The Deep Brain Stimulator for Epilepsy

It was a whirlwind of activity after making the decision in May to move forward with the Deep Brain Stimulator (DBS) for Robert. 

Sure, we started thinking about it three years ago but once we made the decision this year it was a flurry of pre-op appointments, MRIs, more MRIs, CTs, surgeries, and post-op appointments. 

I didn’t expect as many pre-op appointments so consider yourself warned if you decide on the DBS. Robert also ended up having three MRIs which is two more than we planned for. Robert cannot lay flat on his back without pain (which I mentioned when making the appointment) but apparently that was interrupted as “oh, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” 

Well, no. That means he will not be able to lay still. Really. He was squirmy throughout the entire procedure which made it last even longer than it should have. It also didn’t give the neurosurgeon good enough pictures to map the DBS placement. 

We tried for MRI #2 (with sedation this time) but Robert fell at home the day of his appointment and was so weak I couldn’t get him in the car to get to the appointment. Through a herculean effort by the surgery and MRI schedulers, they got him in two days later. I arranged for a transport van so I wouldn’t have to count on Robert’s ability to get in and out of the car. 

They tried MRI #2 with a light sedative which didn’t work so they had to completely put him under. Finally, the MRI was done! 

Surgery was scheduled for the following Monday morning (again, we relied on a transport van and ended up using a couple of different transport services for all of Robert’s appointments and surgeries just to ensure we got to each one). As Robert was getting prepped for surgery the surgeon came in and said the MRI wasn’t done properly (the surgeon ordered three particular scans and only two of them were done). He couldn’t place the DBS without another MRI and he wasn’t sure if the MRI could be done that morning because of all the moving parts (holding a surgery room for post-MRI, getting the anesthesia team on board to put him under for the MRI, and figuring out if there was even an MRI machine available!). 

It's 6:00 a.m., it’s taken a huge effort to get Robert to this point and now we may not be able to do the surgery today? I wondered if this was a sign. Maybe we shouldn’t do the surgery after all. I stared dumbfounded at the surgeon. A few tears of frustration leaked out. He was very apologetic, the nurses said they never had seen this happen before, everyone said how the MRI team never makes these mistakes and it was unheard of to see this happen. 

I get it. Mistakes happen. The whole MRI situation was chaos anyway so maybe the techs were overworked that day trying to squeeze us in and just got sloppy. Whatever the reason, the end result was Robert had to get another MRI before he could get his surgery. 

The surgeon was impressively calm talking to me about the situation but I could tell he was on a mission. I don’t know what he did or how he did it (or if anyone got fired over this ordeal) but he made the MRI happen. Robert was rushed off to get an MRI with the plan to do the surgery immediately afterwards. When Robert was wheeled away, the surgeon told me he was not even sure the hospital would hold open the surgery room for as long as he needed but he was going to give it a shot. 

That was surgery number one. The MRI got done (properly), the surgery room was held open and Robert got part one done of the DBS implant. 

I am incredibly fortunate that none of this rattles Robert. He doesn’t worry, he just always goes with the flow with a smile for everyone no matter what is going on around him. 

Usually, patients are in the hospital for just one night after the first surgery. Robert stayed three nights due to chest congestion and his white blood count going up. I was worried about aspiration pneumonia and insisted he get put on antibiotics before it got out of control but the doctors wouldn’t do it. (I was so insistent that a nurse practitioner put him on them for a day before the doctor overrode her.) 

The DBS is implanted in two stages. The leads are placed in the brain during the first surgery and the battery is placed in the chest and hooked to the leads during the second surgery. 

The second surgery was much less eventful – oh, well, aside from the earthquake that happened during it. Apparently, we felt it in the waiting room, the nurses felt it during surgery but the surgeon didn’t notice it at all. Because, apparently, he has one setting: cool as a cucumber. 

The last piece of the DBS process is to have it activated. After Robert’s second surgery, we were sent home with a box containing everything needed to activate the device. The surgeon doesn’t activate it as that’s done in the neurologist’s office. The appointment should be within a week of the second surgery but ours was six weeks out. The surgeon was going to try to work some more magic and get us in sooner with Robert’s neurologist. 

Between the surgeon’s message, my calls and the luck of the neurologist not being called for jury duty, Robert was able to get an earlier appointment. 

DBS activation was on the books! 

My next post will be about activating the device but I also want to answer any questions you might have about the Deep Brain Stimulator. I’m not an expert, of course, but as a caregiver who has gone through this with my brother I can possibly address some concerns or questions you have if you are considering the DBS. 

