Rubbernecking; My Cervical Spine Fusion.

A lot has happened since the last post about my health. At that time I was still hoping the nerve pain and weakness in my right arm would resolve with a course of medication. A little after a week into this treatment, I started experiencing the same symptoms in my left arm. I was stuck with two useless arms, so back to the surgeon’s office I went. He had tentatively written up a surgical plan the last time we met that involved an artificial disc in my C4, but after I showed him that my neck was rubbery and almost owl-like in range of motion, we changed our plan to fusion of three vertebrae.

My surgery took place on March 1st. It was a bit of a scramble to come up with the logistics of the whole affair. I needed a COVID test 2 days before surgery and I couldn’t leave the kids alone for days on end, so John had to travel back to Talkeetna, I stayed at the Dreadfort alone and took a taxi to the hospital at 0-dark-hundred. I was not scared, but definitely a bit nervous.

I have no idea at what time I actually went into the operating room. First I had to check in, then wait in a waiting room, then strip naked and wait in a patient bay. I could hear the other patients waiting for surgery that day meet nurses and get hooked up to IVs, but I sat alone for a good long while, so I started reading the book I brought along (what a silly goose I was for thinking I would have time or ability to read a book pre- or post-op). Starting a book is tempting the Fates and all of a sudden I found myself fussed over by not one, not two, but THREE nurses, all at once. They were all older and may have well been the Fates for all I know. I certainly chuckled silently to myself. I met the OR nurse, the anesthesiologist, the guy who would be monitoring something or other to do with my brain (please don’t ask; I was too wound up to remember what his exact title or actual job were), before my surgeon strolled in casually, coat still on, latte in hand, air pods in ears. He produced a pen seemingly out of thin air, leaned in, and drew a mark on my neck where the incision would go. There was no careful measuring or anything of the sort. It all seemed a bit like a magician’s trick, like he was showing off how routine these things are for him to lessen my anxiety. I didn’t have much time to think about it, because as soon as I was marked, the overly jolly anesthesiologist gave me what he called “my special margarita mix”. He explained it was something to calm me down and loosen me up before they knocked me all the way out. He was right, because I remember being wheeled down the hallway, and I have a vague memory of shiny lights (think alien abduction), but I don’t actually remember entering the OR or what happened there before I went under anesthesia. I was assured that the operating room is like Las Vegas though; What happens in the OR stays in the OR.

My next vague memory is of bright lights again, and someone holding out their fingers, asking me to squeeze them as hard as I could. Even if my signature death grip wasn’t quite back yet, I must have squeezed plenty hard, because I heard approving noises all around before closing my eyes again. What i did not know is that my surgery ran long, by HOURS.

I’ve always been extraordinarily flexible. It was the entire basis of my very successful gymnastics career.

I cannot tell you how many times physicians have asked me whether Marfan syndrome runs in my family or whether I have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. I have never been officially diagnosed with anything and I didn’t seem to have the major issues that my friend with EDS has, so there has, in my mind, never been a reason to assume I had a connective tissue disorder or seek diagnosis of one. When my surgeon opened up my neck though, he ran into a bit of trouble. My connective tissue was abnormal, my neck was like rubber and he had the darndest time fitting the titanium disc for my C4. In the end he put one in that was larger than what would normally be used for someone my size. I call it my Shaquille O’Neal disc.

There is no longer any doubt that I have a connective tissue disorder and my mother can stop asking why I fall so often and attributing that to anything but the fact that my ligaments are rubbery.

I was in and out of consciousness after surgery and remember sipping some disgusting broth at some point, as I was starving after 24 hours without food. When I woke up in earnest the pain was ghastly. I didn’t even feel my neck, but both my shoulders felt like they had anvils dropped on them. The nurse tending to me explained it was because my shoulders were compensating for the weight my neck usually carries. The back of my head where the top of my neck brace rested felt tingly and numb, like a limb that has “fallen asleep”. My tongue was swollen and painful. I have no idea what went wrong but the anesthesiologist hurt my tongue. It has a giant wound on it and the swelling has only just recently gone away.

“This feels all wrong,” I remember saying. I demanded to get up and walk. My poor nurse is a Saint for putting up with patients like me. She helped me up and let me walk around with a walker while she held on to me with a belt only 3 hours after surgery. I’m not sure what good the belt would have done; she was this tiny lady holding up this whale of a woman trying to “walk off” the pain of a surgery to the spine. What the Hell was I thinking? When the surgeon came to see me he was a lot less cocky than he was before the surgery. He seemed worried and explained that he might have work on the back end (facet joints) of my neck to stabilize it properly. I think he was genuinely concerned.

After an x-ray the following day, he was pleased enough with the result to send me home. I am very happy I did not have to have a second surgery… yet.

Recovery has been difficult. It just isn’t feasible for me to not do anything. While my husband and older children are capable of doing many things I normally do, the sheer amount of work I do in a day became very apparent. Even with me doing what I can do, work is stacking up. My house is a mess, my road is a mess, and I am a mess. You know that I am an anxious person by nature; Queue Mel Brooks:

Here’s what you’ve seen of me on social media after surgery:

But what you don’t see is the pain, the nausea, the vertigo, the fatigue, the mood swings, the mean things I snap in irritation at my family (I’m so very sorry), the itching, flaking, chafing that the neck brace causes, the difficulty eating, the constant self-doubt.

This has been an experience I do not hope to repeat, but may have to in the future. My arms and hands are almost back to full strength though and that is the important part. That means this surgery has been successful and I would do it all over in a heartbeat. I would like to thank everyone who has sent me well wishes and everyone who has helped us with food, getting mail and groceries, snow removal, and all the other acts of kindness, small or large. I patiently await the day I am back to full badass status.

P.S. I do not understand, nor will I ever, the American obsession with Jell-o. Every nurse at Alaska Regional kept offering me Jell-o. I would rather put a burning cigarette out in my asshole than eat Jell-o. Why? Why is that the go-to food you give people who are infirm? I can die a happy woman if no one ever offers me Jell-o again.