Today marks a tough anniversary for me, but with a happy ending. 
Four years ago today, I was on the floor, where I'd collapsed the day before. I was within feet of two phones, but did not have the strength to reach up for them. My landline was blowing up with calls every few seconds. I could tell the answering machine was picking up, but I couldn't hear its callers. My cats, especially Joy Noelle, were baffled by why Mommy was on the floor; she'd check in with me every few minutes.
At some point I realized I was going to die--and I was totally at peace with that. There was no fear, no sorrow, no regrets. I knew I had told the people closest to me that I love them. Weeks earlier, I had updated my will and trust. Everything was in order.
From the phone blowing up...at some point I said to myself, I know what's coming. And it did. The Arcadia police banged on my window, setting off the alarm; they were shouting to be heard. I managed a 'yes' when they asked if I needed help. They broke down my kitchen door. Police and firefighters and paramedics swarmed through the house, terrifying my poor cats, who did a great job of finding safe places to hide.
Several of my relatives, including my out-of-state daughter, had been trying to reach me. [A year later I finally listened to their messages; it was heart-wrenching. The last message was my aunt saying 'okay, we're calling the police.'] My daughter logged in to my ADT account at some point, and saw that the alarm hadn't been turned off for a few days; definitely not normal. She's the one who called the police, but only managed to get out 'my mom' before breaking down sobbing; my son-in-law took over, giving the police my info.
From that point forward, my memory fades in and out. I remember being put in the ambulance, but not the drive to the hospital; I remember being run into an ER bay, and doctors and nurses swarming around me. The nurses started to cut off my shirt; I managed to say 'no' and they propped me up and took it off. Everything's very fuzzy after that.
In the days that followed, partially from my own recall but largely from my family and doctors, I know I was in the ICU for a week; I know I had cardiac failure, renal failure, and respiratory failure. Being immobile on the floor for 24 hours caused rhabdomyolysis, a very severe problem where skeletal tissue breaks down, enters the bloodstream, then wreaks havoc on the kidneys.
I was told that had it not been for getting treatment when I did, I would've died within three hours. It was sepsis. That was the culprit. The ER physicians had the knowledge and foresight to start IV antibiotics and fluids immediately, instead of waiting for lab results--that's what saved my life. Had they waited, well, I wouldn't be typing this.
One day I made a feeble attempt to reach for my hairbrush on the bedside table. A nurse ran over and put my brush out of reach and said, 'you're not allowed to brush your hair! The exertion could trigger cardiac arrest.' Who knew?
There's much more, including a 10x8cm liver abscess, seven surgeries, intractable vomiting, surgical implantation of a J-tube for feeding, multiple central lines/PICC lines. Six months of continuous IV antibiotics, fluids, morphine, and nutrition got me well enough to go home. Then a few more months of in-home RN visits, physical therapists, bathing aides, and I was well enough to continue recovering on my own, with frequent visits [in my wheelchair] to my doctor. [My live-in helper has been here since I came home.]
I was humbled by many things that happened along the way. Being too weak to use a bedpan, I was in diapers. At first, I was mortified by having people cleaning me up after pooping...I kept saying "I'm sorry...", but the CNAs kept telling me there's nothing to apologize about. I always said 'thank you' when they were done. One of the CNAs I got to know pretty well. As he was cleaning me up and changing my diaper, he told me all about his ugly recent divorce, and how he'd thought she was really the one... I was on a 2-hour turn schedule, since I couldn't move myself. I was so grateful for the care I received.
It was well over two years before I had the strength to get back online, and even then I just barely dabbled with checking in here, then realizing I still wasn't up to it. I now happily spend all day on my Android devices, plus some time on my main computer.
I can never say enough about the doctors, nurses, CNAs, and physical therapists who took care of me. Not all doctors would've started the aggressive treatment they did, as quickly as they did. With sepsis, there's an actual timetable--they can calculate how much longer one would live without treatment. Three hours. That was mine.
I have Post-Sepsis Syndrome, but I'm basically okay with it. Considering the alternative.
At this point, my doctors have said it's unlikely I'll improve further. But it's okay. I'm content with my life, grateful for everything I have, and figure if this is as good as it's going to get, it's okay.
