Wedding ring

It wasn't until quite a few days after they woke me up, that I realized that I wasn't wearing my wedding ring.

I got upset, where was my ring? I couldn't remember. They took it off before the c-section, but I hadn't gotten that memory back yet.

My husband told me that is was OK, the ring was safe back home.

I was upset that I didn't have my ring. I know that we aren't just connected through our wedding bands, we are so much more. Still, my left hand just didn't look right to me.

I was angry at myself that it had taken me so many days to realize that my ring wasn't on my finger. My body was such a stranger to me that I hadn't noticed.

My husband soothed me and said that as soon as I'm back home, he'll place the ring back on my finger.

To be continued...
 

My parents

When they extubated me, I saw my father sitting in a chair in the corner of my room. For the first couple of days after they brought me back from the drug-induced coma, I could hear my dad playing with my son out in the hallway. They were always just out of sight, but I heard them and I saw other people see them and smile at them. I didn't mind that I couldn't see them, I could hear that they were having much fun together and everyone was admiring my boy. It felt good to have them near and hear them laughing, I didn't want my son to see me like this though, so I was relieved that they stayed out of sight.

This didn't happen. My dad was back in Iceland and my son was back home with my mom. I was shocked when my husband told me that my dad wasn't here. I was so sure he was. There had been a commercial cycling through the TV channels about a monster truck rally in Indy and I had been wondering if my dad could take my son to see that, something fun for them to do together. My father was definitely with me, even though he was physically on another continent, and it brought me great comfort.

When my mom came to see me for the first time after I woke up, I was woefully unemotional. I don't think I had grasped yet the enormity of everything that had happened. I was still putting all the pieces together and still hadn't gained back the memory from about a week before my daughter was born. In the ICU, the wall with the door is just a big window, they need to be able to see you when you're in there, even before they get into the room. So I saw my mom coming down the hallway towards me, with her hands high up in the air, waving them around, smiling and crying at the same time. I was like ''really mom, control yourself'', I can only imagine how I would act if it had been my daughter caught between life and death for three weeks. I was still very clueless about the severity of everything that had gone on and so proceeded by calling my mother a big drama queen. Sorry mom. I then berated my nurse for not feeding me and asked if she couldn't just stick a hamburger in a blender for me. I was so hungry!

While I was in the hospital I missed my son so badly, it ached in the core of my being. It was a heartache. I knew he was being well taken care of but I missed him all the same. I wondered how this would affect him, affect our relationship, I had never been away from him for longer than 5 hours before this happened. I wanted to hug him and tell him that mommy would be home as soon as she could, that everything would be fine. My mom told me that he would take every single one of his books, out of the shelves and throw them on the floor, spreading them around him. I imagine it was sort of an outward display of inward emotions. Everything scattered and nothing like it was supposed to be. My poor little guy. I'm told that he would say that mommy was in the hospital, in the same tone of voice he said that daddy was at work. Like, that's just how things are now. I missed him desperately, but I didn't want him to come to the hospital. At least back home, he was familiar with his surroundings and the people around him.

I didn't miss my daughter. At all. This feels awful to write down, but it's true. I had never met her, I didn't know her, I didn't miss her. I had no memory of giving birth to her, so my hands would unconsciously seek my tummy, only to find that she wasn't there any more. She was only a two hour drive away, but really, it could have been a lifetime drive away. I wondered if/how/when we'd ever bond together. Then I just sort of pushed those thoughts away, I couldn't think about that then, I needed to get better and then I'd deal with it.

To be continued... 

Do you know where you are?

The questions I got asked every day, many times a day.

Do you know where you are?
Yeah, at a hospital.
Do you know where the hospital is?
Indianapolis.
Do you know the name of the hospital?
No. (It was Methodist).
Do you know what day it is?
Nope.
Do you know what year it is?
2012? (It was 2011)

After a while I learned the name of the hospital and figured out that there was a calendar on the wall behind me to my right. So usually I could sneak a peek at that and answer ''Yes, it's Friday, March 11th''. There was only one nurse who caught on to me and would stand in front of the calendar so I couldn't see it. And then I had no idea what day it was.

