The trip to Cleveland was a flurry of phone calls. I had my daughter, Anita, become my spokesperson on Facebook to keep everyone updated. I said another "I love you" to my children and grandchildren. When we arrived, I hugged my family good-bye before I stepped inside. This was a solo mission. COVID rules were in place: no one, for any reason, could visit the transplant ward. The patients there were too vulnerable. Whatever happened from there on out, I would face totally alone.
Honestly, the aloneness was daunting. I was facing the biggest challenge of my lifetime in the weakest state of my lifetime. I asked my family to spend a night or two in Cleveland - just to be nearby. I don't know why that mattered to me. They couldn't come to me. I just needed to know that they were near.
The team was waiting when I arrived. I was hurried into the emergency room and my world began whirling around me. Iv's, medications, labs... it was chaos. The transplant was scheduled for 4 a.m., but around midnight they whisked me to the operating room. By whisk, I mean walked briskly for about 15 minutes... Cleveland Clinic is a big place.
At the doors of the operating room, everything stopped. My gurney was surrounded by doctors in masks and shields. The chief surgeon introduced himself and the rest of the team. He asked if I had any questions or anything to say. I said, "Please keep me alive. I promise I'll be fighting inside." He said that he would do everything in his power, and they all knew I was a fighter. I then asked if I could pray for the surgery. The entire team joined me in prayer for the surgery to be successful. I was honestly surprised at the collective heartfelt participation. It really made me feel seen, heard, respected and safe.
Next, I was bustled into the operating room (which is always freezing cold), scooted onto the operating table, and dozens of things started happening at once. Every piece of my body had a person doing something all at the same time. Someone at my side was very kind and reassuring me that everything would be fine. The last thing I remember is a doctor running their fingers through my hair before putting it in the net and telling me how beautiful my hair was. I suppose it would have been a pleasant last memory, but thankfully it's just a memory.
I woke up. I don't know when I woke up. I had been on a ventilator for some time, but I was no longer on it when I came to. It dawned on me that I was alive. I remember the nurse who greeted me. Before long a doctor was at my bedside. My first instinct was to profusely thank him. He stopped me and informed me there had been complications. I was confused. Did I get the liver, or didn't I get it?
He said that I had the liver, but it was only half transplanted. I was so confused! How could they only put a liver halfway in and I still be alive? He explained that my heart had stopped in surgery, that it had taken 45 minutes to get it stabilize, and that it had not been safe to continue the surgery. My family says the doctor told them that I had died on the table, and they had to resuscitate me.
I've had a lot of people ask me what a near death experience is like. Honestly, I'm not sure. I have a few memories, but I don't know if they are hallucinations or experiences. At some point I recall talking to my grandmother. When I told her my dad would be happy to hear what she told me, it dawned on me that she and Dad were on different sides of death. I needed to get away from her. She laughed, the laugh she had when she really got a kick out of something. I can't even remember what she said that Dad would be happy about. The other memory is seeing doctors in front of a huge white backlit board looking at images and having a discussion about the one in the upper left-hand corner. I thought I woke up from anesthesia in surgery. Again, I don't even know for sure when I had these memories, or if they are memories and not part of the hallucinations I had so many of. But for those who always ask... that's all I've got.
I don't know if it was the medicine or all of the stress I'd been through, but that time seemed to be some sort of purgatory. We were all holding our breath to see if I would stabilize enough to finish the surgery. I felt like I was neither alive, nor dead, but waiting on the verdict. The nurses Facetimed my family, we visited. My son-in-law played some music for me, I got to see the kids, grandbabies, and my husband. I was happy, but not really celebrating. I did retain my sense of humor. I told the doctors I suspected that what really happened was the Internet went down and they didn't have the tutorial for the rest of the surgery. I kept asking if the Internet was back up, so we could finish the job. I'm sure I thought it was a lot funnier than they did. I was on a high dose of pain medicines.
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