Hail Mary

Robert will be getting the Deep Brain Stimulator (DBS) at the end of June. 

It feels like a full circle moment since at the time we started caring for him, he actually had a Deep Brain Stimulator already implanted. The DBS wasn’t yet approved by the FDA but he was in a study through the UCSF Epilepsy Center. Unfortunately, he developed an infection in the area where the stimulator part is implanted in the chest and it had to be removed. His infection was so severe that they also needed to do a separate surgery to remove the leads that are implanted in the brain and he couldn’t continue to participate in the study.  

It was disappointing but at least he survived the infection. (Robert has cheated death more times than I can even count.) 

Year after the device was removed I found out that Robert was in the part of the study with an active DBS and that it had helped reduce his seizures. The DBS was eventually approved by the FDA for treatment of severe epilepsy so his epileptologist suggested it as something to consider for Robert. 

We talked to the surgeon in 2018 and, because it was such a hectic year with my husband’s health issues (not to mention me having a stroke that year!), I put the DBS on hold.  

Robert continued to decline: he had frequent clusters of seizures, reactions to medications, hyper-ammonia from medications, worsening of mobility, functioning and memory (a result of a combination of seizures, medications and his neurodegenerative process). 

The doctors tried new medications; various doses of medications; weekly physical therapy. 

Richard and I tried a home caregiver (fantastic but she can’t help with Robert’s worsening physical mobility); we adjusted how we care for Robert (forget about daily baths or even street clothes); bought a new bath chair and a bedside commode. We learned tricks from the physical therapists on how to move him without hurting ourselves. We learned from the hospital nurses how to change him in bed when he was having a really bad day. We have a script for a hoyer lift. 

The doctors adjusted to the decline. We adjusted to the decline. Robert continued to say he was doing “super, amazing, excellent and great” and didn’t even seem to notice a decline. (Only rarely does he get frustrated with his inability to stand or transfer.)

Robert’s support team has a deep bench (as they say in football) and we made as many adjustments as we could but, at this point, we need a Hail Mary. 

I’m a huge fan of college football so I know a Hail Mary can work and it’s so exciting when it does. But that period when the ball leaves the quarterback’s hand and is sailing through the air and you don’t know if it’s going to be caught – that’s when you hold your breath and pray. 

Robert has prayed his entire life for his seizures to go away. 

Moving forward with the DBS is probably the last chance we will have to give him that. 

I personally don’t think it will completely take away his seizures but I do hope this device will give him better seizure control. My hope is that it will allow us to reduce Robert’s medications which would then help with his mental fogginess and, maybe - just maybe - even improve his mobility. 

That’s my hope. Maybe it’s more of a wish. It is probably as likely to happen as Robert’s prayers for zero seizures but I need to give him this chance. 

I need to try the Hail Mary.  

We will worry later about what comes next if this doesn’t work. 

For now, we have one more chance for a win. 

Time to hold our breath and pray. 

The Vaccine with a Side of Guilt

It's taken me a few days to post this because, well, I don't like being judged. (Just wait until I post this on Twitter!) 

I am prone to feeling guilty about everything anyway but this might be something others can relate to so will risk the judging. 

Because Richard and I are IHSS certified in California in order to care for Robert, we are eligible to get the vaccine. Richard got his appointment first but I had trouble getting one (mainly because I completed the survey incorrectly!). Rachel & Matt helped me secure an appointment when more sites opened up so I got my first shot last Friday. I definitely don't feel like I should be in the same category as "real" healthcare workers but I have a letter from IHSS that says otherwise. But, you know, guilt. 

What I feel really guilty about is that Robert also got his shot. The nurse who gave Richard his shot said Robert would be eligible under the care home category (which, in California, is in the same category as the healthcare workers). We're not actually a board & care home but the nurse said he qualifies. So Robert and I had our appointments on the same day. I was prepared to hand over my IHSS letter. No one asked for it. I was prepared to answer questions about Robert's eligibility and accept he wasn't eligible but there weren't any questions. 

We both got our shots. (And Robert got a chocolate shake afterwards for being such a good sport about it.)

I got a heaping serving of guilt. I feel guilty that maybe the nurse gave Richard wrong info and Robert really doesn't qualify; I feel guilty that I believed the nurse even though it didn't seem quite right; I feel guilty that we got our shots before others who need a shot got theirs; I feel guilty as a mom getting my shot before my kids get theirs (I recognize that as run-of-the-mill, typical mom guilt).  

So, yeah, guilt. 

