I had an appointment with my epileptologist this morning, in part a normal checkup, in part an opportunity to hear the results of November’s hospital stay, when I was evaluated for epilepsy surgery.
I imagine you’re on the edge of your seat, so I won’t keep you waiting. I’ll also keep this short(ish): I’ve had a long few days/weeks, what with all my no-longer-being-a-PhD-student and everything.
Since I was already called back in for a functional MRI with a neuropsychologist for language mapping, typically a pre-surgical step to make sure that if they proceed, they won’t accidentally impede the patient’s abilities to, you know, properly communicate—I had the test yesterday, but now that I’m done with my PhD, I don’t know if I really care all that much if they accidentally nick my language centre #priorities—I was pretty confident that, at the very least, surgery wasn’t off the table. However, since I only had one really good, major seizure while hooked up to the ‘ol electrodes in the EMU, I wasn’t super confident that I’d be given an unconditional green light for brain surgery.
My instincts were spot on (for once). If the results of the fMRI that I just had and a PET scan that I have scheduled for mid-April align and provide enough information, which my doctor seemed to think is a possibility, then he’ll send me to the surgeon and the procedure will likely be done sometime in the summer. If they don’t, I’ll go back to the EMU, this time with intracranial implants. Either way, it’s not the end of the line: in fact, I feel more positive than ever about the likelihood that I’ll be able to cut this sucker out, mostly because my epileptologist gave me reason to.
And whether I move directly to surgery or take a detour with subdural electrodes, I’m pretty sure there’s some head-shaving in my relatively near future.
I’ve been waiting for my punk phase.