After my hospital stay in July, I knew the end was very near. Even though reality would creep into my thoughts, I still didn't give up on hope and belief that God would see me through, and the doctors would get a liver for me in time. I was tired, sick and miserable. I had bloody sores and scabs all over my body, because I constantly itched from elevated bilirubin. When I went to sleep, I'd scratch myself in my sleep until I bled. I wasn't sleeping well either, so I moved into the bedroom that had been my daughter, Anita's, so my husband could get a good night's sleep before going to work. I began staying in the bedroom all day while the men were away, because I was afraid to go up and down the stairs alone. I had been falling down them and really struggling to get up them. The problem with staying upstairs all day was that the kitchen is downstairs. I wasn't eating. When the guys asked me if I needed anything, I would say no - mostly just because I was too tired to think about what I wanted.
One day I realized I needed help. I had been planning to go stay with my parents after surgery for a few months because I would need around-the-clock care, so why not now? I needed them. Of course, Mom and Dad were only too happy to have me with them. They were worried about me, and now they could keep a close eye on me. The downside was that they got a close up look at how sick I really was.
One other thing happened in that space of time that would cause me a lot of mental anxiety during the coming months. Andrew took me to an appointment in Cleveland. It was really early so we went the night before and stayed at a Red Roof Inn nearby. We had just gotten into the room when gun shots erupted. I counted five and they sounded like they were right outside of our room (we later found out there were in a room above us). We heard screaming, people running and a car squealing tires as it sped away. I dove between the beds and called the front desk to ask if there were fireworks nearby or I was hearing gunshots. She said it was gunshots, to get away from any windows... the police were on their way.
I'm normally a very steady person, but my mind wasn't clear. Things were very foggy at that time for me. When you suffer from last stages of Cirrhosis, ammonia builds up in your body and is stored in your brain. It affects your thinking and emotions. The treatment is massive doses of laxatives to try to get things to pass through your body before the ammonia is absorbed. I was terrified at the sound of shooting and could only imagine someone was walking down the line of rooms and shooting into the windows. I hid in the bathroom and begged Andrew to come with me. He didn't. He became the adult protecting and taking care of me.
We had no idea of what had happened. No one told us. We did get a refund on the room bill though! lol The next month when I was again hospitalized, my husband asked around and discovered that it was a hit. A young man took a shot to the stomach, had surgery and survived. However, in my foggy mind, that feeling of fear that was unleashed that day floated around in the background and later came back to haunt me.
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