One nurse asked me who the president was. I said Obama but was seriously contemplating telling the name of the Icelandic president, Ólafur Ragnar Grímsson. I probably would have gotten a funny look with that answer ;)

People marvel at how I well I was able to communicate using English, but I didn't even think about it, if someone talks to me in English, I respond with English. I didn't find it uncomfortable at all. I guess I've been living here long enough to be able to speak English well enough to be understood.

To be continued...

Strength

I was so weak when I woke up. I had things, tubes and such, taped to my face. They itched and I would raise my right hand (my husband was holding my left) and the hand would make it maybe halfway towards my nose, and then I would scratch the air.

I was so thirsty, but I wasn't allowed to drink anything. Because I had been intubated for so long I would need to learn how to use the muscles in my neck properly, essentially learn how to swallow again. If some liquid went down the wrong pipe, I would aspirate and that would just not be good for my lungs at all. So all I was allowed were ice chips, teeny tiny ice chips. My husband had a glass full of them and a long plastic spoon. He made sure they were small enough and spoon fed me the ice.

I tried to talk, but all that came out were squeaks and rasps. My husband had to put his ear almost on top of my mouth in order to hear anything, and more often than not, he didn't hear what I was saying. That was so odd to me, because I sounded fine to myself, I could hear my own voice in my head. He was so extremely patient with me, I could see how angry he was with himself not to be able to understand me, but he tried his best and usually, if he couldn't understand me, he'd just feed me some more ice chips. Which was fine, even if I hadn't asked for it :) At one point I mimed for a piece of paper and a pen, thinking I'd just write down what I wanted to say. I grabbed the pen and started writing... except what came out were not words at all, there was just a funky line. I was too weak to write. At times this infuriated me, I was awake and I needed to talk, to converse with real people, to communicate, and I couldn't. Everyone was very nice and smiled and asked me if I needed anything or told me something and asked if I understood them, and all I could do was just nod, yes or no. At least I had that.

There was a big clock in my room, an analog clock, you know the one with the hands that show the time, not a digital one. And it took me many days to learn how to tell time again. I saw the clock and knew that it could tell me the time of day or night, but I couldn't piece together the numbers and the hands and what they meant. So I kept asking what time is it, to hear it said and connect it to where the hands were on the clock. I got it eventually and then it felt silly not having been able to do that before.

My body was fed intravenously, my stomach was empty and had been for over three weeks. And let me tell you something, even though your body is getting the nutrients it needs to function, if the stomach is empty, you are hungry. That's where the hunger comes from, an empty tummy. I was so hungry, ravenous even, and I wasn't even allowed to sip water. I begged for food, my nurses felt bad telling me no. It was awful, and of course the TV seemed to only be advertising food, food food, glorious food, and fizzy drinks.

I had to endure the hunger for almost a week I think. And you get used to the hunger pains fairly quickly. That was alarming to me, I wondered if anorexic people were that way. It becomes a sensation that is just a part of you, just a sort of background noise in your body. Much later when I was able to take small bites of pre approved foods and the hunger abated, I missed it. I actually missed feeling hungry. That was a scary feeling, I almost mourned the loss of the sensation of hunger.


I was so weak I couldn't sit up, but I could scootch down in my bed so my feet were on top of the end of the bed. The nurses had a technique where they would pull me up using sheets underneath me, but it seemed I was down again in no time. They had to do a lot of pulling. I also liked to hook my left leg out of the bed, letting it dangle in the air, moving it back and forth. A nurse would come in and tuck it under the blankets again, asking me where I thought I was going, with a smile on her face. As soon as she left, I'd let the leg dangle again, it felt good to be able to move something.


Suddenly I felt like peeing, and told my husband I needed to go to the bathroom. He got a funny look on his face and said ''Uh, sweetie, you have a catheter, so you just have to... you know, let it go...'' I was stunned, I had not noticed I had a catheter at all, but there it was, a tube, running from my urinary tract, taped to my right thigh, running down the side of the bed, where it ended in a little clear pouch. So I just let it go, weird feeling doing that while laying down in bed, and I could watch the trip it took, down the tube into the pouch. A pouch the nurses would examine each time they came in the room, for color and volume. It's funny how when you are so utterly helpless and need help with absolutely everything, how not embarrassed I was. I just counted myself lucky that there were people there, qualified people, caring people, helping me get through this, helping me to get better. I was never ashamed of my urine, as a matter of fact I was kind of proud anytime I got a comment on what a good color it was that morning or some such :)


To be continued...

