I am going to talk about two very important people today. I'll start with the one that impacted my life the most. This isn't going to be a short post.
Christian.
I met him many many years ago. I met him and his family during something that no longer exists. Back in the day we used to have these "CF day" thingies where a bunch of Kids with CF and their families would get together and the parents could bitch to eachother about how hard it is to have a Child with CF and the kids could chill and bitch about how CF is a bullshit disease and how many pills we have to take. Christian was a bit of a nerd, like myself at that time and we got along from the get go.
Nearly every time there was one of those CF thingies we'd always hang out. Eventually, my mom met someone and his family happened to live in this town outside Winnipeg. It was called "Il de chene". Some small ass half french town. Wasn't too fun but Christian and his family happened to live there aswell and his mother even had a Day Care. I don't remember how old I was exactly when we moved there but it was when, I think, I was in the Forth Grade. My mom worked in Winnipeg and I was too young to just go to School or go home after school so she signed me up for the Day Care. My Brother Jason and I would go there around 6am and be there till like 7pm after School. We'd always watch Pokemon together in the morning and he'd show me his Starwars collection. He was really into that stuff.
It was the basic stuff for most of the year that I lived there but him and I would hang out nearly every day and we had a blast. He was always a little more sicker than me and it showed. I'd listen to him tell me about how bad his CF was all the time and I couldn't really share my stories because aside from like 2 times in the Hospital for Lung infections during childhood, I was pretty much a normal kid. I'd always feel bad and scared when I talked with Christian because I couldn't relate and yet I knew that that would be my future.
I remember one time my mom dropped my brother and I off at his place early one morning and Christian's Parents forgot to turn off their House Alarm. We walked in and stood at the front door because all the lights were off and we didn't know what to do. After about a minute of standing there, his father walks out in a towel and has a shotgun pointing at our heads. We were fucking terrified yet we laughed for days after it.
Regretfully, we only live in that town for a year before we moved back to Winnipeg. My moms job required more hours and she couldn't waste time driving to and from Winnipeg. So, of course, Christian and I grew apart, not really talking much but when we were teenagers, him and I spent a lot of time together in the hospital and we'd chat nonstop and hang out nonstop, though, it was difficult because at this point in time Doctors decided that people with CF could not be around other people with CF with fear of giving one or the other another bad bacteria in their lungs.
See, people with CF usually have one bad bacteria in their lungs. Alone, it's not too bad depending on which one it is but over time and being in the hospital alot, a person gets more and more in their lungs, doing more damage, making us sicker, and therefore killing us quicker.
So, whenever we were in the Hospital together we'd have to sit some distance from eachother to chat. It got really awkward because we'd both tend to be loud. It's another weird thing with CF. The harder it is for you to breath, the louder your voice seems to get. It's not on purpose or anything. It's just the way it is.
We'd get in trouble alot for being so noisy and be told constantly at how we shouldn't hang out with eachother but we didn't care. We needed eachother, someone who could understand the stress of it all took a large weight off your shoulders. Something I miss so much now.
And now the shitty part of the story. My 18th Birthday.
I was talking on MSN to another friend Christian and I met in the Hospital and he starts saying "I'm so sorry" and all that crap and I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. He finally gave me a link to Christians online Obituary and after reading it I....I did nothing. I just sat there for I don't know how long but I didn't cry or anything. Finally, my Brother comes in and starts reading what was still up on my Monitor and he goes crying to my mom and it sparks this who crying fest in my House. Everyone is coming up to me saying "I'm so sorry" and shit and again. I didn't feel anything. I felt empty inside. It had turned out that Christian got really sick, really fast and needed an Emergency Lung Transplant. He....he didn't make it through the Transplant. He went in for Surgery two days before my Birthday and ya.
After that, I saw a quick end to my life. I didn't see CF as this slightly inconvenient illness where once or twice a year I had to spend a few weeks in the Hospital. I saw it as death and nothing I did mattered. I went into depression and just stopped taking care of myself. I regret it now but that's because I know shit now I didn't know then. That's how life works.
I got so sick so fast that when I was 21, I was being assessed for the Transplant list. Mind you, that was many things added together but a large part of it was Christian dying. I only even cared to do it because it seemed like an easy way out. I didn't see Transplant as my survival back then. I saw it as death and nothing else. The reason I even cared to try and go on the list back then was so I had an easy way out. Being sick got painful, breathing started to hurt, life started to kick me real hard. Thankfully, I got a new Doctor and she gave me a much needed push to start taking taking care of myself. I wasn't taking perfect care of myself, but it was enough to push off the Transplant.
And then things changed. During one of my stays in the Hospital when I was 21 I met another person with CF. His name was Carl. We only met because we had similar personalities. This is Friend number 2
One night I was out chatting with the Nurses at the Nurse Desk thing and Carl came out do to the same thing. We started talking about being sick and sharing our stories. It seemed like we kept trying to one up eachother in being sick. We got a little too loud and they told us to go into the Visitor's Lounge and close the door. It had gotten to be like 4am at this point.
We do as told and man, let me tell you, just having someone there who understood what I had been going through felt amazing. I no longer felt alone in this world. I have had the same amazing friends since Highschool, sure, but they were healthy people. None of them ever thought about dying young. None of them ever had to go into the shitty ass Hospitals where Doctors didn't give two fucks. But Carl did and it felt so unbelievably amazing to have that support back.
We soon became like Brothers. Whenever one was sick, we'd always visit the other and one time while I was sick. Carl came to visit me. He wasn't breathing heavily or coughing. It was very strange to me. He wouldn't stop smiling and his body kept shaking. I had one of those SAT machines in my room and he was checking his out. His SATs were that of a normal healthy person. Again, I got more and more confused.
He finally told me that he had his Double Lung Transplant just a week before I got sick. It was staggering at how quickly he changed. He gave me a new hope for something that I feared. He'd tell me his dreams when he was fully healed and how he was going to do them no matter what.
