Here we go, again...

I'm baaaaack...and to be completely honest, I wasn't sure if I would ever revisit the blog, but here we are, so let me take you back just a little bit.

Just over two years ago, I made the decision to leave my job as an educational assistant and behavioral therapist to go back to school (because obviously my previous 5 years of post secondary education weren't enough, and I'm a glutton for punishment).  I enrolled in a fast-tracked dental hygiene program at a private college and set my sights on the wide unknown.

During the twenty months I was in school, I questioned my own strength and resilience, almost daily. Between losing my Oma in April of 2018 followed by my Granny in December of 2018, and trying to balance the overwhelming workloads of both the theoretical and clinic aspects of my program, my mental health took a hit.  I constantly questioned my ability to meet each semester's requirements (most of my DH classmates will share a similar sentiment), I was missing out on social events, I rescinded my title as 'Bridesmaid' in one of  my dearest friend's wedding, I was uncharacteristically moody (for those of you that may fight me on my use of the word 'uncharacteristically', just let me have my moment 😉 ), and above all, I had forgotten how important it was to take care of myself.

Now, before I continue, for those of you that are new to my health journey, I'll break it down Coles Notes style:

2013: A CT scan following a car accident revealed a tumour on the left parietal lobe of my brain

 

2014: A successful craniotomy and complete tumorectomy was done and recovery began

2015: First annual  post-op MRI showed no sign of tumour regrowth 

2016: Second annual post-op MRI, still no abnormal regrowth 

2017: Third annual post-op MRI, still clear

2018-2019: What annual MRI??

Now that we're almost caught up, here's the real tea; while in school, I neglected to follow up with my annual MRIs two years in a row. Why? Simply because every time I thought about scheduling an appointment, I thought about the valuable clinic/school time I would be missing that I wouldn't get back, and trust me when I say EVERY. SINGLE. SECOND. of that time was crucial to my education (if you know, you know), but in the grand scheme of things, that was just an excuse (albeit a seemingly valid one) that I chose to make time and time again, and as my ol' pal Ben Franklin says "he that is good for making excuses is seldom good for anything else".  

2020: The beginning of the year came with a new found freedom; I had finally completed my program, became a Registered Dental Hygienist, and was so excited to be free of the metaphorical shackles of educational institution.  My new years resolution was to regain social contact outside of the school's walls (which came to a screaming halt thanks to Covid-19), and focus on my health which had previously been an abandoned effort.  I visited my physician and set up an appointment for a long overdue MRI.  

As quickly as my MRI appointment came, so did the dreaded phone call from my doctor's office.  

"Your MRI results are in, the doctor would like to see you as soon as possible"

Having gone through this before, I had a strong feeling right then and there, that history was about to repeat itself.  

Sure enough, on March 3rd, 2020, I was told that my tumour was back (not exactly one of my big plans for 2020, but hey, sometimes you've gotta roll with the punches); and thus begins 'Life With a Brain Tumor-Part 2'

As of now, all that is sure is that the tumour is very small (assumed in it's early phases) and has regrown in the same location.  The course of action is currently unknown and will stay that way until early June when I am able to see my neurosurgeon and get some more answers.  In the meantime, I can't help but to wonder if it could have been found earlier had I not taken a hiatus from my regular scans, but my mom recently told me (and yes, mothers do know best) to treat life like a book; when you come to an issue/chapter you can't control, close the book, put it back on the shelf, and revisit it when the time is right.

I write about my journey not to elicit pity or be a bearer of bad news, but as a sort of cathartic release and currently, a break in the monotony of daily quarantine.  My goal is to share the importance of looking after yourself and being an advocate for your own health, and inspire people to find an outlet that helps them through their struggles.

With that, I wish everyone health, love, and prosperity in a time of such fear and uncertainty.  And now, I'm closing my book and setting it aside until I'm ready to write the next chapter.

-Jane❤

*This cute toque is a Roots/Brain Tumour Fundation of Canada collab. The Hats for Hope campaign has helped to fund the hope needed for the many individuals affected by a brain tumour.

"My Friends"

These two girls have been by my side through many different things, on many different occasions.  My friendship with each of them has continually grown and strengthened over the years, since childhood.  I wouldn't trade a second of the time I've spent with either of them, and I'm privileged to call them my friends.

KRISTEN-My Right Hand--The one with whom I can talk about anything. She never fails to rise to an occasion. No matter how high the highs or low the lows, I can always count on her for a laugh, a cry, or something crazy in between. 