 

ARDS

My pneumonia was what led me to have ARDS. Which stands for Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. It is described as a life threatening lung condition that prevents enough oxygen from getting into the blood.


The air sacs in the lungs become full of fluid. They took x-rays every single day of my lungs while I was in the coma. I've seen the first picture and the lungs were completely white, except for a little part on the bottom right. White is fluid. My lungs were shutting down.


About a third of people with ARDS die from the disease. The lucky survivors regain normal lung function, other may have some lung damage. In my last x-ray, taken a month after I was released from the hospital, my lungs were black (healthy), and only a little part on the bottom left, was white. That may be healed now, I do not know.


People who survive ARDS may have memory problems and problems with thinking after the ordeal. This is due to brain damage that may have happened when the lungs weren't working properly and the brain wasn't getting enough oxygen.


I was extremely groggy with all these drugs in my system when they woke me up. This is what I saw on my wall to my left and I was so confused, so very very confused, and it took me many days to crawl out of that confusion.

 To be continued...

Coma

I suffered from an identity crisis when I was in my drug-induced coma.

I was a Japanese woman, in my twenties. Living in Canada shortly after WWII. The daughter of Japanese immigrants. I lived in a small apartment, two floors up with a little balcony.

Weird, huh...

I did not have a husband, I did not have children. My life felt extremely empty and I felt very alone.

You know how when you're watching a movie and everything is just sort of going along and everything seems fine but then there's this undercurrent of something, like you just know that there's something sinister going on but you can't quite put your finger on it.

That's how I felt. I knew something was wrong but I didn't know what. I didn't know who I was and I couldn't grasp what it was that felt off for me.

In my coma dream I ended up at a hospital. I did not know why, but I knew I was in a hospital. The decor at the hospital was all white and glossy and minty green. The nurses wore hats and all the uniforms were very crisp and white. Everyone seemed to have a cup of coffee, all the time, I could smell coffee, always.

I thought that maybe I was in this hospital because I just had a baby? But I didn't remember being pregnant, so why would I have a baby?

I felt like I was in a fog, but not in a regular fog, where you don't know where you are or where you're going, but in an identity fog, I couldn't find me! It's like when you're trying to remember the name of a movie or an actor and it's right there, on the tip of your tongue but you just can't remember it. That's how I felt, all the time. Super frustrating and very scary.

In my coma dream I would sort of swoosh from being at my apartment and to being at the hospital. When I was at the hospital I could not move. I could see a corner of the ceiling and some monitors, just because that was how my head was positioned. And every time I would see that stupid corner ceiling, I was actually waking up from the drug-induced coma. And I would panic because I couldn't move, and I couldn't speak. And every time I managed to open my eyes, some very nice person, smiling at me, would come and administer more drugs and I would go under again.

I remember each and every time waking up, trying to scream to get attention, trying to scream that something wasn't right, I didn't know what was happening and it scared the bejeesus out of me. I thought if I could just talk to this person, explain that they were in control of my life and I didn't even know what my life was, if I could just talk to them, they'd let me wake up and figure things out.

It was a long three weeks in a coma. You know when you're dreaming and you know that it's a dream and you're just waiting to wake up. I had that feeling of waiting, but the waking part would never come. So I was just floating, trying to remember so hard who I was and what I was supposed to be doing, because this sure as hell wasn't it.

When they did finally bring me out of the coma I was smiling because I saw my husband, and I remembered him, and I was so happy to remember. But I was crying because in my coma dream someone told me that they had just offered my husband the choice of being spared all this fear and uncertainty, but instead he would not know me and we wouldn't have our children. How scary is that!

When I awoke, my husband held my hand and told me that I had been asleep for a little while but that everything was going to be fine. Just seeing him and hearing him and feeling him, I knew that he loved me and he would always be with me.

They woke me up the day after my 31st birthday. Does that mean I'm still 30 ;) Anyway, I think we'll have a big celebration on my next birthday, I should get two cakes, yes?

After I woke up, I experienced some hallucinations, some delirium, some things that I still feel like happened, but now know that didn't. I'll get into that next.