I don't know if anyone else feels guilty about getting the shot before others do but I'm guessing there are a lot of us. Hoping the supply and distribution of the vaccine ramps up so everyone who wants a shot can get one. 

And I can stop feeling guilty! 

Looking for Answers

Something is going on with Robert that I haven’t yet figured out. 

During the eleven years Richard and I have cared for Robert, there has been a dramatic decline in his functionality and mobility. It isn’t a straight downward decline but more like going down a staircase. Robert is stable for a while, then gets sick and loses some functionality and goes down to another step. He stays at that step for a while then gets sick again and we repeat the process. 

In the last eleven years we have gone down a lot of steps. 

Keeping Robert at baseline means doing my best to prevent him from getting sick. Seems easy enough but he gets sick not just because he picks up germs from other people but because he has a swallow disorder and easily aspirates which turns into pneumonia (which leads to another step down the staircase). 

Robert’s bouts of decreased mobility are usually explained by three things: the flu, aspiration pneumonia or as an indicator of seizures (the prodromal phase).  

He has very specific symptoms when he is getting sick. Increased pulse rate, decreased blood pressure, lots of confusion and weakness making it difficult to stand, walk or even transfer. If he has the flu or pneumonia he also runs a fever. 

When his seizures are coming he has a high pulse rate and he’s confused. 

Once we figure out what is causing these symptoms we can move on to treatment (rescue meds for seizures and usually the hospital for aspiration pneumonia or the flu since that usually turns into pneumonia). 

I love puzzles but this can get complicated. 

Robert started having worsening mobility and confusion about a month ago. He is acting just like he always does when he is getting sick. 

However, his vitals are fine. His blood pressure is lower than normal but I attributed that to his overall weakness. 

Since March, Robert has left the house only for physical therapy and for his flu shot so I knew it was highly unlikely he picked up COVID-19 or the flu. 

He has had more frequent aspirations and choking episodes but he would run a fever if that was turning into pneumonia. 

He had seizures one day during all this but not since. 

There is something wrong but it’s not his usual three issues. 

His GP moved back east and Robert was not set up with a new doctor yet so I reached out to his movement neurologist. She keeps an eye on his parkinsonism and knows how fragile he is. She speculated that he may have a urinary tract infection (UTI). This would explain the confusion and the mobility issues! She’s a genius! Robert would be good as new in no time! 

Catching the urine was a whole other issue but I finally got some. Just a little but enough to run the test. 

That came back normal. 

Ugh! I was really hoping for a UTI! (I know that probably sounds ludicrous to anyone other than a caregiver but I just wanted an explanation.)  The neurologist said it is possible “this represents progression in his underlying neurodegenerative process.”

No. That’s not what I want to hear. I want to find a problem that we can fix. 

I was so frustrated that we didn’t have any answers that I asked his neurologist to run bloodwork to see if he had an indication of an infection and also asked for another urinalysis. Maybe if I got more urine for the test it would be more accurate. She obliged. 

In the meantime, I set Robert up with a new GP. 

I took him in for the bloodwork. Later that day, I was able to get a full cup of urine! I was never so happy to see so much pee! I rushed to the lab and got there fifteen minutes before they closed. PLEASE let this give us the answers we need! 

The bloodwork came back mostly normal. The urinalysis took longer but came back Friday night. There were quite a few abnormal readings but the neurologist said it wasn’t a UTI and handed me over to the new GP to follow up. 

In the meantime, Richard and I have had some very difficult days trying to get him up and around (Robert is a big guy). Richard and I struggle to move Robert around. It takes both of us to get him out of bed and into a wheelchair then over to the bathroom. I’ve given up on dressing him in anything other than his pjs. (Luckily, we’re in the middle of a pandemic and wearing pjs all day every day actually isn’t all that unusual now.) 

Since we can’t risk hurting ourselves we decided to try new routines and found one that is working! We are changing Robert’s brief in the morning while he’s in bed. We give him breakfast and have him drink water and juice and watch television to wake up a little bit before trying to get out of bed. That is helping! He is definitely stronger and more mobile after eating and drinking. Plus, he has a newfound love of Star Trek and who doesn’t love breakfast in bed?! 

It was such a relief to find something that makes even a little bit of a difference. Just making this one change helps us so we are not hurting ourselves and it helps Robert because not being able to move is getting frustrating for him. 

We still have to find the underlying issue and my hope is that it is something that can be fixed. I worry about kidney damage from all of the medications he is on but hope it’s something simple like dehydration, which we can fix. 

The puzzle of Robert continues but so does our persistence in finding answers so we can slow the inevitable steps down that darn staircase.