"I remember getting a phone call some day in September, it was Jane letting me know her doctor had called back and that she needed to go in to see her right away. Jane had let me know that the doctor had advised her to bring someone with her, but she decided against it and I didn’t think anything of it; what was the worst that could happen, right? About an hour later I got a call back, it was Jane and I could tell she had been crying. She told me nothing on the phone just asked me to come pick her up. I went right away.

When I got to the parking lot Jane was standing there with a big file in hand and red eyes. In our fifteen years of friendship I can say we have shared very few awkward moments but in this moment I felt awkward. I knew she had something awful to tell me, I had spent the car ride preparing myself for the news but when the words “brain tumor” came out I had no idea what to say. I pulled over the car and just hugged her.

As Jane’s best friend I would like to say that I was there every step of the way, that I held her hand through it all, but that wouldn’t be the truth. I wish that were the case but being six months pregnant, life was hectic. Jane has never said anything to me about my absence, that’s just not the type of person she is, but she didn’t have to say anything-I could feel it.

I wish that things were different. First that Jane never had to go through this at all. Second, that I would have been just across the street when she needed me just like I had been for the previous 14 years of our friendship.

Through this entire journey I can honestly say that I have heard only heard Jane complain once.  It was one day as we sat for lunch, and the complaint was about the Prune juice the nurses forced her to drink while in the hospital- THE NERVE.

 This tumor only further proved what I already knew to be true; Jane is a fighter in every aspect of life. She is strong and stubborn; emphasis on the stubborn.  That tumor never stood a chance anyway.

So as my mom would say, “Sweet Janie”: I am beyond proud of the person you were through this journey and who you continue to be. I hope that you are just as proud of yourself. I hope this experience has given you even more strength to fight through whatever obstacles life is sure to throw at you, and to appreciate life for what it is; a beautiful thing." 

LAUREN-My Assurance --She has not only helped me stay positive, but helped me forget that negativity even exists.  She has been the true definition of what a friend should be. 

"From the day I found out about Janie's tumor, there is one thing that has become quite clear to me about my good friend. Not only is she strong willed, determined, optimistic and of course human, it turns out that we have a little more in common then I had thought. Jane has a little Chinese in her too. She has the great ability to Save Face. This term is widely known in Chinese culture, not so much in Western culture though. To save face means to keep the reputation of your family as top priority and to maintain the respect of others. Jane is so good at saving face that even my Popo (grandmother) would be impressed. So good in fact that if it was not for one nonchalant car ride to Starbucks one Thursday night that I would have never known that she would soon be starting a long journey towards the neuro-ward.

Jane has always been one of those people who never made the day about her. Never wanted anyone to know if she was up or down that day and if she was the latter, made sure she never let it interfere with anyone else's day. For all I know Jane has already won the Lotto 649 and is just going about her day as normal as any other. She was the same way about her tumor, and even as close as I would like to think we are it was even difficult for me to tell if she was having a good day or a bad day. She definitely deserves the Saving Face award for 2013, lets just put it that way.  But even through such a life changing 5 months, from the diagnosis to the MRI appointments to the second opinions and the constant check-ups there was also a large increase in the amount of dinners at Boston Pizza, nights out at the bars, weekends spent in doing absolutely nothing and hours of endless drives to nowhere; none of which I would ever give back.

Although this was definitely a difficult year for one of my best friends and her family, I can say without a doubt that this year has done nothing but make our friendship stronger. Knowing Jane since grade school and playing basketball along side her through high school we became pretty decent friends, but the move to university and distance makes it a lot harder to nurture relationships. We went from seeing each other every week at school to a coffee or breakfast catch-up once every two months for 4 years. Since being back at home in April, we have easily caught up right back to where we used to be and even more so since September. I am not sure if I have a tumour to thank for this or not but all I know is that I am glad that we have had this time to really solidify one of my oldest friendships, and although she was the one going through hell and back over the last few months, I really want to thank her for being there for all the insanely less important stuff that has happened to me in the last year.

That being said, I have gone long enough without my partner in crime and I am bored to tears. So Jane, hurry up with the recovery already, the world awaits us when you're ready to go. That, and a huge bottle of tequila."

"My Parents"

If I've made one thing obvious through my writing, it would definitely be how important my family and friends are to me.  They have been my support system, my shoulder to cry on, they've been there to catch me when I fall...and every other cheesy cliche you can think of that might describe the friendship and love they've shown.  When the going gets tough, I could not be surrounded by a better group of people.

