Once upon a time, I got my skull cracked.
It was not an accident or an attack but a premeditated skull-cracking that I assented to with foreknowledge.
Someone recently asked me how long it had been since said skull-cracking. “Around seven years?” she asked. “At least seven years,” I responded. Later that evening, I dug into my archives to pinpoint the timeframe and was shocked to discover it was FIFTEEN years ago this month.
In January 2011, I was the proud recipient of a craniotomy. The preceding fall, I began experiencing frequent headaches, pressure and sharp pains in my head, and bouts of dizziness. An MRI determined I had a mass in my cerebellum, originally thought to be a brain tumor but ultimately found to be a tumor-like cyst. A week after its discovery, I was on my way to the skull-cracking party.
Within a 1.5-hour window of time, Doctor Sawbones (in reality, a marvelous neurosurgeon) cut through my skin, muscle, skull, and brain covering, at which point the mass, under great pressure, almost leapt out of my head with the force of the “Chestburster” in the movie Alien.
𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 – 𝘀𝗸𝘂𝗹𝗹-𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱.
The mass was so large that my surgeon thought it likely I had had it for years; it may have even been a developmental mutation from my carefree days as an embryo before mortgages and taxes.
𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 – 𝗮 𝘀𝗸𝘂𝗹𝗹-𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁.
After the skull-cracking was complete and the mass removed, it left a void, technically described as a defect.
𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 – 𝗮 𝘀𝗸𝘂𝗹𝗹-𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱, 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁.
My stubborn cerebellum, unlike a can of Great Stuff, refused to fill in the space between my ears.
𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 – 𝗮 𝘀𝗸𝘂𝗹𝗹-𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱, 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲, 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱.
Using twenty heavy duty staples, the skull crackers closed up the incision, resulting in a Frankenstein-esque line running from the base of my skull down the length of my neck. All I lacked were bolts sticking out.
𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 – 𝗮 𝘀𝗸𝘂𝗹𝗹-𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱, 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲, 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁, 𝗮𝗶𝗿-𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿.
Taking the place of my missing portion of skull was titanium mesh, held together with screws.
𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 – 𝗮 𝘀𝗸𝘂𝗹𝗹-𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱, 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲, 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁, 𝗮𝗶𝗿- 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗹-𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿.
I had been told that the titanium in my head could potentially set off metal detectors and airport alarms.
𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 – 𝗮 𝘀𝗸𝘂𝗹𝗹-𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱, 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲, 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁, 𝗮𝗶𝗿- 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗹-𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁.
Humor aside, the most wonderful news followed when the pathology revealed there was no malignancy and no further treatment needed. While recovery had its rough moments, overall it went well and quickly, and I’ve had no repercussions for the past fifteen years. A most gracious God answered my prayers as well as those of a multitude of caring family and friends.
𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗜 𝗔𝗠 – 𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬 𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗗 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗬 𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗙𝗨𝗟!
And never once has TSA had to take me down or tase me.
