Reinventing Emma by Emma Gee Read Free Book Online Page A

They seem oblivious that the patient they are speaking or arguing about is in the same room. It’s my life and my death that they are discussing. Worse, they still haven’t come up with a definite solution. My AVM and I now seem dismissed and they can turn their attention to the next case. The sound of rustling papers, clicking pens and the dragging of chairs tell me the meeting is over as far as they are concerned. A waft of cold air enters the room as one doctor leaves.
    But I’m not ready to leave yet. My AVM is still ticking away. This is my only chance to get at least some useful information from them. I quickly blurt out some questions I’d scribbled down earlier.
    â€œCan I fly?”
    â€œCan I drink alcohol?”
    â€œHow long would it be before I return to work and running?”
    I feel stupid asking these now, after the seriousness of what I just heard. Desperate, I do anyway. It is pitch dark in the room. Thankfully, I can’t see their rolling eyes or smirking expressions, but I soon know I’ve lost their attention. After asking a couple of questions my voice fades as I realise no one is listening. The harsh fluoro lights flick on. They quickly leave the room. I limp after them, feeling physically and emotionally helpless. Stranded. Desolate.
    I guess I expected to leave with a solution of sorts and a treatment date. Instead, I seem to have ignited a lot of medical argument. No one is willing to take the risk to separate me from the ticking time bomb in my head.
    Speechless, Dad and I enter the lift. There is nothing to say, and my thoughts are spiralling downwards. Mr McMahon catches the doors as they are closing and squeezes inside the metal box to join us. The three of us stand in awkward silence. I can tell Mr McMahon is in deep thought. My AVM ticks, Dad’s frustration brews and McMahon’s conscience surfaces. As we all exit the lift, Mr McMahon suddenly turns around to face us as if he’s made a decision.
    He says, “I am going to swallow my pride and suggest that you, Emma, seek the expertise of my very experienced teacher and colleague in Sydney, Professor Michael Morgan.” He seems relieved at his escaping words. He adds that although he would learn so much by operating on me, he knows that if I were his own daughter he’d let Professor Morgan operate. My respect for him, already high, is now off the scale. Even though I have no definite plan, at least I am left with some possibility.

    Although there was some clarity, I was still left with the agonising decision of whether or not to risk the surgery. Radiotherapy and embolism were clearly not options because both left the chance of the AVM rupturing in the near future. If that happened the outcome would be fatal. I felt too young to be taking on such a responsibility. For 24 years the hardest decision I had ever had to make was choosing between chocolate, strawberry or vanilla ice-cream and yet here I was having to decide whether to have life-threatening brain surgery. It was so tempting to take the chance, ignore the AVM, return to my old life and plan to one day get married and have children.
    But I knew that if I went on living with the threat of sudden death hanging over me, it would hugely affect my life and all my future relationships. After hours and days deliberating with my doctors, family and friends I decided to have brain surgery. It was that or drop dead.

Chapter 8
    The Therapist Becomes the Patient
    Once the decision was made I couldn’t wait to get this thing ripped out of my head. But my AVM and I had been together for 24 years, and we were going to be forced to spend yet more time together. Ironically, before I could have surgery I had to learn to walk again, so I was transferred by ambulance to Caulfield General Medical Centre where I had worked as an OT two years earlier. Now I was about to see it from the other side.
    With me in the ambulance was a man in his mid fifties who