Is this death?

Extremely long post - you want inside of my life and where I’ve been?  Read on and real all....

Having a VERY emotional day.

Reliving memories of the past 14 years both good and bad and thinking about my dad a lot as Suicide Awareness/Prevention month is upon us and his birthday is September 10th, this time of year is always a mind fuck for me, even all of these years later.

I looked at the clock and it’s 12:18 which is a sign I had to stop and post my gratitude, NOW.

12/18 is my birthday, whenever Tommy notices it’s 12:18AM or PM he wishes me a happy birthday.

Summer of 2017 I was fighting for my life and losing for at least the 3rd time.  It started with me waking from a dead sleep (no pun intended) with horrible stabbing pains on the right side of my chest: cystic fucking fibrosis out of the blue comes raging back into my life like I owe it and it’s come to collect with interest.  Not many people know this but we had recently taken in 4 week old twin boys to be our new and hopefully permanent sons and I was taking a nap while Tom relieved me so I could get some sleep.  I woke up gasping for breath and drove myself to the local ER, I knew it was bad.

Fast forward a few days later and I went from Easton to UPenn with a right lung that kept collapsing.  This part most of you know so I’ll spare you the details, the next part I’ve never truly and fully shared.

Things were looking up, I was set to be discharged in a few days and I had a procedure to drain fluid from outside my lung, this fluid was the reason my lung wasn’t getting better and inflating, the pressure was too much for it to handle.  It hurt more than I thought it should and when it was over I said good-bye to my mom who was getting ready to leave and took a nap.

I was woken later that day, they were taking me down to get a procedure to get a PICC line inserted for easy IV access because I, like most people with CF, have terrible worn out veins that refuse to cooperate.

I immediately realized I could not breathe, they said ‘Hi, we’re here to take you for your PICC line’ and I said without even recognizing my own voice ‘I’m not getting a PICC line, I’m dying today’.  Confused, they began to pull me onto the gurney.  With hardly any breath I told them to URGENTLY get my nurse.  She came in looking slightly concerned and asked what was going on, I pointed to my finger indicating to her that she needed to check my pulse oxygen.  Normal is 90-100, mine was in the 50’s.  Panic ensued and everything went into slow motion, just like that.  Alarm bells went off and so many people came slowly (or so it seemed) running into my room and before I knew it the entire room was full and even outside of the room there was a massive crowd around my door, MY DOOR.  This couldn’t be happening.  I slowly got out my cell phone and pulled up my contacts and pushed Tommy’s cell phone number and handed it to someone.  People were talking to me but I couldn’t hear anything, asking me questions that I couldn’t answer, it was like a time warp.  My bed was being moved into and then down the long hallway, I had no idea where I was going.  A mask was put over my face and then all went black.

I heard people, familiar voices, talking, crying and I felt my hands being held.  I had made it!!  My whole being filled with an excitement and I started to open my eyes - but I couldn’t.  I couldn’t see, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except realize with a terror like I’ve never known that I was in a coma.  For hours on end I could hear nurses, doctors, respiratory therapists and heartbreakingly my family and friends.  I was a prisoner in my own body and I had no power to tell everyone that I was still in there.  I tried for what seemed like days to move my pinky finger and nothing, the only thing that worked was my tear ducts as a single tear rolled down my cheek.  I thought I was dying and then I thought I was in hell.  ‘I’m in here!!!’ I wanted to scream but couldn’t move a muscle.  I could do nothing, it’s like a never ending nightmare that you can’t wake up from.  I wanted to give up but the voices kept me there, they gave my brain and my soul the will to fight and not give up.

At one point in this timeless limbo I found that I could go somewhere else, somewhere far away from the ICU.  I turned myself around in my head and found myself in a long dark hallway, the best way to describe it was like an abandoned movie theater, one endless hallway if you will full of doors, some were in the hallway and some had flights of stairs that led to them.  I started running and trying to open any of the unlimited doors down this terrifying hall.  When I got tired I went back to the ICU and the voices gave me comfort and the will to fight.  When I went back I kept trying to open locked doors until my mind had no choice but to rest.  This went on and on, I went back and forth for what felt like years.  Was this a part of hell too?  What the fuck was happening?

One day during a particular grueling session of running up and down steps to find nothing but locked doors I was really ready to give up.  Something stopped me, I looked up and saw a door higher than any other and for some reason I had never seen this door, it looked heavier than the rest, maybe this was the door to heaven?  I climbed the literal stairway to heaven, my legs numb from the pain, my lungs screaming for breath.  I got to the top and felt like I had just scaled Everest.  I turned the knob, the door wasn’t locked and slowly opened.

It was like the Wizard of Oz.  Behind that unlocked door I was back in my body, back in the ICU but my eyes had opened and I could see and move.  There I was, laying in that bed surrounded by my family, their eyes full of tears and sheer awe and joy, the joy I felt was like none I had ever known, I was back.  Fuck you cystic fibrosis, not this time bitch.  7 days had passed.

The twins had already gone to a new foster home and my heart shattered again.  I deep down knew that was the way it had to be, I knew they needed 2 healthy parents and I knew I could not give them what they needed at that time.  And Dove, I knew I had to get better and go home to her to be the mom that life had shortchanged her, I was there to be her mother and fierce protector and vowed to do all I could to get well and return to the amazing and loyal family that the universe provided me with.

Was it real?  Was any of it real?  Was it a dream?  Was it hallucinations from all of the heavy duty drugs I was being given?  Did I pick my fate to return?  I’ll never truly know but I will always and forever believe I chose life.

Tommy later told me that he knew I would be okay and I asked how.  He noticed one day during those 7 days that my hospital bed had 1218 on it.  Don’t believe in miracles (Mericle was my maternal grama’s maiden name)?  Think again

CF has taken so much away from me, moments that I missed that I can never get back but it’s also given me a hell of a lot.

I know that I’m a fighter, I know that my story can and hopefully will help many others.  Love is stronger than anything.

Sleep in peace tonight, hug the ones you love with the passion of your last day everyday, snuggle with your dogs and never miss an opportunity to say I love you.

I love you ❤️