This was extremely difficult to narrow down being that everyone has been so supportive, but I have asked my immediate family and two of my closest friends to share their perspectives on my journey with a brain tumour.  It's hard to describe each of these people in few words, and nothing I say could possibly do them justice, but I've labelled them each with something they've been for me.

Due to everyone's very busy and different schedules, I've decided to make this into a series of blogs.
1. My Parents
2. My Friends
3. My Siblings
Some of these were written some time ago, and others just recently so although I may not post them sequentially, I hope everyone reading finds inspiration in the words of my loved ones. 

DAD-My Inspiration--The one who always inspires me to make a difference, no matter what the circumstance. 

"Jane has asked me to comment as a father on the affect her tumour has had on me.  So, I'm sitting in the parking lot as Jane and her mom are in the doctors office having her stitches removed and trying to convey on paper how this ordeal has changed our lives. We're always rushing to do this or do that, but when you are sitting in the hospital waiting room for five hours while you youngest child is having brain surgery, you reflect on a lot of things and think of the worst possible outcome.  Five hours seems like five days and you don't want to rush anywhere but to be by their side and not let them out of your sight. Now there is only one priority "family "; everything else can simply wait."

MOM-My Caretaker--The most nurturing/loving woman I know.  She's always putting my needs ahead of her own (even though I can be a little diva-esque at times).
"I could say that finding out about Janie's tumor was so stunning that my world stopped spinning for a minute, that there was definitely some sort of mistake or that it was a terrible joke. This is my baby after all, these things literally only happen to "other" people.
I could say that I didn't want to let her out of my sight in case of any tumor inducing side effects and that in spite of having a loving close family and great supportive friends that I felt more lonely and frightened than I have ever felt before in my life. I could say that there was frustration, even anger that the neurosurgeon had the nerve to take a vacation while we awaited a date for surgery.  
I could say that all of our emotions were heightened and sometimes downright illogical and at odds with actual events in our day to day lives.
I could say that I became aware of all the love around us and that I would switch places with Janie in a heart beat...and that I could never get through this without my rock of a husband, loving sons and tremendously brave daughter. I will however say; Jane's journey is long, tiring, painful, and not pretty! During her recovery I look back and am so proud of the grace, dignity, poise and sense of humour that my daughter has shown!  

I will say that life will be a beautiful thing once again!"

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Specialty Diagnosis

I know, I know...I kind of fell off the radar for a while, but for those that have been asking, I assure you all that I am well.  Life has gotten a little more exciting since I've been able to travel beyond a stone's throw of my bed! Recovery is going swimmingly, and with each day comes progress and optimism.  I am now able to do things on my own (or at least I would if I didn't have to rely on my mother to drive me everywhere).  Overall, life is good.

At the end of March, I went back to see my surgeon for the first time since my craniotomy in January.  Let me take you back to that day.  The morning started out with a CT scan.  When you frequent the diagnostic imaging department at the hospital this becomes routine...you know the run-down before you show up, so you can basically skip Step One: the instructional lecture from the nurse; "remove any jewellery or metal from the area being scanned, if you have buttons, zippers, or an underwire in your bra please remove your clothing and slip into one of our ultra fashionable hospital gowns (if Kim Kardashian can make it work, you can too...right?)".

Kim K is happy to be in that gown. 

Step Two: The nurse ties off your arm, searches for the most "sticky-outy" vein, promises "you'll just feel a little poke", and inserts the IV (I'm pretty much immune to this poke at this point).  This next part is my favourite.  The nurse then flushes some weird yellow dye into your veins and warns you that "you may taste metal in your mouth and feel a warm sensation between your legs as if you're wetting your pants", you are then told not to worry because you are probably not actually peeing your pants.  Very reassuring.

When I was done at diagnostic imaging for the day, I was off to the surgeon's office where the images from my CT scan were already waiting...and yes, believe it, it is actually possible for hospitals to be efficient and prompt under the right circumstances. 

My surgeon made the ever-so-slightly obvious observation that I had gotten a haircut and tried to crack a few jokes in hindsight of having a brain tumour, but it's a good thing he's intelligent, because for some reason I imagine that "funny" and "good sense of humour" would not be first on his list of personality traits.

