I know it has been a long time. Thank you for hanging in there with me. I want to explain my absence. It has taken me a while to discuss it, but here we go. Reader discretion is advised. What started as a typical day at the salon ended with me in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. Let me explain.
Mom and I were at the hairdresser getting our hair done. I had just finished getting a cut, color, and blowout, and Mom was finishing her cut. We were chatting away about nothing and everything. Bear with me at this part because I don’t exactly remember how it started or what I looked like. I remember that it was happening. Mom said I had become very quiet; Mom looked over at me from the chair and started calling my name. I didn’t answer her, but my arms crossed in front of me, and I moved as Jeanie in I Dream of Jeanie stuck in repeat.
Mom tells me what happened in the next few minutes was a blur but that my arms were moving without me moving them, my legs started shaking without me shaking them, and my teeth clenched shut so not a word could be spoken. I remember trying to talk, but my mouth was clenched shut. I thought I was dying and didn’t know what was happening. Mom tells me about the terror she saw in my eyes as she held me in her arms helplessly. Anthony, the owner of the salon, asked what could done. Mom told him to call an ambulance. My friend Julie, who cut my hair, asked what she could do, and Mom instructed her to get the sunglasses out of her purse and a towel. The fluorescent lights sometimes bother my eyes and are triggers. Mom tried to pour water on me because she said I was hot. It only ended up making me wet. Hence why she wanted the towel. I remember the fear and my throat being closed as the tears flowed down my face. According to Mom, what seemed like hours for the ambulance to arrive was only 20 minutes. When the EMTs arrived, I was still shaking uncontrollably. They gave me a shot, which stopped the shaking but not the seizure. According to my Mom, my eyes were rapidly moving back and forth. They loaded me into the ambulance and instructed Mom to follow.
Thankfully, Julie put the hospital into Mom's GPS for her. She struggles with her GPS on a typical day, and this time was so different. The ambulance sat in the parking lot for ten minutes. Julie and Mom stood by the car, waiting for the ambulance to leave. Mom finally ran frantically to the ambulance to ask if I was okay. At that point, the last time she saw me, I was being loaded onto a stretcher, and she had no idea if I was dead or alive. The EMTs assured Mom I was okay; they were trying to stabilize me. When the ambulance finally left, Mom attempted to follow the ambulance through multiple red lights and dark, winding roads. She told me she felt like it was the midnight ride of Paul Revere.
Mom tells me the hospital was so confusing. At one point, she lost sight of the ambulance and got stuck at a red light. She frantically drove through the darkness, hoping to see the ambulance's flashing lights again. She tells me she prayed and cried the entire way to the hospital. Once she found the hospital, she saw the ambulance pull into a parking lot only to pull out. Not knowing what was happening, Mom followed the ambulance in and out of the parking lot. It turns out they had pulled into the wrong place, as did Mom. Just like in the movies, Mom parked the car and raced to the front desk in a panic. She was led through double doors and asked for insurance information as I was being wheeled past her, lifeless, her words, on the stretcher. The EMT assured my mom I was okay and told her he had known me from high school. It was weird, but somehow, reassuring to Mom that I would be OK. That they did the best they could.
I was still out of it, and much time had passed. Mom was told it would take time for the meds to wear off. When I finally opened my eyes, Mom was by my side. I tried to talk to her, but it was all mumbling, and she couldn’t even understand what I was saying. This scared both of us. I remember feeling like I was going to go into a panic attack. Mom has always understood what I was saying. Thankfully, Mom finally figured out what I was saying. I wanted to go home. Mom called my neurologist at around 10 pm (yes, she answered her phone) to tell her what was happening. She calmed Mom down and told her I should be OK and to keep her posted if I got admitted. She spoke to the doctors and told them the medication I needed to take because I had not had my evening dose. They did not have the pills I usually take and gave me liquid meds, which I promptly threw up.