I was so jealous and relieved. Carl used to tell me that in a few months time, he's just going to go off the list and let himself die. He had been waiting for over three years. His body and mind just couldn't do it anymore. I wanted to give him shit for not calling me and telling me but I also understood why he didn't. If he did, I wouldn't have been allowed to see him or anything. I was still sick and the Bacteria in my lungs could have killed him in his weakened state.
After that, anytime I was sick, Carl found out somehow and would always visit me. He'd talk to me about his fears and dreams some more and I'd bitch about being sick. He gave me the hope I needed to go on the list when I was sick enough which is the next part I'll tell you.
Back in that Coma of 2010, I'm told that Carl almost never left my side and that he barely slept. He was a better Brother to me then my real Brothers. I've said it in my post about that Coma and how I should be dead. He was there for me, my brother didn't even care to visit me unless it was for money.(Sidenote, I'm bitching about my younger brother here. My older Brother did visit me but couldn't stay long as he was still in jail at the time but neither of them cared to listen to me when I was sick and just be there for me.)
After that Coma, Carl went to live his dream when he found out I started the Assessment for my shot at the Transplant List. He went on a 6 Month sailing trip around North America. He had the time of his life. When he got back, he regaled me with so many stories and I was just happy listening to them. I may have had Carl to prove to me that Transplant still has hope but that Seed of death was still deep in my mind.
Finally, my transplant came and Carl wished me luck over the phone. He couldn't be there because he was out still enjoying life all around Canada.
Neither of us really saw eachother after my Transplant. He was just too busy enjoying his life. I couldn't hate him for that. He said that in Jan of 2012 he'd be back in Winnipeg and he'd need a place to live. He suggested that we get an apartment together and I was on board with that in a heartbeat. But...October came.
I hadn't spoken to Carl in sometime. It happened. He'd be at some crazy ass place that didn't have electricity to charge his phone or cell phone service. I was looking on Facebook one day and I saw that one of the Nurses from the Hospital had posted something on her page about Carl. For about 5 minutes I stared at it thinking "That couldn't be my Carl, right...? No, it just can't be....Maybe it's a joke of some sort". Finally, I went to Carl's Facebook page and I saw the truth. It had hit me so fucking hard.
He had apparently been sick for some time, which made me mad at him. All the times he's been there for me. I'd have killed to been there for him. It wasn't fair. Within minutes of finding the truth. I cried like I've never cried in my life. He gave me the hope I greatly needed. With his Transplant advice I was able to make it through without doing harm to myself(Not in a bad way but like pulling tubes out from being scared or something).
And so, those were my two friends. Christian and Carl. I'm sorry for making this a long ass post but I just couldn't stop typing. They meant the world to me and still do. It's why I still fight on and smile despite so much bad luck. They both gave me something from knowing each of them and I am who I am because of that. I try to minimize the seriousness of my illness just so people don't worry as much because of Christian. I keep pushing on because of Carl.
I owe my life to both of them.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Creative yet funny title here
I just realized that I haven't finished telling you about my recovery after transplant. So, just shut up and let me finish. Getting tired of all the fan mail of "Come on, Randy, please finish". A man can only take so much.
Let's see, if I remember right, I had just been forced to be stuck in the hospital a little while longer because my body wasn't taking too well to the first Oral Anti-rejection drug. That day I had extremely low levels in my system. Truthfully, it scared me but not too bad. What made the entire thing worse was my Mom took my doctor outside my room and down the hall. They were talking about my levels and then she started crying. That's what really caused me to panic and freak out. When I saw that, my mind starting thinking shit like "The levels are so low that we're probably lucky we haven't had symptoms of rejection yet. I bet it'll happen any minute now" and other similar shit.
In actuality though, I was perfectly fine. Because my body was jumping from extremely high to extremely low they couldn't accurately check but my new Lungs were fine. I wasn't in any danger of rejection. I had learned that after I freaked out on my Mom about how scared I was too die, told her to leave and not come back. The Doctor came in later that night and then calmed me down.
Anyways, so because of that crap I had to stay a little while longer. While yes, I did beat Carl in recovery time. I was screwed because my stupid digestive system has never taken to anything normally. I can drink 3 2 Litre Slurpees a day and not fear Diabetes, it's why I can drink endless amounts of Alcohol and not get drunk, it's why I can eat 2000 dollars a month in food and maybe not lose weight. Man, CF is such a fucked up Disease.
So, they move me to my normal Ward. "H6" as it's called here. It's the Respiratory Ward and Tuberculous Ward. A fucking moronic combination to have on the same floor. I had to get a special sterile room and I could barely leave it because of all the germs on this ward. I couldn't hang around the Nurses Desk and chat em up. Anytime I left my room I had to have a Mask on and I couldn't hover around the Ward. It got so boring.. I enjoyed hanging out with some of the Nurses. They were some really cool people.
It wasn't too eventful while on H6. Basic stuff really, work out, talk with doctors, eat, sleep, ect. The only incidents that I can really remember were of one bitch ass Nurse. I don't remember her name but it wasn't one of the ones I liked.
Now, I am not used to taking my Oral Meds at this point. The most I've ever had to do or keep track of were my Enzymes and those were with meals. Another thing is that my body was still healing at this point and sleep was interesting. Also, since I haven't been home yet, I don't actually have my own supply of Anti-rejection meds. Everything I take has to be prepared by the Nurses and brought to me. Some nights I could sleep for 4 hours, some nights I'd sleep for 12+. I could never really tell. So, because of that, I had to get the Nurses to wake me up so I could take my handful of meds every morning. Nothing easier than walking into someones room, telling them to wake up and handing them pills. Sounds easy, right?
Well, this one Nurse didn't seem to think so. Instead of waking me up or even letting me sleep in a little longer and leave my pills on my wheelie table thingy. She just didn't bother to prepare them period. She decided to go on a rather long ass break and not even inform the other Nurses who would have to watch over her patients while she was gone that I BADLY need to take these pills.
