This is my story. I don’t remember much of it, but I guess you can say I had a life-changing experience. I almost died, but I am here enjoying the gift of more time. I will never again underestimate the gift of waking up.
I hope my story may help someone someday. I can tell you that if someone didn’t see something coming, it was me. I didn’t know, even when it came.
Those who read my columns know I was deep in preparations for Christmas. I had much yet to do and a thorough list of obligations. I love the Christmas season and was just getting warmed up.
On Dec. 7, I attended a Christmas party for my church women’s group. I made a cherry crumble, enjoyed spending time with my friends and went home. I noticed that the right side of my neck was sore.
On Dec. 8, I drove to church and ushered (counting money). I talked with friends. I planned to return to church in two hours to attend a concert I was excited about.
My neck felt more painful. I asked a friend who is a retired doctor to look at it. She felt it and gave me a serious look, telling me to call my doctor the next day.
Sitting with friends, I suddenly got up and told them I had to go but would see them in a few hours. But I didn’t. I don’t remember leaving or anything much after this moment, as I must have been on autopilot or something.
I started having intestinal problems, a fairly common experience for me and usually nothing to worry about. I was trying to keep fluids in me. My neck hurt.
When I talked to my daughters the next day, they told me I had informed them about not feeling great and what my friend had said about my neck. They urged me to be sure and call the doctor.
For two days, they told me that, and yet, the thought seemed to disappear. Like so many seniors, I live alone. No one saw me Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday.
I recall standing by my refrigerator, getting out some iced tea, when I heard pounding on my door, and my daughter, Lara, came in. Frustrated, she asked me why I hadn’t picked up the phone or called the doctor yet. I basically shrugged. I didn’t know, I didn’t know.
Laren called the advice nurse, and they told her to take me to the ER. Lara didn’t think it was serious, but since I had been hospitalized twice the year before with dehydration issues, it was a good idea.
Maybe I recall getting in the car. I remember that the ER was crowded. A teenage boy groaned with a migraine, and I thought, why don’t they give him some pain medication? A young girl cried on her mother’s lap. A dog had bitten her in the face.
My story changes here, for this is when I evidently checked out, and the drama began for my daughters.
Everything seemed to happen instantly: the noticing of my quickly swelling neck resulted in an attempt to get me into surgery and the medical personnel having to sedate me so I could be intubated.
A moment more would’ve been the trachea tube, and Lara was told that I didn’t have another minute. I knew nothing for almost another week as I awoke to confusion, an out-of-time and space experience.
I was given the drug propofol, infamous for being the drug that killed Michael Jackson so many years ago. It is extraordinarily strong and induces immediate sedation, but it comes with side effects—frightening side effects.
While my daughters dealt with reality, I was trapped in a horrible world. I was taken off the sedative after 36 hours, but the side effects only grew worse.
I suffered from delusions and paranoia and experienced small snippets of reality that made no sense, at least to me. I knew I was cold and in a strange place, but reality, as I knew it, didn’t exist to me.
Somehow, I had contracted an amazingly fast-growing sepsis type of infection that entered the tissue around my spine, between my neck and thorax, and lungs. It was slowly, and then very quickly, cutting off my ability to breathe as it swelled in a suffocating grip.
I was lucky. I am told that if my daughter had come the next day, she would have found me dead. The quick sedation, intubation and care in the intensive care unit saved me. I am grateful on such a profound level and wish I could explain how it feels.
Finally home, I am on a long road to recovery. It will take a while to get my full cognition back. I have physical therapy, and it is hard. I lost muscle tone, making me feel like a wet rag.
Nurses come to visit. I am trying to master using a walker. I am blessed with amazing daughters. Lara almost lives here.
I have a few points to share. If you live alone, try to set up a telephone tree where you check in with each other. If it seems strange, and they haven’t returned your calls, quickly visit.
Sometimes, as much as we like to avoid the thought, we may not be the best judge of how we are. Learn the danger signs to look for, and don’t wait to call your doctor or ask for help. I wasn’t aware I was ill, and that is a dangerous thing.
Since I have written two books on death, at least my family had a fair idea of my choices. I had just recently talked to my daughters about my service choices. I have a notebook with many of my wishes.
I know this is all so unpleasant, but I can tell you from the horse’s mouth that you may be surprised by how the world can change. If you have bridges to mend, please mend them. Release the negative and feel lighter.
I lost the Christmas season on many levels but was given an immense gift. I woke up, and yes, the sky looks bluer, my roses pinker, and a strawberry tastes sweeter. I am thrilled to have been given this extra time.
I almost feel like Scrooge waking up to find out he hadn’t missed Christmas Day. Being alive is such an opportunity. Every morning you wake up, you have another whole shot at this thing called life. What did I do this December? I woke up!
(Editor’s note: Diana asked this message be relayed to her readers: “I am back in the hospital, fighting as hard as I can to kick this thing, and I will be back writing as soon as I can.”)
You can reach Diana at dingramthurston21@gmail.com