I remember Mom screaming that I was choking and begging for help. A nurse at the desk just told her to get a fresh gown out of the closet. Mom tried to change me, but I was hooked up to IVs and machines, and she couldn't get the gown off. She tried to get help, but no one was found. Someone came in and tried to take an x-ray to make sure I hadn’t aspirated anything into my lungs, but I was still wearing the hospital gown that I had thrown up in, rolled into a burrito on my chest, and another one draped across my naked body. Then, a doctor came in to take my blood. Mom explained to him that my arm veins were deep and rolled and that he should use my hand veins. The Dr was undeterred. He poked me several times like I was some pincushion or voodoo doll before finally using the vein in my hand. He was frustrated with something because he didn’t clean the area before taking the blood. This will come into play later. At around 2 am, they told Mom they were admitting me, but not why, and would move me as soon as they had a room. At this time, I found my voice, and I was finally able to communicate. I want to go home.
At around 6 am, I was moved to a room and finally could sleep, but first, I needed to find the bathroom. This was tricky. Somehow, Mom got me out of bed, past my wheelchair, and to the toilet without disconnecting anything. The nurse came in to check on me and explained I was not to get out of bed. They placed a catheter in me. What a weird and private thing that I will not be discussing here. As it turned out, I was sharing a room with someone who was dying. Her relatives were loud and constantly coming in and out. I only had enough space next to my bed for my wheelchair, which Mom sat in and slept in for the first night. Friday was a blur of doctors coming in and out, as well as tests, blood tests, CT scans, and constant checks of my blood pressure. I was nervous about the CT scan. The technicians allowed Mom in the room when I was strapped to the table but not while the scan was done. Mom helped calm me down so I would lie still, not move, and only speak when the technicians asked me to. I was glad when that was finally over, and Mom was waiting for me outside the room. I was only allowed two people in my room at one time. Honestly, there wasn't enough room for two people. So, whenever someone visited, Mom and Dad had to leave. I was lucky enough to have a few visitors the first day, as it took my mind off why I was there.
The hospital neurologist wanted to change my medication. I remember pretty clearly my Neurologist, who has seen me since I was 6 months old, telling me not to let anyone change my medication. The neurologist from the hospital talked only to Mom, not to me. He explained to Mom that he was changing my medication. Mom asked if he would first speak to my neurologist, who follows me. He agreed but was skeptical that she could reach her on the phone. He insisted that the office would not answer. Yet again, she answered Mom's call. I could only hear one side of the conversation, and Mom explained what the hospital doctor wanted to do. She agreed to speak to the hospital neurologist. After the two doctors spoke, the hospital neurologist returned the phone to Mom. My neurologist told her that she told him not to put me on the Keppra, only to increase my current medication and that she would do a 24-hour EEG when I was released. Mom hung up and relayed all the information to me. In case you are wondering, I have a written release with my neurologist so that she can talk to Mom about any medical issues I may experience. The hospital neurologist promptly added the Keppra to my medications and ordered a 24-hour EEG. This meant I wasn’t going home until at least Saturday night.
I was disappointed because I committed to do a garage sale for charity at my local library on Saturday. I have been doing this garage sale for the last 4 years. Not to mention that my neurologist had told the hospital neurologist not to do precisely what he did. Even though Mom argued with the doctor, he insisted that he was in charge and that those were his recommendations. HMM. It must be something with the doctor's egos in this hospital. Poor mom would have to spend another night sleeping and sitting in my wheelchair in our cramped, tiny space. Mom had asked the nurses if I could have coffee. The nurses said there were no restrictions. Mom went to get me Starbucks and made multiple phone calls to the family to update them on what was happening with me. While she was gone, I had numerous probes placed on my newly dyed red hair. Once again, I was taken to a room alone, and strangers placed things in my hair. They wouldn’t let Dad in the room. I think this made both of us nervous. I tried to talk to the tech, putting the probes on my head, but she was silent. I was trying to get my mind off of what was happening. Once it was all done, Dad waited outside the room and walked back with me to my room. Dad did his best to make light of the situation and snapped a picture. I had this awful gunk in my hair, and my head was wrapped tightly with gauge. I was sweating. When I got back to my room, mom was there th the coffee I lso got some comic relief of visitors.