I woke up at about 1pm. I need to take my pills at 9am. Now, within seconds of waking up, I'm panicking, I don't see my meds anywhere in my room. I go out to the Nurses desk and ask for my Nurse. They tell me she went for Lunch and won't be back for some time. The other Nurses look around and she didn't even leave anything prepared. The Nurse didn't come back till 2pm. The entire time, my mind is going "We're gonna reject, we're gonna reject". Making me panic even more. It's so insanely important to take your meds on time at the start.
When she comes back, I say to her "Why didn't you wake me up or even prepare my meds". She actually says to me. "Not my problem" and walks away, prepares my meds, hands them to another Nurse, and then fucks off somewhere. I was just stunned. Don't worry, I filed a complaint against her.
Before I go on, I'mma explain something real quick. I was still fresh out of Transplant. I had good clean lungs, I had my chest ripped open and sewn back together, and all that other fun stuff that you guys remember.
K, So, we're still in the same day as the super late meds. Same Nurse, and all. It's like 4pm or something. Still day out. The Nurse comes up to me, hands me a little bottle and says that my Doctors want a Phlegm sample. Small problem with that. My new lungs don't have any Phlegm as they're relatively new. Also, trying to cough to get up lack of said phlegm was unbelievably painful. After my first and only attempt at getting up Phlegm I inform my Nurse that there is nothing down there to get up. She looks at me like I just said one of the dumbest things she's ever heard in her life. She says back to me "It's not my problem, keep trying."
I, of course, didn't keep trying. I went to the Head Nurse person of the floor and filed another complaint.
It's tomorrow and I thought to myself, "why not try again?". Prove to that bitch Nurse I'm not making shit up. I prepared myself first by taking some extra pain meds and began to try and cough. I wish I could explain how damn near impossible it was to cough. Partly because of pain, partly because....how do I explain this. It's like my body forgot to cough, if that makes any sense. Certain muscles weren't working like they should and so I couldn't get up much. After some extremely painful half coughing, I managed to get up like 1/4th a TeaSpoon of what was most likely just saliva.
I gave the Bottle to the bitch Nurse and said "Happy?", turned around, and walked back into my room. I haven't spoken to that Nurse since or have I seen her since. Don't know what happened to her, don't care.
I really can't remember anything eventful after that. I got discharged on Dec 23rd and was home for a Christmas where I got to be even more disgusted with my younger Brother but that'll be for another time.
Let's see, if I remember right, I had just been forced to be stuck in the hospital a little while longer because my body wasn't taking too well to the first Oral Anti-rejection drug. That day I had extremely low levels in my system. Truthfully, it scared me but not too bad. What made the entire thing worse was my Mom took my doctor outside my room and down the hall. They were talking about my levels and then she started crying. That's what really caused me to panic and freak out. When I saw that, my mind starting thinking shit like "The levels are so low that we're probably lucky we haven't had symptoms of rejection yet. I bet it'll happen any minute now" and other similar shit.
In actuality though, I was perfectly fine. Because my body was jumping from extremely high to extremely low they couldn't accurately check but my new Lungs were fine. I wasn't in any danger of rejection. I had learned that after I freaked out on my Mom about how scared I was too die, told her to leave and not come back. The Doctor came in later that night and then calmed me down.
Anyways, so because of that crap I had to stay a little while longer. While yes, I did beat Carl in recovery time. I was screwed because my stupid digestive system has never taken to anything normally. I can drink 3 2 Litre Slurpees a day and not fear Diabetes, it's why I can drink endless amounts of Alcohol and not get drunk, it's why I can eat 2000 dollars a month in food and maybe not lose weight. Man, CF is such a fucked up Disease.
So, they move me to my normal Ward. "H6" as it's called here. It's the Respiratory Ward and Tuberculous Ward. A fucking moronic combination to have on the same floor. I had to get a special sterile room and I could barely leave it because of all the germs on this ward. I couldn't hang around the Nurses Desk and chat em up. Anytime I left my room I had to have a Mask on and I couldn't hover around the Ward. It got so boring.. I enjoyed hanging out with some of the Nurses. They were some really cool people.
It wasn't too eventful while on H6. Basic stuff really, work out, talk with doctors, eat, sleep, ect. The only incidents that I can really remember were of one bitch ass Nurse. I don't remember her name but it wasn't one of the ones I liked.
Now, I am not used to taking my Oral Meds at this point. The most I've ever had to do or keep track of were my Enzymes and those were with meals. Another thing is that my body was still healing at this point and sleep was interesting. Also, since I haven't been home yet, I don't actually have my own supply of Anti-rejection meds. Everything I take has to be prepared by the Nurses and brought to me. Some nights I could sleep for 4 hours, some nights I'd sleep for 12+. I could never really tell. So, because of that, I had to get the Nurses to wake me up so I could take my handful of meds every morning. Nothing easier than walking into someones room, telling them to wake up and handing them pills. Sounds easy, right?
Well, this one Nurse didn't seem to think so. Instead of waking me up or even letting me sleep in a little longer and leave my pills on my wheelie table thingy. She just didn't bother to prepare them period. She decided to go on a rather long ass break and not even inform the other Nurses who would have to watch over her patients while she was gone that I BADLY need to take these pills.
I woke up at about 1pm. I need to take my pills at 9am. Now, within seconds of waking up, I'm panicking, I don't see my meds anywhere in my room. I go out to the Nurses desk and ask for my Nurse. They tell me she went for Lunch and won't be back for some time. The other Nurses look around and she didn't even leave anything prepared. The Nurse didn't come back till 2pm. The entire time, my mind is going "We're gonna reject, we're gonna reject". Making me panic even more. It's so insanely important to take your meds on time at the start.
When she comes back, I say to her "Why didn't you wake me up or even prepare my meds". She actually says to me. "Not my problem" and walks away, prepares my meds, hands them to another Nurse, and then fucks off somewhere. I was just stunned. Don't worry, I filed a complaint against her.