The worst part of waking up is not knowing whether or not you're still in the coma, and just dreaming something new.

To be continued...

Contagious

They didn't know if I had H1N1 (swine flu), their samples were somehow compromised. My husband and son also had samples taken, they both had the flu but not the same type as me.

At one point they even suspected I had H5N1 (avian flu). I was put in complete isolation after they stitched me up. I have no memory of this.

My husband got a friend of his to stay at the house with our son (asleep for the night), so he could come to the hospital to see me and our new baby.

Honestly I think people were brave to babysit for us, because the doctors at that point didn't know what I had or how contagious it was. I am so grateful to our friends who watched our son so my husband could come to the hospital. I think my husband did try and ask this favor of our friends who don't have children yet. I understand it must have been really scary, because you don't want to get sick yourself and you absolutely don't want children catching anything potentially dangerous.

The night our baby was born, I was apparently conscious after the surgery. Because I was in isolation they brought me a computer and showed me my baby via web cam. I have no memory of this. When my husband arrived at the hospital I was unconscious. He did not get to see me awake but he went to the NICU to see our baby for the first time, and hold her for the first time.

 I don't know when this next bit happened because I do not remember it, but apparently I woke up at one point, ripped out my tubes and IVs, stood up and started walking out of the isolation chamber. I was going to get my baby, my baby needed me, I needed my baby, some base nature as a mother made me do that. It took a couple of nurses to hold me back and I wouldn't budge until one of them said to me that I had to get better for the sake of my children. I had to take care of me first before I could take care of my children. They were in good hands until then. This calmed me down and they re-intubated me and this time restrained me to the bed so I could not rip out all my leads again.


It is extremely weird to me that this happened and I do not remember it, at all.


This was a Tuesday. I got progressively worse as the week wore on. They put me in a prone positioning bed, it takes pressure of the lungs to try and give them the room to heal. My body was so full of fluid I was unrecognizable, all puffy and eyes sunken in. When my mother arrived she said she was afraid to touch me for fear of my skin just bursting underneath her fingers.


To be continued...

All is well

On Valentine's Day 2011, my husband took me to see my OB/GYN. This was a Monday and I had been really sick during the weekend. Fever, coughing, throwing up and generally feeling like shit. My husband was also sick and our 3 year old son as well. I figured we just all had the flu, but my doctor wanted me to come in to check if I had strep throat. I was almost 35 weeks pregnant with my daughter at that point in time.

I sat on the examination table while my doctor examined me. My husband and son were in the room with us. My doctor told me that I had pneumonia and that I was dehydrated and that he would have to admit me into the hospital. This stunned me, I knew I was sick but I didn't think I was ''hospital'' sick. So I asked the doctor how long he thought I would have to stay in the hospital. He told me two days.

I had been so worried about how my son was going to deal with me being gone for 48 hours when the baby came and now I worried even more about him seeing me in a hospital bed, I didn't like it, but I couldn't do anything about it.

We went through to admissions and they sat me in a wheel chair, the admission process took a long time. I got a room and had to put on a hospital gown. My son did not like seeing me like that, neither did I. I was then wheeled to get an x-ray of my lungs.

This was a new hospital and we were supposed to go on a tour that preceding Saturday, but had to cancel because we were all sick. Being wheeled in a wheel chair through countless hallways was not how I pictured touring the new hospital where I would deliver my baby.

The x-ray technician covered my belly so the baby wouldn't get zapped with too many rays, and took an x-ray of my lungs. My husband and son waited outside. I was then wheeled back into my room.

My son had an appointment with his pediatrician so my husband had to leave to take him there. I asked him to get me some things from home, a book to read and some underwear. I think I watched TV while I waited for them to come back.  When they came back, my son did not want to be there, he kept saying ''drive home''. So I asked my husband to take him home, I didn't want to make him stay with me in the hospital.

The next thing I remember is that it's the following day, Tuesday February the 15th, it's evening, and I'm being rolled along the hallways again, but this time I'm in the hospital bed. I see the lights whooshing by me in the ceiling. I don't remember having talked with any doctors but I know that I'm being taken into surgery and that I'm going to be having an emergency c-section. I am all right in this knowledge and am surprised how calm I am and wonder if they have given me that medication that makes you kind of not care about what's happening or not.

To be continued...