One Year Post Op

Exactly one year ago today, February 17^th, 2025, I woke up at 3:50 AM, got dressed, and made my way to the hospital where I would undergo surgery to remove a tumor from the base of my skull. I still have the alarm on my phone, and I keep it there so that at night when I am getting ready for the next day, I see it and remember how far I’ve come since my surgery.

Three days before my surgery (on Valentine’s Day) I was almost fired. The Department of Government Efficiency (commonly known as DOGE) made an announcement that every employee who was hired at the CDC less than a year ago was to be laid off. Early on the morning of February 14^th, I got word from my department head and my fellowship director that DOGE had made this decision; my employment would be terminated, and we would soon be getting an email confirming this later that day. All that day I went about my job as normally as I could and just waited for the email. At 4:30 PM I hadn’t heard anything and I got an invite for all hands meeting. We were told that some termination notices had gone out, some more may or may not go out, but there was no plan that had been articulated by DOGE to the agency leadership. The only thing that could be said at this time is that they did not know much of anything, but if you had not gotten an email you were still employed, but more termination emails may be going out in the coming days. There was no plan articulated by DOGE. A little after 5:00 PM, I turned my laptop off, packed it away in a safe spot, and told my wife where it was if she needed to ship it back to the CDC IT department. Normally this type of news (not knowing if I did or did not have a job) would have scared the living daylights out of me, but I was already feeling like this was the end for me. This possible firing felt like a final poetic jilt before I ascended to the afterlife. When my wife asked very kindly how I was doing I bluntly said that I had arranged to go on short term disability so no matter what, whether I was fired or not, whether I lived or died, there was no way I’d be thinking about my job for a while. In a weird way, the feelings about my surgery were already so overwhelming that the news about the DOGE cuts couldn’t have given me any additional stress.

Early on the morning of the 17^th, I made my way to the surgical suite where my family would wait while I was under the knife. I remember saying goodbye to everyone there, going to get dressed for the surgery, briefly chatting with the surgeons, getting my IV, and then I was out. (Editor/Wife’s note: Ray is incapable of “brief chats”- he spoke extensively with every unwitting medical professional who crossed his path- many looked at me with a knowing smile and said “medication is really hitting, huh?” “Oh no. He hasn’t had anything yet. This is always him.”) The surgery lasted ten or eleven hours, though I only felt like I was out for a few minutes. I woke up in an incredible amount of pain, and one of my first audible statements was an expletive laden commentary on the catheter that had been put in while I was under anesthesia (I’ll let you guess the exact words I said – but I was really miserable). Right after my surgery, before I went to the ICU, I went to get an MRI. I have only a hazy memory of this, but as I was being wheeled up to the MRI room I asked the man pushing me “wait, am I dead?”. His response was something along the lines of “think about it, you’re able to ask the question” which was a pretty good response. I am pretty sure if he had said “no, you’re alive!” I would have asked him to prove it.

My memories from the ICU are incredibly vivid. Even now when I replay my memories from that time, they feel familiar, like they happened just a few days ago. I remember talking with my cousin about living in Florida, asking a close family friend if she was excited about a possible career change, and asking my best friend about his kids (he said he loved being a dad, but he was sleep deprived). I remember making a joke about my extreme paleness when my sister walked in (I used more colorful language and she thought it was funny) and I remember my wife and one of the pastors from our church praying with me, which gave me some semblance of hope. I even remember making a “that’s what she said” joke to my nurse and then apologizing because it was so corny (I don’t remember if he laughed at me or with me, but I do remember that he laughed). While in the ICU, I got an incredible amount of good news. Most importantly, the tumor had been fully resected (medical jargon meaning it was completely removed). The morning after my surgery, my wife told me that I was not fired and neither was anyone else in my fellowship (she had my phone and we all have a group chat where they shared the news). I also had an incredible number of kind texts from friends and family wishing me well. I also had the best news of all which was that I was alive and the surgery had gone well! For the month leading up to the surgery I was almost certain I was going to die and the fact that I was recovering in the ICU meant I was wrong and life was still before me.

The pain was overwhelming. No amount of good news could have taken away the stinging sensation in my head or the extreme tenderness from the different tubes coming out of me. I had four IV’s in me (though only one was hooked up to a bag of fluid – the additional IVs were backups in case I crashed and needed to go back into surgery), as well as a drain out of my back, a drain out of my leg (the surgeons had removed muscle and fat from my leg to graft it on to my nasal passage after they removed the tumor), and (for only an hour or so) a catheter. In addition to this my nose was packed, so I could only breathe through my mouth. Not being able to breathe out of my nose meant my mouth was constantly dry and I could only sleep for one or two hours at a time before waking up. The lack of sleep made my entire body feel tense. Everything was extremely uncomfortable, and as much as I wanted to be present with the people who were around, I really just wanted to not feel pain and to sleep.

The human body is amazing in how much it can heal itself, but it can also be super gross. I got to experience both phenomena simultaneously. Some of the lessons I’ve learned through this experience have been complex, but in this time right after my surgery I came away with two very blunt life lessons: The first is that sleep is amazing. Not being able to sleep soundly was awful. Every small irritation grew worse and worse as my fatigue persisted. There are a lot of things in life that bring me joy, and every joy can be savored much more on a good night’s sleep.

The second lesson is that pain is real. There are ways to manage it, methods to ensure it doesn’t dominate your life, but pain cannot be completely avoided or indefinitely delayed. This is really hard to accept when your pain is absolutely raging like it was for me in the ICU. There are times when pain is so bad all you can do is just grip life and take every second as it comes. In these moments, compassion from others does make a difference. Usually that compassion doesn’t feel important, and it may not even register with the person in pain, but it matters. I am incredibly grateful for all the kindness from the people who visited me, as well as the good news I got while I was in the ICU. I am sure I didn’t look happy when I received the news, but I had something, even if just for a moment that I could focus on that wasn’t my pain, and for that I am incredibly grateful.

Looking forward, I have no idea what the next year will hold. I’m hopeful that some things change and some things stay the same. I hope to continue to lean into gratitude and the other changes this experience brought about. I should acknowledge that, while 2025 was difficult for me, it was one of the best years for our dog Neville. I was home constantly, and most of the time when I was home Neville was right next to me. He was an excellent therapy dog, and while I did not enjoy recovering from surgery, it was much easier with him constantly by me. I had no idea what to expect when I woke up on February 17^th, 2025. I was pretty miserable, but there were a few small glimmers of hope. Looking forward to the next year, those glimmers have grown and I am very hopeful for what may be in store. Fingers crossed I can spend just as much time with Neville this next year as I did last year.

This picture was taken soon after I got home from surgery - my eyes were still crossed as a result of the surgery. My vision eventually returned to normal by August of 2025.