Before I go on, I'mma explain something real quick. I was still fresh out of Transplant. I had good clean lungs, I had my chest ripped open and sewn back together, and all that other fun stuff that you guys remember.
K, So, we're still in the same day as the super late meds. Same Nurse, and all. It's like 4pm or something. Still day out. The Nurse comes up to me, hands me a little bottle and says that my Doctors want a Phlegm sample. Small problem with that. My new lungs don't have any Phlegm as they're relatively new. Also, trying to cough to get up lack of said phlegm was unbelievably painful. After my first and only attempt at getting up Phlegm I inform my Nurse that there is nothing down there to get up. She looks at me like I just said one of the dumbest things she's ever heard in her life. She says back to me "It's not my problem, keep trying."
I, of course, didn't keep trying. I went to the Head Nurse person of the floor and filed another complaint.
It's tomorrow and I thought to myself, "why not try again?". Prove to that bitch Nurse I'm not making shit up. I prepared myself first by taking some extra pain meds and began to try and cough. I wish I could explain how damn near impossible it was to cough. Partly because of pain, partly because....how do I explain this. It's like my body forgot to cough, if that makes any sense. Certain muscles weren't working like they should and so I couldn't get up much. After some extremely painful half coughing, I managed to get up like 1/4th a TeaSpoon of what was most likely just saliva.
I gave the Bottle to the bitch Nurse and said "Happy?", turned around, and walked back into my room. I haven't spoken to that Nurse since or have I seen her since. Don't know what happened to her, don't care.
I really can't remember anything eventful after that. I got discharged on Dec 23rd and was home for a Christmas where I got to be even more disgusted with my younger Brother but that'll be for another time.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Up, Up, And E.Coli
Roughly 5 years ago I went on a road trip with my friends to Baltimore for an Anime Convention called Otakon. It was a blast. Though, before that, I had a Doctor's Appointment. Was the basic crap, do my PFTs(Pulmonary Function Tests), give a phlegm sample, talk to a Doctor and Nurse for 10 mins, and then go on my marry way. That was about 2 weeks before I left for my road trip.
So, I go on this 3 day road trip. Was beyond a blast. My two friends, Will, James, and myself piled into my Mom's old truck drove. During the first 8 hours, Will was driving and I was taking mini naps in the back seat. When my turn came around to drive I was tired as hell and still needed a few minutes to wake up. We pull into a Gas station, piss, get food, ect. We finally finish and I get in the drivers seat and head out of the Parking Lot. I start turning into oncoming traffic and ask "Am I in the right Lane?". Again, I was tired and still not 100% yet. They all respond with "Yeah.....NO!" and I quickly turn back into the correct lane and avoid killing us.
I'll go into the rest of that trip another time. I just wanted to share that story before I went on.
Anywho.... after we came back from Baltimore, my Mother informs me that in a few weeks we'll be going to Kelowna, BC, to see my Uncle graduate his RN thingy and finally become a Nurse. I didn't get a single phone call from the hospital about my phlegm sample so I figure everything is okay. The day comes around for us to leave and my Mother, my Brother Jason, and myself head to the Airport, clear security, all that jazz.
We get up into the Air and about 20 mins in, I start to feel shitty. A little dizzy and ready to vomit. I go into the Bathroom and proceed to do so. The entire flight was me running in and out of the bathroom throwing up over and over. Was one of the worst plane rides I've ever been on.
Finally land, my Uncle Joe(the one who just got his RN thingy) picked us up at the Airport and I asked to be driven to his place as fast as possible because I just kept feeling worse.
About 2 or 3 days ago by, I barely ate a thing, and anytime I did eat, I threw it up moments later. My breathing was becoming heavy, hard, and painful. I was coughing up so much phlegm, and could barely stand long enough to go to the bathroom without feeling horribly dizzy.
Finally, I get my Mom to take me to the Hospital. I don't remember much but I do remember sitting in Emerg on Oxygen. I don't know how long I waited before seeing anyone. I think we waited maybe 30 minutes or so.
After that, it's a bit of a blur. I was given an I.V. and that's really all I remember for a few days. The next thing I remember after that is waking up and feeling 1000 times better, I was able to breath a little more, and I even tried doing an exercise Bike, couldn't last long. I managed to do about 10 minutes, if that.
The next two weeks was a lot of me trying my hardest to get my lungs back into shape and gain the weight I lost back. As it turned out, I had lost some 20 pounds from those few days of not eating and it was a nightmare trying to get that weight back in the Hospital there. While it was a nice hospital, the rooms were very large so space wasn't an issue, and the view was just beautiful. Every morning I'd look outside and I'd see clouds coming off the Mountains and it looked like they were all on fire and the clouds were the smoke coming off. Was so cool.
Me, being the curious guy I am, asked many times what was wrong with my lungs that flared up so quickly and made me feel so shitty. Apparently, I had E.Coli in my lungs and the recirculated Air in the Plane was like lighting the Wick to a stick of Dynamite. After some time in that plane, it was an explosion of bad things in my body.
So, the Hospital treats me great, probably the best I've ever been treated at a Hospital. They did their best to try and get me the food I needed but they were unable to get me the 100% food needed. The Hospital I was at just had a very basic kitchen for patients and so they were unable to feed someone like me properly. I'd say I'd get about 40% of my daily food intact from that Hospital and I had my mom cover the other 60% in take out or food she cooked at my uncles.
Near the end of those two weeks I still wasn't healthy enough to go back home or be discharged and I was trying to feel discouraged. I had no friends there, my Brother decided to fly home early so he could throw parties while my mom was with me making sure I had my needs taken care of.
Without that encouragement I'd get from friends both in Hospital and out, I started to feel scared. I asked many times if there was a way that I could fly home and finish my Hospital stay. I really enjoyed being at the Hospital in Kelowna but it was so unfamiliar to me. After a few days of talking to various people to set it up. My flight home was set. I couldn't take a Helicopter from the Hospital back to Winnipeg, sadly. They just discharged me from there, informed the Hospital in Winnipeg that I'd be coming, gave my mom my chart, and many face masks.
