Shortly after the second half of my transplant, an unexpected crisis occurred. I remember the nurse on duty was cheerful and sweet. She introduced herself and told me she would be there all day. I didn't need to worry about a thing, she had me. I was in good care.
Later in the day, I was on the phone with my husband. Suddenly the nurse started hovering and commanding me to take deep breaths. I was puzzled. Alarms started going off. More nurses and residents came. They started getting urgent with their demands. I was getting cold... so very cold. My body began shaking. I asked my husband to coach my breathing on the phone. I breathed in and out on his command. I was giving it all I had. It wasn't good enough. The voices were getting more demanding!
I began to panic. My body was no longer controllable. I was very scared and clueless as to what was going on. What happened next is seared into my brain. I looked at that nurse who promised I was in safe hands and asked her to hold my hand and help me. She put her hand up in a halting motion, turned her back to me and said, "If you're not going to do this, I'm not helping you." In that moment her action was an abject betrayal of the deepest kind. I desperately needed human touch, something to ground me and draw strength from. I was confused and fighting for my life, and she wouldn't help me. I was going to die rejected by the person I was counting on.
Suddenly I saw a familiar face hovering above me. One of my former coworkers has a daughter who was a doctor on the transplant ward. She was on duty. Her sweet face appeared like an angel from heaven at that moment. She asked me what she could do to help. I told her how cold and scared I was. I was trying to cooperate but it wasn't working. She held my hands, looked into my eyes and said, "I've got you." I'll forever be grateful that she was on duty that day. She saved my life and rescued me with such kindness and skill. (The odds that someone from my neighboring town hours away from the hospital, in a different state, and with whom I had a personal connection being the doctor to rescue me in that exact moment are staggering! I believe it was the providence of God.)
Whoever invented "bear hugs" deserves a medal of honor. I don't know their real name, but in the ICU they called them bear hugs. They are hollow blankets that hook up to a hose that blows heat into them. If you've ever been in shock, you know how painfully cold you can feel. They are like a warm hug from heaven. Unfortunately, I had the experience of needing to use them on quite a few occasions throughout my transplant experience.
Even though I then felt supported and warmth, I still couldn't keep my oxygen up, regardless of my efforts. My angel doctor told the nurses to get my husband off the phone, then in a flurry of activity they intubated me and started the ventilator, and I was unconscious - I believe they gave me medicine to put me out.
For some reason I felt somewhat aware of the machines keeping me alive. I thought I was in some kind of agitator (all of me). Picture being in the cycle of a giant front load washer. It was a weird sensation of feeling like I was going in partial circles continuously. In retrospect, it was probably the rythym of the machines in my subconcious. I was comfortable, but just feeling like I was in a revolving cycle until I regained consciousness. I don't know how long I was in that state.
They informed me that I'd had a severe reaction to a transplant medication. It had shut down my respiratory system. Once it was out of my system I regained the ability to breathe on my own. I was feeling quite ragged from the incident, but once again on the road to recovery.
That incident left a mark on me. I remember it often. I've determined to never be that person who refuses to help someone who seems to not be helping themselves. Maybe they are trying, but they just can't succeed. I can't know that. I never want to walk away from someone who is at the end of their rope because of the emotional challenge it is causing me. I hope I always remember the lesson that horrible experience taught me.
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