If you've been following my journey from the beginning, you know that I was initially diagnosed with a non-malignant tumour called a Meningioma.  Although the doctors seemed pretty confident in their diagnosis, they also inform you that there is no way for them to be 100% sure until you're knocked out and they're rummaging around inside your skull. Once again, very reassuring; so...my only option was to take it all with a grain of salt.  Now, I like to maintain a certain degree of excitement in my life...so, naturally, the pathology results of my tumour did not lack shock value. Just as I was getting comfortable with the pronunciation of Meningioma, 

I was forced to learn a bigger, scarier word: my new diagnosis. Hemangiopericytoma (say that 10 times, fast!).  

This new diagnosis, luckily, is still classified as non-malignant, but makes up for less than 1% of all Central Nervous System tumours...I knew I was special!!  However, having a "special" diagnosis only really means that the research on this type of tumour has been minimal and there was very little information that even the surgeon could give me about it; so I'll let you in on all I know...
I thought I was rid of this thing for once and for all when the surgeon announced that he was able to remove all of it, but here comes that shock value again...there's somewhere around a 90% chance that my archenemy and I will meet again somewhere down the road, and a possible chance of it metastasizing (a.k.a. spreading or growing {it's okay, I googled the definition too}).

I'll be back at the hospital for regular MRIs to monitor any unwanted growth.  I'm in good hands and will continue to keep my head up. I've conquered this thing once, I'm determined to do it again if need be.

Now, here comes my shameless plug for a charity that has become so important to me in the last 8 months.
On May 3rd, 2014, my family and I are participating in the Spring Sprint for the Brain Tumour Foundation of Canada.  Any and all donations make a difference.  To sponsor us and the BTFC, you can click here.

(We'll be participating at the Kitchener-Waterloo event)

I know what it's like to be one of the 27 Canadians that gets diagnosed with a brain tumour daily.  Donate in memory or honour of those who have had stories similar to mine.

Home Free

It's been a month now since my operation; since I don't exactly have the most exciting social schedule, I have no excuse as to why I haven't yet shared the "at home" portion of my recovery.  So, since I know you're all at the edge of your seats...here it is.

"You're ready to go home today"; just like that they say the words and all of a sudden you feel like one of the doves that Jasmine has just set free from the palace courtyard in Disney's Aladdin. (Although in my case, I can't yet move as swiftly/gracefully as those doves...but give it some time).

I thought the bliss would begin the moment I took my first breath of fresh air outside the hospital walls, but what I forgot, was that I still had to endure a long car ride home...up the escarpment.  Let me tell you: brain surgery, bumpy highways, and the changing air pressure that goes hand-in-hand with the inclining escarpment do not mix.  In fact, if there was ever a moment in which I was sure my head was going to explode...that would've been it! Nevertheless, I made it home to my bed, where I was bound indefinitely.  As I lay here (surprised I haven't developed bed sores), I start to understand how Brian Wilson must have felt.  If you're not sure what I mean, the Bare Naked Ladies will help you out...

Recovering at home is the only time it's acceptable to stay in bed when visitors come over; there's no obligation to get up for work or school, your room starts to look like a florist shop with all the flower arrangements people bring, you're showered with gifts and cards (by the way, thank you to everyone who contributed to this), and all your meals and snacks are pretty much spoon fed to you. Sounds luxurious, right? Yeah, I thought so too...or, I did for the first week.  Soon enough you start to realize that you are pretty much helpless...
For the first little bit, I had pretty much reverted back to babyhood.  I needed help bathing (which is not quite the same as it was when I was a baby...I'm sure my mom will concur), I needed someone to hold my arm if I wanted to walk up or down the stairs, and I couldn't leave the house unless I was walking across the street to get the mail, and even then I needed a family member as a crutch.  Thankfully, I am now able to shower on my own (seriously, this is a luxury! Don't forget that), and this week I was able to walk across the street alone, walk around the mall, and go out for lunch with friends!  However, despite the progress I've been making, there are still some things I try to use to my advantage; example: when I Facebook chat my mom from across the house asking her to bring me my medication, just because I'd rather not do it on my own, or when I refuse to do dishes because "I get weak if I stand too long".  Some of the best advice I've been giving through my recovery has been "milk it as long as you can", which of course I plan to do.  BUT, When it's all said and done, my mom deserves the BIGGEST round of applause for staying home and being my personal 24/7 nurse, and always being so caring! I love you, Mom! :)

On another note, considering my immobility and my ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, my days at home have actually been pretty busy.  I've been trying to photo document as much of my experience as possible so I can look back on the hard times and be thankful for the good. This is just a small preview of what's been going on.

