Two hours after brain surgery, I was eating fried chicken and pondering the wonders of modern medicine.
I didn't even have a headache, which seemed miraculous, given the doctors had drilled four screws into my skull to attach a frame that kept my head still during Gamma Knife surgery. OK. The word "surgery" is a misnomer. The Gamma Knife doesn't draw blood and isn't actually a knife. It's an instrument that delivers 201 extremely focused cobalt radiation beams to treat cancerous tumors and other brain disorders.
The dosage and location are so precise that many patients can avoid the cognitive impairment that can come with invasive brain surgery or whole brain radiation. Those were the options before the Gamma Knife, first used in the U.S. in the late 1980s. (UAB has been home to the state's only Gamma Knife since the mid-1990s.)
Three weeks before surgery, my oncologist, Dr. Carla Falkson, had delivered bad news. A brain scan showed something I had hoped to avoid in my battle with metastatic breast cancer: Multiple small tumors had formed in my brain and were the likely cause of my recent dizziness and bouts of nausea.
I cried. Then came good news. Falkson had already spoken to Dr. Jim Markert, director of UAB neurosurgery, who agreed I was a Gamma Knife candidate.
Days later, I was in Markert's office, touching my nose with my eyes shut and trying to walk toe-to-toe in a straight line. I felt like I was being investigated for DUI. He told me I had six tumors and that the Gamma Knife should get rid of them. If more developed, I could have the treatment again, he said.
I went home with a prescription for the steroid Decadron, which decreases nausea and tumor site swelling. Side effects include hunger and hyperactivity. In the three weeks before surgery, I gained six pounds and did lots of vacuuming.
I checked in at UAB Highlands at 5 o'clock that Wednesday morning. Soon I was talking with radiation oncologist Dr. John Fiveash, who planned the treatment with Markert and would carry it out with the Gamma Knife staff.
The nurse administered Versed, a sedative commonly used to make surgery patients forget bad stuff. I nodded off, then woke surrounded by the doctors and two nurses preparing to screw on the headpiece. I have no memory of the injections I received in the head to deaden the pain from the screws. The staff guided me to the treatment room, where, like the Wizard waiting for Dorothy, the Gamma Knife beckoned me.
It looked like a bed attached to a gigantic hair dryer. I lay back as the staff locked my headpiece into place and began configuring the machine for the first tumor. Each treatment was silent and painless and took about 15 minutes, with much reconfiguring in between.
Afterward, they removed the headpiece and bandaged the tiny holes in my head. I felt fine, though hungry. We stopped for fried chicken on the way home. The treatment must have affected my memory, because I couldn't recall anything ever tasting that good.