Get to the Airport, get on the Plane, I had my mom awesomely inform all the really hot flight attendants that I was this sick kid with special needs, and we were off.
Had some fun chats with the people on the Plane while wearing a face mask. A lot of people thought I had some super contagious bug and that was why I required the face mask and crap. I cleared that crap up pretty quickly.
We land, cab to the Hospital, I get readmitted, and restart my care there. Was another 2 weeks before I was healthy enough by their standards to go home. I had asked and raged numerous times about how the fuck I had E.Coli in my lungs and no one bothered to fucking inform me about it. I'd just get some bullshit about how they tried to call me but they couldn't get ahold of me which was such a load of crap. Back then, when a Doctor called my House, it was like being told there was a murderer on the lose in our block. That shit was never "Oh, I'll tell Randy, bye" type stuff.
This was the second time I considered filling a lawsuit against the Hospital but logic always got the better of me. "Best not to piss off the few specialists you have in this city".
So, ya, that's the story of that. More to come in two weeks. I enjoy writing these and I might even try posts about non-medical related stuff. I've yet to see where I want to take this blog. While I do have many more medical stories, one day I will run out and will either leave the blog or break out into something else.
So, I go on this 3 day road trip. Was beyond a blast. My two friends, Will, James, and myself piled into my Mom's old truck drove. During the first 8 hours, Will was driving and I was taking mini naps in the back seat. When my turn came around to drive I was tired as hell and still needed a few minutes to wake up. We pull into a Gas station, piss, get food, ect. We finally finish and I get in the drivers seat and head out of the Parking Lot. I start turning into oncoming traffic and ask "Am I in the right Lane?". Again, I was tired and still not 100% yet. They all respond with "Yeah.....NO!" and I quickly turn back into the correct lane and avoid killing us.
I'll go into the rest of that trip another time. I just wanted to share that story before I went on.
Anywho.... after we came back from Baltimore, my Mother informs me that in a few weeks we'll be going to Kelowna, BC, to see my Uncle graduate his RN thingy and finally become a Nurse. I didn't get a single phone call from the hospital about my phlegm sample so I figure everything is okay. The day comes around for us to leave and my Mother, my Brother Jason, and myself head to the Airport, clear security, all that jazz.
We get up into the Air and about 20 mins in, I start to feel shitty. A little dizzy and ready to vomit. I go into the Bathroom and proceed to do so. The entire flight was me running in and out of the bathroom throwing up over and over. Was one of the worst plane rides I've ever been on.
Finally land, my Uncle Joe(the one who just got his RN thingy) picked us up at the Airport and I asked to be driven to his place as fast as possible because I just kept feeling worse.
About 2 or 3 days ago by, I barely ate a thing, and anytime I did eat, I threw it up moments later. My breathing was becoming heavy, hard, and painful. I was coughing up so much phlegm, and could barely stand long enough to go to the bathroom without feeling horribly dizzy.
Finally, I get my Mom to take me to the Hospital. I don't remember much but I do remember sitting in Emerg on Oxygen. I don't know how long I waited before seeing anyone. I think we waited maybe 30 minutes or so.
After that, it's a bit of a blur. I was given an I.V. and that's really all I remember for a few days. The next thing I remember after that is waking up and feeling 1000 times better, I was able to breath a little more, and I even tried doing an exercise Bike, couldn't last long. I managed to do about 10 minutes, if that.
The next two weeks was a lot of me trying my hardest to get my lungs back into shape and gain the weight I lost back. As it turned out, I had lost some 20 pounds from those few days of not eating and it was a nightmare trying to get that weight back in the Hospital there. While it was a nice hospital, the rooms were very large so space wasn't an issue, and the view was just beautiful. Every morning I'd look outside and I'd see clouds coming off the Mountains and it looked like they were all on fire and the clouds were the smoke coming off. Was so cool.
Me, being the curious guy I am, asked many times what was wrong with my lungs that flared up so quickly and made me feel so shitty. Apparently, I had E.Coli in my lungs and the recirculated Air in the Plane was like lighting the Wick to a stick of Dynamite. After some time in that plane, it was an explosion of bad things in my body.
So, the Hospital treats me great, probably the best I've ever been treated at a Hospital. They did their best to try and get me the food I needed but they were unable to get me the 100% food needed. The Hospital I was at just had a very basic kitchen for patients and so they were unable to feed someone like me properly. I'd say I'd get about 40% of my daily food intact from that Hospital and I had my mom cover the other 60% in take out or food she cooked at my uncles.
Near the end of those two weeks I still wasn't healthy enough to go back home or be discharged and I was trying to feel discouraged. I had no friends there, my Brother decided to fly home early so he could throw parties while my mom was with me making sure I had my needs taken care of.
Without that encouragement I'd get from friends both in Hospital and out, I started to feel scared. I asked many times if there was a way that I could fly home and finish my Hospital stay. I really enjoyed being at the Hospital in Kelowna but it was so unfamiliar to me. After a few days of talking to various people to set it up. My flight home was set. I couldn't take a Helicopter from the Hospital back to Winnipeg, sadly. They just discharged me from there, informed the Hospital in Winnipeg that I'd be coming, gave my mom my chart, and many face masks.
Get to the Airport, get on the Plane, I had my mom awesomely inform all the really hot flight attendants that I was this sick kid with special needs, and we were off.
Had some fun chats with the people on the Plane while wearing a face mask. A lot of people thought I had some super contagious bug and that was why I required the face mask and crap. I cleared that crap up pretty quickly.
We land, cab to the Hospital, I get readmitted, and restart my care there. Was another 2 weeks before I was healthy enough by their standards to go home. I had asked and raged numerous times about how the fuck I had E.Coli in my lungs and no one bothered to fucking inform me about it. I'd just get some bullshit about how they tried to call me but they couldn't get ahold of me which was such a load of crap. Back then, when a Doctor called my House, it was like being told there was a murderer on the lose in our block. That shit was never "Oh, I'll tell Randy, bye" type stuff.