My first night home/My first time seeing the surgeon's masterpiece 

Lots of cuddles with my pups

LOTS of tasty treats

My first time holding beautiful baby Leighton (born the same day as my Craniotomy)

Gifts to exercise my brain & Gifts to rot my brain

Playing hide & seek

 
Allowing my brothers to cut my hair and being allowed to cut one of theirs in return! 

I can't wait to see what's in store for me next and what excitement it will bring!! :)

The Real Deal

My blog today is going to be a little more formal than usual, but I wanted to provide a deeper insight to some of the things I've faced.

For those of you that have been following my blog since I started it a few weeks ago, you know that it's in my nature to poke fun at anything that has an inch to poke, but I think it's important you know that what I'm going through is not all sunshine and rainbows.  I know many of you have gone or are going through situations that can be equated to mine, and I want to convey the message that it's okay not to be strong all the time.
Everyone has a different way of coping with their struggles; my strength comes my friends and family, and my writing, and it is portrayed through the dry humour in my blog, but there are days that I, too, falter.
I have a knack at making my journey sound easy, when in reality, it has been far from it.

After my diagnosis, my family and I decided it was a good idea to get a second opinion on my case from another Neurosurgeon, just to make sure surgery was the best choice for me.  A week before my surgery, the results of that second opinion came back.  After being told by my physician, and my surgeon, that my Meningioma tumour was slow growing (or possibly not growing at all), I was told by the second surgeon that my tumour had indeed grown.  What started out as a mass with a 3.3cm diameter, had grown to 4cm in three months.  The first surgeon gave me the choice to have it removed or not, the second urged that I have it removed immediately, based on the slight possibility that it was Mesenchymal Chondrosarcoma (a rare, often aggressive form of bone cancer).  After being so sure that my tumour was nothing serious, you can imagine my shock.  I read the news while at the Air Canada Center watching the Toronto Raptors take on the Minnesota Timberwolves, and you can bet, it was difficult to concentrate on the remainder of the game.

Thankfully, the surgery went smoothly, and there has been no news from the biopsy (no news is good news!), but the complications came after surgery.  One day, while in the hospital, my stomach started to twitch on the right side of my body (the side controlled by the portion of my brain that had just been operated on).  This happened again, and thinking it was just a muscle spasm, I informed my nurse anyways.  The surgeon came in later that day to break the news; what I was experiencing were myoclonic seizures.  I was put on a medication for epilepsy that I will now have to take twice a day, for possibly the next six months.  This medication disables me from driving for as long as I'm on it, causes extreme fatigue, and weakens the liver.  Only once my surgeon is confident that the seizure activity has subsided for good, will I be take off the medication. These seizures are not normal, but not extremely surprising given the fact that my brain had been un-routinely irritated by the surgery.  Once again, one of those things you think could never happen to you.

Early this weak, I had my sutures removed by my family physician; with some irritation and redness, and one large scar across the back of my head, I was sent home.  Until that scar is healed completely, infection will remain a concern (on the surface of the incision, and in the brain).  In the case of infection, there is a possible risk of a blood clot causing a stroke, an aneurysm, or possible paralysis.  I joke that having no hair is low maintenance, but the aftermath of brain surgery is not. Worrying about how to prevent infection is basically a full time job, and even without stitches, the pain of the incision is real and there is no comfortable way to lie down, making some nights (despite the medication) impossible to fall asleep. So, eliminating the tumour did not eliminate the inconvenience, or the worry.

I'm not seeking sympathy, but the reality is something that I don't always share. These are only a few of the hardships I have encountered, and I'm sure there will be more as I get closer to the end of this road to recovery.  It sounds cliche, but what you need to remember is that the journey is just as significant as the destination itself; you can't reach the end without hitting all the bumps on the way.
There is no insignificant moment when dealing with something like this...

I've been told on countless occasions how strong I am.  I remain positive for my own sake as well as the sake of those around me, but if you think for a moment that I haven't been scared, or felt defeated, or cried...you're wrong.

You're not human if you don't have moments of weakness.

xxoo

(Hospital)ity

Truth be told, I've been home from the hospital for about a week, but you'll have to excuse my slack.  Between the combination of painkillers and narcotics I've been prescribed, and the fact that I just had brain surgery, it's been difficult for me to keep my eyes open long enough to write more than a few words at a time. But, here I am now to give you the glamourous insider edition of what my experience in the hospital was like. 

As you can imagine, being in the hospital for an extended period of time (or any time at all, actually) is less than pleasant, but I can honestly say, with a few minor exceptions, that my surgeon and his team, my nurses, and the rest of the crew that helped me out during my stay made my time bearable.

