Thirteen years ago this week, on February 9th,I was admitted to Barrow Neurological Institute in Phoenix after a CT scan revealed the source of my 6-month old headaches.

When I first started seeing my doctor, her initial impression had been a brain tumor. However, since I passed all the cranial nerve tests: squeeze my hand, stick out your tongue, wag it side to side, those sorts of things, she thought it must have been something else, such as sinus problems. But after I became a "regular" every month, she suspected something else and finally, after months of trying different things, ordered a CT scan.

For the previous six months, I awoke each morning with a relentless headache. I no longer got a decent night’s sleep because I could hear the blood pounding through my brain. I began to have dark circles under my eyes. I felt as if I was going to pass out, but I never did. I was always dizzy.

By February of ’96, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I woke that Friday morning and knew something was seriously wrong. I believed if I could make it to my office downtown, and something happened to me, someone would call 911 for me. Mid-morning, I called one of my girlfriends (a retired anesthesiologist) and she strongly urged me to call my doctor right away.

My doctor didn't know what else to do at that juncture except order a CT scan. I went across the street, picked up a teriyaki bowl for lunch and rode the elevator back up to my office. When it was time to leave for my 1 pm appointment, I drove myself the three miles north to the hospital.

Immediately after the CT scan, the radiologist told me my doctor was on the phone. She told me that I had a large mass on the left side of my brain and instructed me to go directly to admissions. St. Joe’s is also home to one of the foremost neurological facilities in the world: Barrow Neurological Institute (BNI). She said I would go into Barrow and that I would be taken care of there. I was not allowed to go home to pack. She said she would call my husband and he bring me everything I needed.

Once settled into my room, I had my history and physical taken by two young residents. I met my roommate, a lovely older woman named Louise, who would turn out to be my angel during my stay. That evening, I was visited by one neurosurgeon, Dr. Paul Detwiler, who explained my weekend itinerary and ordered an MRI for later that night. I noticed when they wheeled me into the MRI suite there was a cadre of white coats observing the procedure.

St. Joe's/Barrow is a teaching hospital. For a new doctor hoping to specialize in neurology, neurosurgery or related fields, he or she would strive to be chosen by the best hospitals in the country. Barrow would be on their short list. Headed by Dr. Robert Spetzler, BNI leads the way on groundbreaking research and procedures for brain and spinal cord diseases and injuries. They now have a large neuroscience lab on campus and two years ago, the hospital opened a tower which houses state-of-the-art operating rooms, MRI suites, patient rooms, ICU, as well as a pharmacy and the ER department for the hospital. The rooftop is a new and improved helipad capable of receiving three times the helicopters it could in the past.

Saturday morning, I met Dr. Curtis Dickman, who would perform the surgery. He believed, based on the MRI, that I had a meningioma the size of a small orange. The fact that it had well-defined borders indicated a strong likelihood that it was benign. A meningioma arises from the meninges, one of the layers of "covers" after your skull before you get to the "jello" part of your brain. Dr. Dickman thought it could have been growing for years, possibly even born with it. It was situated in the left lateral ventricle, the large area that carries cerebral spinal fluid (CSF) throughout the brain. The reason it was able to grow for such an extended period was due to the fact that it was "floating" in this ventricle. It only presented symptoms when the tumor grew to such a size that it began pressing on other areas of the brain and affecting different functions. He and his resident were surprised that, given its size, I had not experienced any seizures thus far. And that is why once I was in the hospital, they would not let me go home to pack my jammies, toothbrush and say goodbye to my two dogs!

Dr. Dickman is a bear of a man, with a very kind, gentle demeanor. Although he always traveled with an entourage of residents, he always had time to answer any questions fully. He is a very compassionate doctor.

That weekend was filled with tests of every size and type. I must have been the most well-catalogued patient by Monday morning! It seemed I was always being hustled somewhere within the hospital in a wheelchair or on a gurney. In fact, I learned in my travels that Dr. Dickman worked in "transport" as a gurney jockey while he was working his way through undergrad school at ASU (psychology).

Earlier in the day on Monday they took me in for an angiogram, which was one more MRI. Around 1pm, they finally took me to surgery. I was outside the OR with my husband when the neuroanesthesiologist said, "I'm going to give you something to relax you now." And relax it did! I didn't remember anything until about 11 hours later when I was back in my room in the ICU. I understand they use a special high speed saw to cut into the cranium called a Midas Rex. It is a far cry from the old days when they would bore a hole in the cranium and then use a small hand saw to cut through the skull. Thank God for modern technology!

I was in the neuro ICU that night with all sorts of wires hooked up to my head--I called it my electro-Rastafarian look. They replaced the bone flap, but only slightly. It was at that time that my husband told me that they didn't finish. There was still more tumor to extract and Dr. Dickman wanted to get a good night's sleep and finish the next day. Who was I to argue with that? They had a drain which allowed them to draw off a small amount of CSF for testing before the next day's surgery and I had to have one more MRI before they began anew.

Around 4:30 the next morning (my wedding anniversary), the nurse awakened me and tried to make me presentable for rounds. There were about 12-15 white coats all crowded into my room while one doctor summarized. They wanted to know if I knew who I was, who my doctor was, where I was, what was I doing there. I had repeat ridiculous phrases for them like, "Nelson Rockefeller drives a Lincoln Continental" to which I replied that he was dead but maybe Happy could use it. A very humorless crowd I found. After they left, they began to prep me for surgery again. I was back in surgery for another five hours.

I spent three days in neuro ICU with some of the best nurses in the world. I remember one night they were going to move me onto the regular floor and because I was watching a basketball game on TV, the nurse kept stalling them until the game was over, just so I could finish watching my Suns! I was in the hospital a total of eight days. Taking a shower after being discharged felt better than most anything to me. I had not been able to wash my hair for over six days. The smell of my dirty hair and the dried blood was almost overpowering to me as I let the water and suds wash (VERY carefully--I had a number of small staples still in my head) it all down the drain. My whole head seemed to tingle with sheer joy!

My head and I would never be the same after this experience. I look at things a little differently now. There are times I reach through my hair, tracing the outline of the scar, and feel sadness that my head will never be nice and smooth again. Instead it is misshapen and lumpy. But I am still here.

I still have to have MRIs every 5 years to check for tumor regrowth. But after 13 years the chances diminish. This week I got an e-mail from Dr. Dickman. He has a rock & roll band in his spare time and is playing an event in Scottsdale. I think we'll go and get our groove on.

I am very grateful and blessed. Life is short. Dance in the rain. Kiss the ones you love today for you may not have the chance tomorrow.