This was the second time I considered filling a lawsuit against the Hospital but logic always got the better of me. "Best not to piss off the few specialists you have in this city".
So, ya, that's the story of that. More to come in two weeks. I enjoy writing these and I might even try posts about non-medical related stuff. I've yet to see where I want to take this blog. While I do have many more medical stories, one day I will run out and will either leave the blog or break out into something else.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Call me Ironman
Well, this is gonna be a very descriptive post.
Let's begin.
I should state that everyone who has some sort of major surgery involving going inside the chest cavity most likely requires wires to hold the sternum together while the body heals. The average person gets 3 wires.
It all started after my transplant. It's been a issue since I got my bandages off. One of the wires holding my chest together was always razed and was easy to feel beneath my skin. I pointed it out to my doctors the second I noticed but as always they left something that I was worried about alone. Told me "Just don't rub it and it won't poke through the skin"
Well, fat lot of good that did.
About 3 weeks I came home from a night out and was changing into my PJs. I looked at my chest and noticed that the area around the one wire was a bright yellow. It worried the shit out of me. I called my Transplant Nurse and left her a message. I had to wait till Monday to get anything back because I noticed the yellowness on a Friday night. I would have gone to the Emergency but I didn't feel like waiting for several hours just to be told "There's nothing wrong, go home" even if something was wrong. That seems to be the common answer for me there.
So, Monday comes around and I barely slept. I was waiting for her to call me back because it greatly bothered me. Transplant was supposed to end this weird medical shit so anything out of the norm worries me.
Ends up calling me back around noon. I explain how yellow it was and she just assumed I hit my chest on something and bruised it.
Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I'm very cautious of my chest. I've never liked anything touching my chest, even before transplant, even as a kid. Cystic Fibrosis has always made me very careful to never get hit there. And abusive brothers who enjoyed hitting me there would remind me why I didn't like getting my chest hit.
The nurse continues to ignore me about how I'm always careful and just tells me to come in on the Friday.(More waiting, yay) Says that if it does happen to poke through the skin, just put a Band-aid on it. It'll be fine.
Now, I'm no doctor but one would think that something poking through the skin when it shouldn't be would be cause for alarm. Apparently not.
Luckily the week goes by and nothing bad happened. The yellowness went down and it was all better. She tells me to get an X-ray and we'll go from there. I get the X-ray and it shows just how close the tip of the wire is from poking through my skin. Gets the doctor to look at it and they set up a surgery for 2 weeks later.
Sadly, it was the only time the OR had.
Now, here's where I wish I didn't open my mouth about the wire because what happened in that OR was one of the worst things I ever felt in my life. Remember, this is coming from someone who had his lungs replaced so I know pain.
My mom brings me to the Hospital at 7am. She's my ride back. We find the new admission wing of the Hospital, sign in, and spend 5 minutes trying to get the lady signing me in to understand that I know the hospital better then her so I don't need to wait for someone to take me up in a wheel chair to the Day Surgery Ward.
We get up there, I'm told to change into that thing ass Robe in a freezing cold hospital and wait. Sat in the waiting room with my balls freezing for about 30 minutes. They finally take me into the OR (An even colder room, I might add) and lie down on the table. My mom is waiting down the hall for me.
Let's come up with some names for the 2 Nurses and 1 surgeon.
Nurse 1 will be Betty, Nurse 2 will be Wanda, and Surgeon will be Fred.
So Betty grabs this comically large needle and fills it with freezing. I'm thinking they're just joking around with it but sadly I was so very wrong. Fred takes it and stabs my chest with it. Tells me when he injects the freezing it will feel like a massive Bee sting in the chest.
He was right but it didn't hurt that bad. Wanda hands him a Scalpel and asks "Does this hurt" and begins cutting. I kindly inform him that it did hurt. He goes "Huh" and injects more Bee Sting freezing.
Finally finishes cutting in my chest and grabs what I assume were pliers. I couldn't really see. He kept giving me shit about watching because I was breathing on the area that needed to be cut. Takes these plies and begins to try to cut them so he can begin pulling.
Hole Lee Fucking Shit.
It was one of the most painful things I've ever felt in my life. It was like he was taking a tiny section of my sternum and trying to rip it out with claws. This wasn't over in a few seconds either. He kept trying and trying to cut that wire. He actually ended up breaking the first pair of Pliers he had so he had to use another one. This experience lasted over two full minutes. I was screaming and swearing almost at the top of my lungs. All he kept saying was ...
"It'll be over quick"
I wanted to go Exorcist on his ass and just start insulting him over and over.
Then after that pain was over, the top part of my wire fell to the floor and he began to pull the wire out. I wish so badly at this point I was able to pass out from pain. I so fucking badly wish I could have.
The best way I can explain this is imagine a block of cement. Now, imagine that a wire is all looped around inside that block and you have like half a centimeter of wire to pull on. Try pulling on that with all your strength. It won't come out easy.
Now, imagine that the block of cement IS YOUR FUCKING CHEST.
I can't even describe the pain. I really can't.
Just as he finishes pulling out the wire his beeper starts going off. He sews me up, looks at it, and takes off. As he's leaving he tells me not to get the area wet for 10 days and the stitches will dissolve.
And like that, it's over. The entire thing was maybe 10 minutes long but it was the worst ten minutes of my life. Betty and Wanda are telling me to lie down and take my time. They kept apologizing to me about the pain and how there was nothing they could do because they can't freeze the bones.
My mom walks in the room and starts laughing at me like I was over reacting to a needle shot. They all help me up and make sure that I won't pass out.
And that's the story of how I got my wire out. Hope you enjoyed it.
Let's begin.
I should state that everyone who has some sort of major surgery involving going inside the chest cavity most likely requires wires to hold the sternum together while the body heals. The average person gets 3 wires.
