that day I almost died...
Still, feel like crap. Make it through this photo session, take one last dose of Nyquil, sleep, and you'll be good to go. That was the plan for my Wednesday. I made it through the session, so tired and super excited for a nap. Really, isn't the sleeping part of being sick the best part? It's the only time I get to sleep all day and all night and not feel one bit of guilt about it. Good byes have been said, my favorite one year old has left the building, and I crawl into my cozy bed. Funny how one minute I'm laying down for a nap and the next an epic battle for my strength, for my life begins. What's even funnier, I didn't even realize it.
I'm not even sure I made it 10 minutes in bed before I had to get up. Something was not right. I used the potty and when I was finished I wiped a clot 3-4 inches from myself and thought, well that's not good. I went back to bed. Repeat every 10-20 minutes for about 2 hours. At this point I'm super annoyed because I just want to sleep, which clearly isn't happening. The epic mind game begins. You see I am that person, that mom, unless death is knocking on the door we are not going to see no silly doctor. Should I call, should I wait, what to do what to do. I know, how about if I jump into a huge ass vehicle, drive said vehicle to the store, buy some food, come home, eat said food, and decide then. As I'm frantically running through Publix looking for orange juice and a granola bar I'm having flash backs to 2nd grade-she's diabetic, if her blood sugar drops she needs juice, get her juice. I'm quite literally thinking this is what it feels like to be diabetic, to have your blood sugar plummet, to need your insulin so badly, to guzzle juice in the hopes it'll hold you over. I left the store with my salad, jumped in the car and headed home.
Everything is fine. I start eating, still using the restroom every 10-20 minutes, still passing alarmingly large clots, but everything is fine. As I eat I decide to wait it out through the rest of the day and call the doctor in the morning. All would be back to normal by then and life could go on. How often do we read stories with the most amazing glorious "God Spoke To Me" narratives. You know, the ones in which He proclaims, you are my child, no harm shall come to you, be not afraid for I will always be by your side. It is I who has been speaking to you all through the day and I will continue to speak to you all evening. Feel my touch, feel me all around you-filling this room with my spirit! He's ridden in on a cloud of peace and tranquility, everyone can "sense" something, it's the most beautiful amazing thing in the world. You've read them heard about them, right. Okay, well that did NOT happen. What did happen was I told myself I was okay, was going to take Kaleece to gym, would call the doctor in the morning, took a bite of salad, picked up the phone, and called the doctor. God did not ride in on a big fluffy white cloud of peace He very cleverly said, call the doctor which I did as if it had been my plan all along.
There is no greater joy in life than calling the appointment line at a military clinic. I decided women's health was the right option. I explain to the young lady what has transpired over the past several hours and she says, "I have no appointments today (it was 2:00 by now) but I can set you up in the morning with family practice." At this point I still don't fully grasp the severity of what is happening to me, but I do know family health is not who I want to talk to about this issue, how about you have the nurse call me which she does. I am again running through the adventures of my day when the nurse very politely puts me on hold, comes back and says she has spoken with the doctor and they feel I need to go to the ER. Two things are certain when dealing with medical and the military, if Motrin can't fix it a trip to the ER certainly will. The thought of spending the next 100 hours of my life rotting away in the ER waiting room has me so super excited. I call my friend, she agrees to come get me, but "I'm not staying". My younger two kids walk in the door and I tell them I have to go to the doctor, I throw $40 on the counter with instructions to make sure their brother buys dinner.
My friend arrives. She's one of those healthy people. The walk across my front yard to her car has me quite winded and I apologize for sounding as if I just finished up a marathon. We laugh about that, we laugh about her leather seats so any mess that may happen can easily be wiped up, we laugh about the 100 hour adventure in the waiting room so I can get some fluids pumped into me and sent home, we drive around the hospital a couple times trying to find the dang entrance. I go to check in and of course there's a 20 something dude sitting there. "I've got some heavy bleeding and clotting going on." He's clearly heard it before. My friend and I take a quick look around and realize it's going to be a long day-there is a crying newborn, a lady who appears to be at least 150, and about 76 other patients waiting their turn. We're guessing I'll be the 74th person to be seen. Okay, so they call me back to check my vitals. The triage nurse asks a few questions, checks my O2 levels and blood pressure. She gets up, says something and leaves. A few seconds later the door opens and I'm being taken back to a room. "but my friend is waiting" your friend is fine, we will get her let's go. Still, clueless as to the severity of what is happening. My friend sends a text like 15 minutes later "did they take you back" Umm, yes apparently bleeding to death is an actual emergency! Giggle giggle....