As luck would have it, my roommate took a turn for the worse on Saturday morning, and they needed the room to say goodbye. I was moved to a room all by myself. This was by no means a celebration, as I knew my roommate was dying. I was hopeful I would go home after they took out the probes. After they moved me to the new room, I was excited to see the nurse come in, thinking she was giving me information about going home. Unfortunately, she was not. She had bad news; they thought I had a blood infection. This was shocking news. My mind immediately went to my dad's best friend, who had just passed away from a blood infection. I was scared out of my mind and in a panic. I thought I was going to die again. Mom questioned the team about how this could happen, and they told her they didn’t know. At this point, I called my friends and told them I needed them. Dad convinced Mom to go home, shower, and get some clean clothes as she still wore what I came to the hospital in. Clearly, she needed a break.
At least Mom would finally have one of those chairs where she could sleep comfortably. I remember it was a gray recliner chair with pillows on it. She was finally going to get some rest. I think, though, I am kidding myself. By this time, the Keppra was making me very sleepy. I was talking to Dad and fell asleep mid-sentence. While mom was gone, the tech removed the probes from my head. She was very rough with me and had not read my chart. She demanded that I hold my head up so she could get the probes off. Dad, I immediately told her she needed to step back and be gentle and that I could not do what she wanted. That I was physically incapable of lifting my head off the pillow. She continued to roughhouse me until all the probes had been removed, and I was left with a gunky mess of freshly dead red hair.
When mom returned, she had my coffee and got clean clothes for me to wear home. The day was spent with endless blood tests and concerns of a blood infection. Friends would keep my fears at bay, and we shared many laughs and got door-dash from McDonald's to the hospital. Who knew you could door-dash McDoanlds to the hospital? I didn’t; I don’t even have a door-dash account. Thankfully, Julie did. The night was uneventful, but I didn’t get much sleep because they kept coming in and taking blood. Between the needles and the lights going on all night long, I am surprised either of us got any sleep.
The following day, the nurse said my blood work came back clean. I would be discharged before the end of the day. When I asked about the infection, they told me they had to wait for the culture to grow before they knew what type of infection I had. As it turned out, remember that ER Doctor that didn’t clean my arm…. You guessed it. Bacteria from the skin got on the needle, which got into the blood sample and cross-contaminated it. At this point, even though I was upset about the unnecessary detainment in the hospital, I just wanted to go home. It seemed like hours before they came in with my discharge papers. In seconds, they explained all the tests they had reports for and follow-up instructions, and I was finally free.
You may think this is the end, but it was not. I continue to have brain fog and forget things that I have never forgotten before. I have difficulty remembering things; sometimes, I only hear the end of the sentence. I am finally getting my speech back, but I struggled with processing what I heard. Everyone told me it was expected, it was normal, but nothing in my life is normal nor prepared me for the after-effects. They couldn't tell me how long they would last. It depends. I am thankful I am still here to tell you the story of the haircut that changed everything. I saw my Neurologist, and she took me off all the medicine that they put me on. Even though I requested the records when I was discharged and again a week later, it was not until Dad’s friend intervened and got me the records to follow up with my doctor in November. Because of the holidays, I still don’t know what caused my seizure, and I hope and pray I never have another one. I have to recuse meds now and carry them with me. The doctor told me that I need to monitor my stress levels and take some time off to allow my body and mind to heal. That is precisely what I did.
So, I will focus on the positive to start things up again. Writing this blog has been both healing and challenging at the same time. I hope to move forward, not focusing on the past and instead looking to the future. I give myself grace and permission to do things in my own time. Just as I started this blog over a year ago with the ten things that annoy me, I will reboot this with the ten things that make me happy. Thank you for your support and understanding. I apologize to anyone who was triggered by this blog. It was not my intention, but I had to get the details out of my head.
Thank you for reading until the end!
This is the view from my wheelchair, where miracles can make a difference. Always Strive for the Impossible. Come back next week to see what is on my mind and hear more about what makes me happy and The View From My Wheelchair.
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