It all started after my transplant. It's been a issue since I got my bandages off. One of the wires holding my chest together was always razed and was easy to feel beneath my skin. I pointed it out to my doctors the second I noticed but as always they left something that I was worried about alone. Told me "Just don't rub it and it won't poke through the skin"
Well, fat lot of good that did.
About 3 weeks I came home from a night out and was changing into my PJs. I looked at my chest and noticed that the area around the one wire was a bright yellow. It worried the shit out of me. I called my Transplant Nurse and left her a message. I had to wait till Monday to get anything back because I noticed the yellowness on a Friday night. I would have gone to the Emergency but I didn't feel like waiting for several hours just to be told "There's nothing wrong, go home" even if something was wrong. That seems to be the common answer for me there.
So, Monday comes around and I barely slept. I was waiting for her to call me back because it greatly bothered me. Transplant was supposed to end this weird medical shit so anything out of the norm worries me.
Ends up calling me back around noon. I explain how yellow it was and she just assumed I hit my chest on something and bruised it.
Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I'm very cautious of my chest. I've never liked anything touching my chest, even before transplant, even as a kid. Cystic Fibrosis has always made me very careful to never get hit there. And abusive brothers who enjoyed hitting me there would remind me why I didn't like getting my chest hit.
The nurse continues to ignore me about how I'm always careful and just tells me to come in on the Friday.(More waiting, yay) Says that if it does happen to poke through the skin, just put a Band-aid on it. It'll be fine.
Now, I'm no doctor but one would think that something poking through the skin when it shouldn't be would be cause for alarm. Apparently not.
Luckily the week goes by and nothing bad happened. The yellowness went down and it was all better. She tells me to get an X-ray and we'll go from there. I get the X-ray and it shows just how close the tip of the wire is from poking through my skin. Gets the doctor to look at it and they set up a surgery for 2 weeks later.
Sadly, it was the only time the OR had.
Now, here's where I wish I didn't open my mouth about the wire because what happened in that OR was one of the worst things I ever felt in my life. Remember, this is coming from someone who had his lungs replaced so I know pain.
My mom brings me to the Hospital at 7am. She's my ride back. We find the new admission wing of the Hospital, sign in, and spend 5 minutes trying to get the lady signing me in to understand that I know the hospital better then her so I don't need to wait for someone to take me up in a wheel chair to the Day Surgery Ward.
We get up there, I'm told to change into that thing ass Robe in a freezing cold hospital and wait. Sat in the waiting room with my balls freezing for about 30 minutes. They finally take me into the OR (An even colder room, I might add) and lie down on the table. My mom is waiting down the hall for me.
Let's come up with some names for the 2 Nurses and 1 surgeon.
Nurse 1 will be Betty, Nurse 2 will be Wanda, and Surgeon will be Fred.
So Betty grabs this comically large needle and fills it with freezing. I'm thinking they're just joking around with it but sadly I was so very wrong. Fred takes it and stabs my chest with it. Tells me when he injects the freezing it will feel like a massive Bee sting in the chest.
He was right but it didn't hurt that bad. Wanda hands him a Scalpel and asks "Does this hurt" and begins cutting. I kindly inform him that it did hurt. He goes "Huh" and injects more Bee Sting freezing.
Finally finishes cutting in my chest and grabs what I assume were pliers. I couldn't really see. He kept giving me shit about watching because I was breathing on the area that needed to be cut. Takes these plies and begins to try to cut them so he can begin pulling.
Hole Lee Fucking Shit.
It was one of the most painful things I've ever felt in my life. It was like he was taking a tiny section of my sternum and trying to rip it out with claws. This wasn't over in a few seconds either. He kept trying and trying to cut that wire. He actually ended up breaking the first pair of Pliers he had so he had to use another one. This experience lasted over two full minutes. I was screaming and swearing almost at the top of my lungs. All he kept saying was ...
"It'll be over quick"
I wanted to go Exorcist on his ass and just start insulting him over and over.
Then after that pain was over, the top part of my wire fell to the floor and he began to pull the wire out. I wish so badly at this point I was able to pass out from pain. I so fucking badly wish I could have.
The best way I can explain this is imagine a block of cement. Now, imagine that a wire is all looped around inside that block and you have like half a centimeter of wire to pull on. Try pulling on that with all your strength. It won't come out easy.
Now, imagine that the block of cement IS YOUR FUCKING CHEST.
I can't even describe the pain. I really can't.
Just as he finishes pulling out the wire his beeper starts going off. He sews me up, looks at it, and takes off. As he's leaving he tells me not to get the area wet for 10 days and the stitches will dissolve.
And like that, it's over. The entire thing was maybe 10 minutes long but it was the worst ten minutes of my life. Betty and Wanda are telling me to lie down and take my time. They kept apologizing to me about the pain and how there was nothing they could do because they can't freeze the bones.
My mom walks in the room and starts laughing at me like I was over reacting to a needle shot. They all help me up and make sure that I won't pass out.
And that's the story of how I got my wire out. Hope you enjoyed it.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Random Thoughts
This will be about some random stuff I've thought about during my life.
One of the biggest things about me when I first started getting sick is that I thought everyone saw me as a leech. A kid who was faking it to get out of school. It was because of that thinking that I didn't use what I could have. I didn't eat all of the meals they brought me, I didn't use Meal Slips for the Cafeteria, I didn't really.....I guess enjoy myself would be how to describe it.
I secluded myself in my room a majority of the time. I didn't socialize with the Nurses, and I really only left my room for tests or to hang out with my friend Christian when he was sick at the same time I was.
All of that changed though on my 18th Birthday.
See, I was playing on my Computer when a friend sent me a message saying
"Man, I'm so sorry. Are you doing okay?"
I had no idea what he was talking about. I responded with a "The hell are you talking about?" and then he gave me a link to Christians Obituary and kept saying sorry to me. He had passed away during his Lung Transplant. His body just couldn't handle it anymore. I read the article and just sat there. I didn't care. I didn't frown. I had no emotion on my face. My brother happened to walk in my room and read my screen. He goes and tells my Mother and they all start crying.
Except me.
