Russ's Ravings: Surviving Brain Surgery Is The Easy Part

There is a lot of preparation that goes into having a brain tumor removed. The pre-op testing, the go-bag packing, the goodbyes and the just-in case conversations. They all lead you to an impossibly cold and very bright surgical bay and a forced slumber you aren't sure you are going to rouse from.

Those of you who might be lost, you can check out the columns leading up to this one that dealt with my battle with a brain tumor:

• Russ's Ravings: The Doctor Called To Tell Me I Have A Tumor
• Russ's Ravings: Your Life Flashes Before Your Eyes
• Russ's Ravings: A Tale Of (At Least) Two Tumors
• Russ's Ravings: The Horrors Of Waiting Mitigated By Laughter
• Russ's Ravings: 'One Slip, And You're Toast'
• Russ's Ravings: I'm not Okay. And That's Okay
• Russ's Ravings: All I Want For Christmas Is Brain Surgery
• Russ's Ravings: I'm Glad I Am The One Who Is Sick
• Russ's Ravings: Things I Want My Daughter To Know 'Just In Case'
• Russ's Ravings: The Happiest Guy In The Cancer Center

As I sit here writing this to you now I am back at work and a little over a month out of surgery. I can honestly say that the surgery itself, was the easy part. After all, I was asleep for it.

The immediate post-op pain and discomfort I wrote about in my last column was unpleasant but not insurmountable. No, the hardest part of my recovery was not physical at all. It was being compliant with the instructions to rest.

To quote Sutton Foster's Princess Fiona, "The waiting, the waiting, the waiting, the waiting. THE WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAITING."

Of course, and obviously, the doctors were right. Did I want a recovery to go from taking weeks to taking months? No. Of course not. But you also have to understand my mindset. I told my boss I put in for three days off. Because that was the level of denial I was in.

I packed my laptop and planned on working from the neuroICU. Simply put, I was in denial. And I was the only one who didn't see it. When I spoke to my boss the following week he was like, "Well I sort of figured you'd need more than three days for brain surgery."

So did my family. Everyone just humored me.

A few days after the surgery, a rare day I didn't have to go to Sloan Kettering for tests first thing in the morning I got up, cooked my daughter breakfast and walked her out to the bus.

"This is great!" I said to myself. "I am ready to resume my life!"

I then passed out on the couch for six hours.

So I had to do something I had never previously done before and was counseled to do. Listen to my body and listen to the doctors. It wasn't easy. How I felt physically and mentally changed not day to day but hour to hour as we worked to regulate my blood pressure and pulse rate and supplement my system with steroids as I healed.

It wasn't easy to be me and that me wasn't easy to be around.

But eventually, it improved.

During my forced furlough I received so many wonderful messages from friends and colleagues old and new. Patch sent me some really great soup and care packages from individual teammates as well as tons of internet love. I was so moved by all of it, truly. The meals delivered by friends, the coupons to Grub Hub, the reading material and the messages just to check in on me. But one of the things that stuck out the most to me was a get well card I received from the librarians at the County College of Morris where I used to teach.

This stuck out because I only saw them twice a year, when bringing my classes in for research training. I adored them. Just wonderful people but was so surprised and touched when they sent me a card after reading my column. It was a standout gesture in a time of standout gestures.

But the main reason I wanted to write this column is because a mother from Texas who has a son going through something similar to what I was going through emailed and wanted me to contact him to give him a little hope. To let him know there was some light at the end of the tunnel.

Obviously I did. And I wanted to share that hope with anyone else put there who might need to hear it. Even New Jersey's own Gov. Phil Murphy announced he has a tumor being removed from his kidney next March. I understand what he and his family are and will be going through.

Sure, the illness and surgery and recovery were hard and frustrating. But they are surmountable obstacles.

And there is literally nothing particularly special about me. If I can get back to where I need to be anyone can. No matter what your challenges are you can get back. Whether you are an athlete recovering from an injury, a student dealing with friend drama, a child struggling with family issues. Or a doofus like me with a brain tumor.

If you lean on those around you, and trust in those who care for you then you will get back to your life sooner rather than later. And the waiting will be over.

And if you ever doubt that, if you ever feel as if its too much and no one understand? Drop me a line. I'll be there for you.

Russ Crespolini is a Field Editor for Patch Media, adjunct professor and college newspaper advisor. His columns have won awards from the National Newspaper Association and the New Jersey Press Association.

He writes them in hopes of connecting with readers and engaging with them. And because it is cheaper than therapy. He can be reached at russ.crespolini@patch.com