In 2006 it was a very different finishing line…
Within minutes of my operation, the surgeons (as routine) woke me up to check I was making sense. “How do you feel?” came the question. There was no way to dress this one up, “Like you’ve just cut my head open!”
I had been warned that the operation came with big risks and I was rapidly checking through the list. I was alive. Yes. I was able to speak. Yes. And now, as I stretched my legs, I could feel an earthy sensation as my toes pushing against the bottom of my hospital bed. Wow. That was the finish line as far as I was concerned that day.
3 days later, I was discharged.
The actual finish line is difficult to quantify. It was more of an assumption that I was no longer likely to have any more epileptic fits. Future MRI scans would show that the tumour had indeed been killed off, having been attacked by the surgeons as much as they dared (considering it was wrapped around the main vein of my brain). But I was still having fits every 3 months.
By 2007, I was finally off the pills and able to taste an alcoholic beer again. But it was only after a year of being fit free that I could once again apply for my driver’s license. That happened sometime in 2008. And for me, that was the last step to my freedom.
Strange what a mundane grey (although I call it silver) family-friendly Volkswagen Passat can symbolise!