Don't Forget the Sunscreen

Cancer Diary

Don’t Forget the Sunscreen

Don’t forget the sunscreen. An odd directive from your neurosurgeon. I was given a pre-op medication to “light up” my brain tumor, enabling maximum removal. Interestingly, a side effect of this medication is any light, even from a lamp or fluorescent hallway light, will cause an extreme sunburn. A sunburn all of the O.R. nurses assured me I did not want.

“Bring sunscreen, but wait until after surgery to put it on,” were my instructions. (Which tells me a lot of patients probably put it on before surgery.)

The lights in my hospital room were turned off for 48 hours. My daughter brought in a small book light we set up in the bathroom so I didn’t have to “go” in the dark. Nurses even used a small flashlight when they came in to check my vitals. 

I had to walk right after surgery. Several times a day a nurse or a physical therapist or my daughters walked me through the hospital corridors. To make these walks I had to sunscreen as if I were going to the beach for the day, then shroud myself from head to foot with a sheet. I looked like a ghostly specter roaming the halls. It was October, right before Halloween, so at least I was in season. I’m pretty sure I scared the hell out of the other patients on my floor. 

Even when I was taken for testing and being pushed from floor to floor and tower to tower in my hospital bed I had to be fully covered. Read: Sheet over my head. I looked like a dead body headed for the morgue. 

Believe it or not, it wasn’t too bad having to walk immediately after brain surgery. I was deemed a “fall risk,” and I had the wristband and color-coded hospital gown to prove it. My oldest daughter, know for her penchant for bad Dad Jokes, said she preferred to say I was an “autumn risk.” (Insert groan here.) Adding to the danger of falling was the loss of vision in my left eye, no depth perception, no peripheral awareness on the left. Then add the sheet draped over my head and obscuring the vision in my good eye. Plus the dimmed lighting in the hallway to prevent the sunburn. I think I am painting a picture of a pretty sad walk (or a hilarious walk, depending on your sense of humor).

After the 48-hour sunburn risk was over and I no longer had to be sunscreened, shrouded, or in the dark I think the nurses and physical therapists were surprised to see I could actually walk without assistance. 

Who knew a risk of a severe sunburn would be part of my brain surgery experience? Don’t forget the sunscreen!