When the Air Hit My Brain

    Belinda and I are up at the cabin... alone.  The fire in the fireplace is going, crackling.  The propane heater is aglow with a wavy orange “heat wave” look.  I am sitting next to the propane heater in a recliner.  B is over by the fireplace.  I’m listening to Telephone by Electric Light Orchestra.  It’s so peaceful.  No teenagers (no offense).  No students.  No work.  No stress.  Peace.  Quiet.  Calm. 
    It’s good for my brain.  Speaking of my brain, it continues to...

improve.  I have an M.R.I. coming up next month.  What will it show?  Hopefully, less air and more brain.  My skull is still numb, especially on the top front portion.  Sometimes, my skull hurts with small tingly stings, and my guess is the rivets (where the manhole cover flap thing is) are reminding me of their presence.  I still feel tired sometimes, but I also feel better than ever at other times.  I have more clarity than ever.  I have more energy, and I have not even begun to work out again seriously.  I would pepper with the volleyball players until I broke a sweat during practices, but that’s about it.  Now that volleyball is over, I plan to start working out again.
    Joe sent me a new book called When the Air Hits Your Brain by Frank Vertosick Jr. MD.  Actually, I don’t know if it was Joe, but who else could it have been?  I have only started to read it, but it’s one neurosurgeon’s journey, and it’s been a fascinating read.  I particularly was taken aback by this excerpt:

    “Rule number one: You ain’t never the same when the air hits your brain.  Yes, the good Lord bricked that sucker in pretty good, and for a reason.  We’re not supposed to play with it.  The brain is sorta like a ’66 Cadillac.  You had to drop the engine in that thing just to change all eight spark plugs.  It was built for performance, not for easy servicing.
    ‘The patients seem to do all right,’ I protested.
    ‘Yes, they usually do, but every once in a while something funny happens: someone’s personality changes, a patient up and dies without warning---all little reminders that you are treading upon sacred soil.’”

    I survived brain surgery, but I believe now more than ever, that it was a miracle how well I did... before, during, and after.  I think my “sucker,” like everyone else’s was bricked in for a reason, too.  We should not play with them, but once again, the other option was not an option at all.  Brain surgery or nothing?  Brain surgery or possible seizures?  Brain surgery or eventual death?  Hmmm.
    Speaking of “Hmmm,” I learned this morning that the team we beat in the second round of the district tournament, the team that was voted in over us, was eliminated in the first round of the state tournament.  Hmmm.
    That’s enough for tonight.  I am yawning; sleepy tears are forming in my eyes.  I’ll write some more tomorrow.  Whose idea was it to come to the cabin?  Oh yeah, it was mine.  Brilliant.  Must be the good brain bricked into my head (twice; once by God and once again by Dr. Maurin) to come up with such a sensational idea.  Thank you, veterans, for allowing us the freedom to be able to come here and do something like this.  Thank you, Amanda and Eric for this cabin.  Until tomorrow.  Good night for now.