Firstly, going into the O.R. and finding out that my head Anesthetist had an Austrian accent and sounded just like Arnie almost made me fist pump from my stretcher, and (not a word of a lie) the last thing I remember before being put to sleep was him saying in that accent, "it's not a tumour" (refer to the video clip from Kindergarten Cop in my first blog).
Next came waking up in the recovery room.  If you've never had surgery, it feels just like a scene from Grey's Anatomy (unfortunately the doctors don't all look like McDreamy); I open my eyes for the first time to see the entire medical team looking down on me, I'm overwhelmed with questions being thrown at me to make sure they didn't hit the wrong parts of the brain while they were in there, and my throat is so dry from the breathing tube they had down it that I could probably drink a small lake. They told me to relax, but relaxing just isn't in my nature, plus I had just been out for the last 5 hours while they poked and prodded at my brain, I really had no idea what was going on or what was going to happen next; so naturally, I chimed in on the nurses' conversation about their upcoming vacation to Jamaica, seeing as I had been there and thought I could shed some light on where to go and what to do...now I realize that my own lights were hardly even turned on...

The best part of being in the hospital was probably the VIP treatment (though far from a five star hotel). They feed you, they clothe you, they hydrate you, they provide you with bathroom facilities, and they make sure you're bathed. That being said, the food tastes like cardboard, the clothes are far from designer, your hydration is provided to you via IV, the bathroom consisted of an uncomfortable bag that gets changed every so often (I'll spare you the details), and the baths you get are of the sponge variety requiring you to stay in your bed and remove your gown while a total stranger slops an excessive amount soap on every inch of your body your and dries its all off at the end.  To some, never leaving your bed and being waited on hand and foot sounds like THE life, but I doubt this is what they have in mind. 

The Neuro ward is a small wing of the hospital that cares for anyone who has recently had brain or spinal surgery (or who is awaiting brain or spinal surgery).  Many of their patients are much worse off than myself so the fact that I was young, that my tumour was benign, that both sides of my body were still moving in tandem, and that I was walking on my own, seemed to be a great relief for the care team (even if I was walking like a newborn giraffe).  Without gloating, for once in my life, I can say that I was by far the lowest maintenance one of the bunch (I know...can you possibly imagine??).  

During my stay in the Neuro ward (5 days), I occupied three different rooms (4 if you count the time I spent on my bed in the hallway waiting for my next room to be ready), and had the amusement, nay, the delight of sharing these rooms with a number of "roommates".  Let me just clear the air, when I say roommates, I don't mean the kind you choose to live with in college, or the fun kind that are assigned to your cabin at summer camp...these are the ones that make you look forward to moving out! One man wandered into other rooms at night so the nurses would have to yell at him, "George, you can't go in there", and put signs on the ward doors that read: Keep Doors Closer: Wandering Patient., one seemed nice, until her husband came in and complained that my visitors and I were TOO LOUD!, the same one was later examined by the infectious disease unit, which is comforting when you're living in close quarters, and last but certainly not least, one was quiet by day but turned into The Great Flatulator by night, and I'll tell you, he was not intending to help me get a restful sleep. 

As I mentioned already, I had some really good nurses, and I cannot voice my respect for people that have the patience to do the job that they do, but they sure help to make the experience, errr...entertaining?. My first night, I had a male nurse that was timid to remove my bandages, always asked me "is this okay" when referring to the dosage of my painkillers (If I knew what was okay, I would be the nurse!), and he always made sure I was in good supply of "lip gloss" (he meant chapstick, assuming my lips were dry from dehydration).  A few nights later I lie awake in my bed listening to a group of young nurses outside my door, in between tending to patients, discussing the trivial matter of why Justin Bieber and Amanda Bynes went crazy, but Ryan Gosling did not, even though he, too, was a child star. Solution: more young celebrities just need to start using Ryan Gosling as a role model... 

Overall, I was treated very well while I was in the hospital, I'm not too deeply scarred by the experience, my tumour was COMPLETELY removed, and my recovery is on the fast track :) I am truly, truly blessed!! 

In risk of sounding like a broken record, I have to acknowledge the support I was shown while at the hospital: the friends and family that came to visit, the phone calls, emails, and social media posts, and the people that sent flowers, cards and/or gifts.  

I can't leave you all for the night without some sort of inspiration, so, nothing seemed more appropriate than for my alter-ego (2-Janez) to quote my brother Mike, quoting the Wu-Tang Clan: 

"Ain't nothin' but a G thang baby!"