I could have died. It was about this time in the evening (8pm), one year ago, that I was rushed by ambulance to the Emergency Room at Tri-City Medical Center. It wasn’t my first time riding in an ambulance, and it definitely wasn’t my first visit to the ER, but this experience was like nothing I had ever been through in my life.
Just four days earlier, on December 30, 2014, I went in for a scheduled operation. My doctor would be shaving bone off of my femurs on both sides to alleviate the pain I was having in my hips from constant sitting. It’s harder than you might think to sit on your butt all day! I was worried about the surgery and about the complications that may result from being anesthetized and intubated. I was afraid that this surgery wouldn’t help me and that it might even make the pain worse.
To make a long story short I pulled through like a champion, getting off the ventilator as soon as I opened my eyes. The pain from the surgery wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. The worst part of that day was when my mom came into the recovery room and asked me how I felt, I replied, “Like a BOSS!” but she heard “Like a BOX!” and she posted that box quote on Facebook… Ugh… Moms, right? But, overall, I marked the day as a success.
On January 3, 2015, I got to go home. Thinking back on it, I don’t remember leaving the hospital. I vaguely remember feeling nauseous and generally awful, but with pain medication I usually don’t feel well, so there was no reason to be concerned. My symptoms got worse upon arriving home. I was vomiting and incoherent, my skin got all yellow (like a Simpson) and even my eyes were yellow.
I just wanted to lay down. My friend, Rob, put a movie on and sat next to me while I rested. I was in and out of consciousness, moaning in pain. The more time that passed, the stranger my noises got, to the point where it was just disturbing. At first, no one knew it (we deal with a lot of medical emergencies, but nothing like this) but it became apparent that I was having a seizure. The 9-1-1 call was immediate.
I don’t remember having a seizure. I don’t remember riding in the ambulance. I don’t remember the look on my mother’s face when the doctor told her that I had overdosed on acetaminophen, that my liver was failing, and that I wouldn’t make it through the night.
I can only see foggy glimpses of that night and the days that followed. I can only remember the good things, which is good. I remember the love. I remember the people I love visiting me. I remember my mom lightly stroking my forehead like she has done to comfort me since I was a baby. I remember my sisters holding my hand, my brother telling me it would be ok. I remember my friend singing “Love is an Open Door” to me. I remember Aunts, Uncles, and Cousins, smiling at me with tears in their eyes, and kissing my forehead. Begging me to hold on, to fight, begging God not to take me yet.
Here I am, a year later, with my liver, the same liver that was almost completely dead last year. Much to the surprise of my team of doctors, my liver began to function again. It took a year for me to really delve into all the feelings I went through during this whole ordeal. For me to realize and completely comprehend and appreciate that I was given a gift and that God wants me here for a reason. I am not certain of what His reason is, but I am trying my best to figure it out. In the meantime, I have a new awareness of the fact that I am completely blessed. I could have died last year, but I didn’t.
bright eyes & pink skies 