Four years ago today, I was on the floor, where I'd collapsed the day before. I was within feet of two phones, but did not have the strength to reach up for them. My landline was blowing up with calls every few seconds. I could tell the answering machine was picking up, but I couldn't hear its callers. My cats, especially Joy Noelle, were baffled by why Mommy was on the floor; she'd check in with me every few minutes.
At some point I realized I was going to die--and I was totally at peace with that. There was no fear, no sorrow, no regrets. I knew I had told the people closest to me that I love them. Weeks earlier, I had updated my will and trust. Everything was in order.
From the phone blowing up...at some point I said to myself, I know what's coming. And it did. The Arcadia police banged on my window, setting off the alarm; they were shouting to be heard. I managed a 'yes' when they asked if I needed help. They broke down my kitchen door. Police and firefighters and paramedics swarmed through the house, terrifying my poor cats, who did a great job of finding safe places to hide.
Several of my relatives, including my out-of-state daughter, had been trying to reach me. [A year later I finally listened to their messages; it was heart-wrenching. The last message was my aunt saying 'okay, we're calling the police.'] My daughter logged in to my ADT account at some point, and saw that the alarm hadn't been turned off for a few days; definitely not normal. She's the one who called the police, but only managed to get out 'my mom' before breaking down sobbing; my son-in-law took over, giving the police my info.
From that point forward, my memory fades in and out. I remember being put in the ambulance, but not the drive to the hospital; I remember being run into an ER bay, and doctors and nurses swarming around me. The nurses started to cut off my shirt; I managed to say 'no' and they propped me up and took it off. Everything's very fuzzy after that.
In the days that followed, partially from my own recall but largely from my family and doctors, I know I was in the ICU for a week; I know I had cardiac failure, renal failure, and respiratory failure. Being immobile on the floor for 24 hours caused rhabdomyolysis, a very severe problem where skeletal tissue breaks down, enters the bloodstream, then wreaks havoc on the kidneys.
I was told that had it not been for getting treatment when I did, I would've died within three hours. It was sepsis. That was the culprit. The ER physicians had the knowledge and foresight to start IV antibiotics and fluids immediately, instead of waiting for lab results--that's what saved my life. Had they waited, well, I wouldn't be typing this.
One day I made a feeble attempt to reach for my hairbrush on the bedside table. A nurse ran over and put my brush out of reach and said, 'you're not allowed to brush your hair! The exertion could trigger cardiac arrest.' Who knew?
There's much more, including a 10x8cm liver abscess, seven surgeries, intractable vomiting, surgical implantation of a J-tube for feeding, multiple central lines/PICC lines. Six months of continuous IV antibiotics, fluids, morphine, and nutrition got me well enough to go home. Then a few more months of in-home RN visits, physical therapists, bathing aides, and I was well enough to continue recovering on my own, with frequent visits [in my wheelchair] to my doctor. [My live-in helper has been here since I came home.]
I was humbled by many things that happened along the way. Being too weak to use a bedpan, I was in diapers. At first, I was mortified by having people cleaning me up after pooping...I kept saying "I'm sorry...", but the CNAs kept telling me there's nothing to apologize about. I always said 'thank you' when they were done. One of the CNAs I got to know pretty well. As he was cleaning me up and changing my diaper, he told me all about his ugly recent divorce, and how he'd thought she was really the one... I was on a 2-hour turn schedule, since I couldn't move myself. I was so grateful for the care I received.
It was well over two years before I had the strength to get back online, and even then I just barely dabbled with checking in here, then realizing I still wasn't up to it. I now happily spend all day on my Android devices, plus some time on my main computer.
I can never say enough about the doctors, nurses, CNAs, and physical therapists who took care of me. Not all doctors would've started the aggressive treatment they did, as quickly as they did. With sepsis, there's an actual timetable--they can calculate how much longer one would live without treatment. Three hours. That was mine.
I have Post-Sepsis Syndrome, but I'm basically okay with it. Considering the alternative.
At this point, my doctors have said it's unlikely I'll improve further. But it's okay. I'm content with my life, grateful for everything I have, and figure if this is as good as it's going to get, it's okay.
