Goodbye Dex - a short love affair

I’m one week post-op. My head’s still tender. My brain feels swollen with silence and static. Everything’s slow; standing up, brushing my teeth, even just getting out of bed takes effort and a cane. Recovery is not graceful. It’s humbling, fragile, and at times, terrifying.

But through all this, there’s been one consistent comfort: dexamethasone.

For the past few days, there have been two happy hours in my life; one in the morning and one in the afternoon when I get to take my dose. It’s a steroid, meant to suppress inflammation and give my brain some breathing room. And it works. I feel it. Or maybe I just believe I feel it. Either way, it helps. The moment I swallow the tablet, a calm hits. My thoughts sharpen, the pressure softens, and I feel, just for a while, like I’m still me.

It’s like a reset button. A pause in the heaviness. It’s hard to explain the kind of psychological dependence that builds in such a short time, but there’s something unnervingly seductive about a drug that makes your brain feel like it’s floating above its own trauma.

Today, I took my last tablet. I’m off it now. And I’m scared.

Not in an “I’m going to relapse” kind of way because I’ve never had issues with addiction. But there’s something darker that creeps in when the thing that’s been carrying you suddenly stops. You realise how reliant you’ve become. Not just physically, but emotionally. It’s like breaking up with someone who kept you safe when you couldn’t trust your own body.

I don’t know what tomorrow’s going to feel like.

I’m trying to prepare for it. I’m stocked with the other med: the painkillers, the anti-seizure tablets, the sleep aids. But dexamethasone was different. It didn’t just numb or sedate — it helped me feel like I could participate in the day.

Now, I’m about to find out what happens without it.

Recovery isn’t linear. I know that. I know the body recalibrates. I know inflammation can subside and that the brain has a strange way of restoring itself over time. But when you’re in the thick of it and the scaffolding gets pulled away, that truth doesn’t bring much comfort.

Tonight, I’m hoping for sleep. I’m hoping for calm. I’m hoping my brain doesn’t revolt without its little steroid safety net.

This is the hard breakup I didn’t see coming. But like all breakups, I know it’s a step forward. I just hope the ground underneath holds me.

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Two Days, A Lifetime Changed: My Brain Surgery Story