The nurse walks in with 8 vials in her hand. I counted, at least twice. Sure seems like a lot of blood to take from someone who is bleeding to death. The mood is light, we joke about my coloring. I assure her I'm normally the color of glue, not quite ghost she seems reassured or confused, maybe a little of both. It'll only took her two tries to get blood from me, I'm impressed. Out the door she goes and there I lay for over an hour. I really need to get up, I know at any moment I'll be completely covered in blood. Where is everyone!?! Yup, there it is. I find the call button, another nurse comes in. I'm crying, I'm embarrassed, I want to crawl in a hole, I'm yelling at her, I'm crying. She's super sweet, "it's blood, we all bleed, we've all seen blood." I get myself cleaned up (she actually gave me peroxide for my clothes, thank you! These are my favorite sweats and I would hate for them to be ruined!) and lay back down. We wait, maybe bleeding to death isn't an actual emergency. Finally, the doctor comes in and asks what's going on. "Oh you know just bleeding to death. Okay, so I'm probably not bleeding to death but there's a lot of bleeding going on". He looks at me and tells me based on my blood pressure, my heart rate and my coloring I'm not too far off. Still the severity of what is happening to me has not set in.
It seems as though I laid there for hours. Nobody around, just me my machines and the ceiling. I should have brought a book, I so could have finished Outlanders. I'm so cold. I'm staring at my blood pressure and reality is starting to sink in. 90/51 am I looking at the right number? Maybe I'm not looking at the right number. I am, the nurse said it was low. I'm so cold. My second panic attack begins. I start shivering, my son is sending texts asking when I'm coming home. I reply with a not to tonight, I love you all so very much. OMG! I was so very sure to make sure "I love you" was the last thing he read, I could die. Now, I'm having trouble breathing, I'm shivering, I'm looking at my machines, I could die. I'm going to die. This is it, this is how my life is going to end-all alone in the ER, dead with not a living breathing soul around me. I cannot breathe. I'm freaking out. I cannot talk. I am frantically hitting the call button. Nobody cares. I'm crying. A nurse comes in. My teeth are literally chattering, I'm so cold. She brings me like 15 blankets, wraps me up head to toe. I'm still crying, I'm apologizing, I can't breathe, I'm going to die. My BP 87/48, my heart rate 59 my hemoglobin 7.8 I'm going to die. She leaves. What if I had gone to gym? What if I would have waited it out through the night? Would I have killed my girls in a car accident? Would there have been chaos at the gym? Would I have fallen asleep for my kids to find me dead in bed? I pray that God wraps his loving arms around me, I'm talking to him out loud "please, fill this room with your presence, let me know you are here". I'm still crying, I'm coughing, I'm in the midst of an all out panic attack. Still no God on a white cloud with trumpets of peace and tranquility. I start telling myself to calm down. I start telling my self to breathe. I start telling myself to relax. I start telling myself I'm not going to die, God did not get you to the ER so you could die here. My breathing calms itself, I relax, and all is again right with the world. No trumpets, no amazing room filling God touched me moments, just a quiet whisper "you didn't get to the ER to die." A nurse comes in, I look at her and tell her my obit cannot read, she died in the ER, taken out by the never ending period.
I don't remember saying anything after that. I had agreed to a blood transfusion if it was necessary when I first arrived. When asked if there were any religious beliefs that would prevent me from receiving a transfusion, I assured the doctor that my God created him and medical technology to save lives and if that included a blood transfusion so be it. I was fairly incoherent. My head and eyes rolled when they came in, I was in essence a rag doll. Two nurses standing over me. Checking the blood, checking the paperwork, checking my wristband. Checking, checking, checking. Two strangers blood would be pumped into my arm. The first bag was done, you look better. Two nurses standing over me. Checking the blood, checking the paperwork, checking my wristband. Checking, checking, checking. The second bag was done. As soon as there is a room we will get you moved.
It's now morning. I'm alive. I'm being moved. I look at the sign on the wall labor and delivery to the left, postpartum to the right. Last time I was in a baby wing I was holding my dead baby, this must be a joke. They put me into my new bed, take half my blankets, ummm I need those and all trace of the ER is gone. I almost died last night. The severity of what was happening very much sunk in. 1000 FB notices, 100 texts, missed phone calls..... I wasn't alone. The recovery process began. A week later almost to the minute, I'm sitting in the very spot I was sitting, eating, and debating.
That Wednesday night, was the scariest, loneliest night of my life. I spent most of the night crying, just tears. I had two panic attacks. I was mean and super apologetic. I was relaxed and full of humor. I was barely coherent. I survived. I was humiliated. I was at my worst. When you have a baby, you're covered in goop and grime and gross, your whoha all on display and it doesn't even matter. When you're just bleeding it's so degrading and it just truly is a completely different feeling. Looking at a portable toilet they wheeled in for you, seriously not a mood lifter. I insisted on apologizing first and thanking later every nurse who dumped my porta potty , who left to "give me privacy" every time I had to pee and who had to change my bed pads. I remember at one point in the evening looking at my nurse and asking if this is what she thought she would be doing as an ER nurse. Her response, "I had a pretty good idea".
It's almost laughable, now as I reflect. Seriously, only me. So, what happened? Oh you know, almost bled to death. What, how, for real? Yup. What happened, I'm a girl... you'll figure it out. Ohhh, oh, o, ohh? Fibroids, apparently they are a thing. I've convinced myself that my blood donors were super skinny and super smart. I'm now just waiting for their blood to fully fuse with me so I can instantly loose 15 pounds and enjoy a higher IQ. Hopefully that wait isn't long. :-)
and so the grand adventure that is "if it most likely will never happen" it will happen to Leesa continues.
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