Free Reinventing Emma by Emma Gee Page B

I’ll be taken away.
    As if she’s read my mind, the nurse enters, saying,
    â€œAre you ready Dear? They’ll be wheeling your bed in here shortly!” No I’m not ready. I never will be. I think to myself.
    What do you say to the people you love when you may never see them again? I stumble over my words and end up saying, “So what are you guys going to do now?” I plug my tears, fixing my eyes on the pastel framed portrait on the far wall.
    Bec lets goes of my finger, exchanging it for Mum’s hand. I squeeze tightly onto a lifeless toy bear who’s accompanying me to theatre.
    â€œSee you Ma,” I blubber, turning my head to get a kiss on the cheek. A kiss that I’d once wiped off – embarrassed.
    â€œYou’ll be fine, Em,” Mum tries to reassure me, but her shaky soft voice is a dead giveaway that what happens now is totally out of her control.
    At 10.35 a bubbly nurse enters suddenly with a clipboard.
    â€œYou all ready Emma?” she asks casually. I gulp the tears down and nod hesitantly.
    A wheelie stretcher soon emerges, pushed by two males wearing scrubs and shower caps that match mine. They ask me a checklist of questions like, “Do you know what procedure you’re having today?”, “What part of your body are we operating on?” and “What’s your birthdate?” They cross-reference with the details on my wrist band. Convinced this is me, they instruct me to lie down.
    The cot sides slide upwards. The bed is turned and I’m wheeled away. I see my sisters huddled at Mum’s side. My dad comes with me to hold my hand while they put me to sleep. I feel like a wuss but don’t care.
    Once inside the cold theatre all I see is faces in blue shower caps and facemasks. I smell disinfectant. Beeping sounds surround me. I taste tears, salty tears. I clench Dad’s fist hard and the last thing I feel is a cold sharp sensation creeping up my arm.

Chapter 13
    Things Don’t Go According to Plan
    My diary writing ceased there. The next part of my journey is put together with excerpts from my mum’s diary, Dad’s regular ‘Emma Updates’ and the recollections of my sister Bec and my friend Kiri.
    Medical letter
    Excerpt from Professor Michael Morgan’s letter dated 27th June 2005 to Melbourne neurosurgeon Mr John McMahon
    Thank you for referring Miss Gee. As you know Emma was diagnosed with a right pontine arteriovenous malformation. She was admitted to Dalcross Hospital for definitive management of this lesion.
    On 17 June 2005, under general anaesthesia and with the aid of frameless stereotaxy, she underwent a retrosigmoid craniotomy, mastoidectomy and partial temporal free bone flap craniotomy. The transverse and sigmoid sinuses were able to be isolated and, immediately in front of the vein of Labbe, the transverse sinus was ligated and divided with the dural opening both above and below the tentorium extending across to the free edge of the tentorium. This enabled further retraction forward of the sigmoid sinus, after the mastoidectomy, to facilitate an approach to the arteriovenous malformation. The AVM could be identified on the pial surface of the pons with clear evidence of surrounding haematoma. The arteriovenous malformation was resected on its margin and it was disappointing to see that the margin was not as well demarcated as many are in the brainstem. The AVM resection was complete and Emma went to Intensive Care.
    Bec remembers …
    And then there was the waiting. Tick. Tick. Tick. Coffee. Tick. Tick. Tick. Banana bread. Tick. Tick. Tick. Talk to Mum or Kate about something. Tick. Tick. Tick. Sneeze. Tick. Tick. Tick. Look out the window. Yes, there was the waiting. Oh, and Dad’s mobile phone. It sat in his hands like some crystal ball that was to throw some news, some future, some ‘what would be’ at us. It told us nothing so we went back to the hospital and played some more of