to me, it seems like my body has finally woken up and been like: "DAYAMN. I DO NOT FEEL GOOD. LIKE WHAT THE HELL MAN. DID YOU SLIP ME A ROOFIE? HOW LONG WAS I OUT? WHAT'S WITH THE NEW SCARS? WHY AM I ALL BRUISED? DUDE, WHAT DID YOU DO?! HOW COME EVEN MY HAIR HURTS? HAIR DOES NOT HAVE NERVES. I WOULD KNOW. I GROW IT. IT SHOULD NOT HURT. OW. OK EVEN COMPLAINING HURTS. OWWW!" 

Basically, yeah, everything really hurts. Body wise. Brain is ok. Brain is humming along, still throwing out random spikes and jolts, mushing my words and occasionally going all throbby, but otherwise ok. It's had its moment, proved its point, and doesn't need the attention any more. But my body is like: "MY TURN. WHEWWWW."

And along with the body pain, there's weakness. My legs seem no longer up to the task of carrying me around. They go wobbly if I walk or stand for any great length of time and everything tires me out. Even sitting. For someone who's been athletic and strong all of her life, this seems like such a huge betrayal. Suddenly, I'm Krang. I'm just a grumpy vulnerable blob of talking brain that is marooned and fairly useless unless my red briefs wearing robo-body plays along and does my bidding.

What bothers me about all this is that, I don't know how and why it's happening. I didn't feel this bad in the weeks after my surgery. I didn't even feel this bad last week. But this week, it's like the rug's been pulled out from under me. And I can't figure out why.

My worry is, this isn't a side effect of the brain surgery I had last month. I worry that it's the slow degradation that my sister Zeba has been experiencing over the past 4 years. You know, the one she 'came out' about in that Muslim Matters post. The one where she shared that she's not gay, but she could be dying. Yeah, that one. 

You see, Zeba and I have been competing in medical misadventures for the past few years. Not intentionally of course. That's just our running joke, so's to not cry.

Here's the summary: I threw the gauntlet down with scoliosis and spinal degeneration about 5 years ago. She upped it with her own scoliosis, extra ribs, and osteopenia. I started getting chest pains and muscle and ligament tears. She started spraining and breaking things. I'm diagnosed with fibromyalgia and spondylitic arthritis. She's diagnosed with arthritis and Sjogren's Syndrome. I develop bursitis in my hips. She can't go a few months without bronchitis or laryngitis. Doc finds lumps in my thyroid. She starts blacking out for no reason. The degraded discs in my upper spine start pushing into my nerves. She starts getting progressively weaker and losing nerve function. Doctor tells her he doesn't know what she has, but it's probably terminal. I have malignant cancer. New doctor tells her he thinks the unknown ailments are Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS) and Postural Orthostatic Tachychardia Syndrome (POTS). When being checked if I have it too, doctors discover I have a brain aneurysm. As well as the other two.

TL; DR version: We're a few illnesses off of Monty Burns Disease. You get the picture.

Where we are now, is we've both been diagnosed with EDS and POTS, which explains about 90% of the things that had been going wrong. But, it doesn't explain everything. It doesn't explain the muscle weakness and loss mobility that's been happening to her, and now, I fear may be happening to me.

And that's something I have not yet made my peace with. Hell, I haven't made my peace with Zeba's severity of illness, and that's been happening for a few years. I keep hoping and praying and researching for some kind of explanation and solution. But I haven't found one yet. And now I'm worried it's catching up to me too. Going out with a subcranial bang, I was ok with. A gradual progressive weakening and loss of function, not as much.

I guess I know what I have to do. Which is get over it and stop stressing. Allah gives and Allah takes. This life is a test, and everything I am given in it, even my body and my health, are just a loan that can be reclaimed. The goalposts have not moved. They remain as living this life to the best of my ability in pursuit of the approval of my Creator. That doesn't require strength or mobility. But it does require my faith. And that I have to make sure doesn't get eroded or damaged by life's difficulties.

Turtle Power.

BRAIN: RED ALERT RED ALERT. PERIMETER HAS BEEN BREACHED. RELEASE THE HEADACHES.

It’s now been 20 days since I had my brain fixed. Which I typed as ‘fidex’. Which is one of the odd post-brain surgery kinks that I am still discovering and hoping will vanish soon. But Alhamdullilah, time has just flown by. And yet, also, I still feel very much recently invaded and glue rocked.

I tried taking myself off my heavy duty pain meds 5 days back, in the hope that I could manage without them to do the remaining Ramadan fasts, and also, preempt any dependence on these potentially habit-forming happy pills. That was quite an interesting wake up call. Till then, I was pretty sure that my surgery was no big deal, and I was quite recovered. But without a 4-times daily influx of barbiturates, hot damn did I feel poorly.

Like, whoa. Amazingly weird headaches, sharp eye pain, strange squeezy feelings in my brain, plus full body ache and shocking fatigue. The first day off the pills, I couldn’t get myself out of bed till I’d clocked over 12 hours of sleep. The second day, I did a solid 11, and I think I also took a 3 hour nap in the day. The third day, I tried replacing my barbiturates with a barrage of OTC pain pills. Max doses of Panadol and Aleve just took the edge off it and barely got me through the day. And then, on the fourth day, not even the total quota of Panadol and Aleve could dull the pain in my head enough to let me sleep, so I took one of the barbiturates. And the next day, I had to do it again. Sigh.

I know, taking your prescribed pain pills is nothing to be ashamed of, weak, or immoral. I just don’t like to be dependent on meds, especially for pain, which I find my body tends to acclimate to in time anyways. And plus, I think I’m just always the kind of person who is very much wanting and willing to believe I’m cured and better. I don’t need anything. I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me. Etc. (Which is, on a side note, why I always take it very personally when people imply that I’m a hypochondriac or it’s all in my head. Cuz punk, I did not fabricate my lab results and diagnoses, and any given week I soldier through what would knock you flat or send you running to the ER.)

So now, I am ‘taking it easy’. I surprisingly took the full extent of my medical leave, till July 22^nd. Plus I have permission from my boss to work from home till the Eid break ends in 13 days. I just popped in to the office today to sign some forms and show my face, so they know I’m here, alive with new and improved rock brain, and back on the job – albeit, with limited eyeball battery life and energy. Also, cuz I am a nutter with guilt issues and the great kindness they have shown me in facilitating my surgery has left me feeling extremely indebted. So I will work from home on the book the office is still waiting on me to finish and intermittently respond to emails and edit requests. And when needed, I will take my barbiturates and not beat myself up about it. Scout's honor.

In the meantime, I am hoping my brain stops throwing a fit about its perimeter being breached after 31 years of impenetrability and the installation of outsider in its midst. The headaches, exhaustion and speaking/spelling/writing issues I’ve been having are harshing my chill. I’m a writer, I have to at least be able to get words close enough for spellcheck to swoop in and save me. Lately, she’s as lost as I am. If Microsoft Word, my near constant companion of the past 12 years, could speak, she would, in the voice of Sarah Vowell, say: “Dude. I cannot even begin to fathom what you are attempting to spell there. Do you want me to switch to a Klingon dictionary?” The doc says the pain and weirdness should subside over time, as my brain adjusts to the 10mm glue rock left behind in my brain and my body recovers from the intensity of having two large catheters thread through my circulatory system. I’m just impatient and slightly delusional.

But again, I am also extremely grateful. I could have died. I didn’t. I could have had brain damage. I didn’t. I could have suffered loss of vision in my left eye from the procedure. I didn’t.

I’ve just got to wait out the healing process and Inshallah I will be back to my usual mildly maflunctioning self soon enough.