To this day, I still don't know why I didn't cry. Christian was like a brother to me. We used to hang out all the time. We were in the same Day Care program as kids. We'd always talk about what being sick was like. Whenever we both were in the Hospital together, we'd chat for hours about the tests and Doctors. He was such a dear friend.
When I found that out my mind just stopped caring anymore. I stopped taking care of myself, I stopped caring what anyone thought about me, I didn't sleep when I should have, I skipped school constantly, and just became a prick of a person.
After that, whenever I got sick, I used every privilege I could. I used my free Meal Slips anytime I wanted food. I made fusses so I could get a gaming System into my room in the Hospital, and so much more that I regret.
Even though I was told I wouldn't live to see 25. It really didn't enter my mind as much as you'd think. I probably thought about it maybe once every few months but after Christian passed....I never stopped thinking about it. In my mind, I was dead no matter what I did. Normal people never really think about death or the options they might have. To me, even if I got on that transplant list I was dead.
Can you imagine being a teenager thinking that no matter what you do, you're gonna die anyways?
I know some people are probably thinking "Well, if I knew I was going to die I'd try to make the most out of my life"
And in a sense. I tried. I made sure that no matter what. My friends were laughing.
Another one of my largest fears is that I'm terrified that I'm going to die being hooked up to machines for months on end.
When I was in that Coma two years ago, I was hooked up to all kinds of machines. I had tubes in my Lungs and Stomach, I had so many different IVs. It, in my mind, was hell. I never want to lie like that and I'm so glad that I woke up and got out of there.
My wish for situations like that is if it ever lasts longer than 4-6 weeks, that they stop and let me die or whatever. I can't think of a worse hell then being in a nightmare like that and unable to do anything.
Here's something random. I'm trying to get into Astronomy Classes. I hope to one day get a job researching the stars and space. My entire life I've always been fascinated about Space. It's a just so unbelievable that it's so large, that there are Galaxies so big that it defies are current known laws of physics. Or that in Billions of years we'll be burnt to a crisp by our son or that the Milky Way Galaxy will collide with the Andromeda Galaxy and form a even bigger one.
Space is just fucking cool.
Well, till next time. I think I'll do a post every 3 weeks to a month. It's getting harder to word these. I still have a a whole mess of stuff from my past that I can tell you. It's just wording it so that it doesn't sound retarded.
One of the biggest things about me when I first started getting sick is that I thought everyone saw me as a leech. A kid who was faking it to get out of school. It was because of that thinking that I didn't use what I could have. I didn't eat all of the meals they brought me, I didn't use Meal Slips for the Cafeteria, I didn't really.....I guess enjoy myself would be how to describe it.
I secluded myself in my room a majority of the time. I didn't socialize with the Nurses, and I really only left my room for tests or to hang out with my friend Christian when he was sick at the same time I was.
All of that changed though on my 18th Birthday.
See, I was playing on my Computer when a friend sent me a message saying
"Man, I'm so sorry. Are you doing okay?"
I had no idea what he was talking about. I responded with a "The hell are you talking about?" and then he gave me a link to Christians Obituary and kept saying sorry to me. He had passed away during his Lung Transplant. His body just couldn't handle it anymore. I read the article and just sat there. I didn't care. I didn't frown. I had no emotion on my face. My brother happened to walk in my room and read my screen. He goes and tells my Mother and they all start crying.
Except me.
To this day, I still don't know why I didn't cry. Christian was like a brother to me. We used to hang out all the time. We were in the same Day Care program as kids. We'd always talk about what being sick was like. Whenever we both were in the Hospital together, we'd chat for hours about the tests and Doctors. He was such a dear friend.
When I found that out my mind just stopped caring anymore. I stopped taking care of myself, I stopped caring what anyone thought about me, I didn't sleep when I should have, I skipped school constantly, and just became a prick of a person.
After that, whenever I got sick, I used every privilege I could. I used my free Meal Slips anytime I wanted food. I made fusses so I could get a gaming System into my room in the Hospital, and so much more that I regret.
Even though I was told I wouldn't live to see 25. It really didn't enter my mind as much as you'd think. I probably thought about it maybe once every few months but after Christian passed....I never stopped thinking about it. In my mind, I was dead no matter what I did. Normal people never really think about death or the options they might have. To me, even if I got on that transplant list I was dead.
Can you imagine being a teenager thinking that no matter what you do, you're gonna die anyways?
I know some people are probably thinking "Well, if I knew I was going to die I'd try to make the most out of my life"
And in a sense. I tried. I made sure that no matter what. My friends were laughing.
Another one of my largest fears is that I'm terrified that I'm going to die being hooked up to machines for months on end.
When I was in that Coma two years ago, I was hooked up to all kinds of machines. I had tubes in my Lungs and Stomach, I had so many different IVs. It, in my mind, was hell. I never want to lie like that and I'm so glad that I woke up and got out of there.
My wish for situations like that is if it ever lasts longer than 4-6 weeks, that they stop and let me die or whatever. I can't think of a worse hell then being in a nightmare like that and unable to do anything.
Here's something random. I'm trying to get into Astronomy Classes. I hope to one day get a job researching the stars and space. My entire life I've always been fascinated about Space. It's a just so unbelievable that it's so large, that there are Galaxies so big that it defies are current known laws of physics. Or that in Billions of years we'll be burnt to a crisp by our son or that the Milky Way Galaxy will collide with the Andromeda Galaxy and form a even bigger one.
Space is just fucking cool.
Well, till next time. I think I'll do a post every 3 weeks to a month. It's getting harder to word these. I still have a a whole mess of stuff from my past that I can tell you. It's just wording it so that it doesn't sound retarded.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Taking a Nap
Approximately 2 years I was playing Video games with my Roommate. We decided that we wanted to replay Legend Of Dragoon. Easily one of my favorite games. I'd go into why but this isn't a video game review blog....yet...
After about an hour of playing and switching off, my breathing started to feel heavy. I figured "no problem, I'll just do my breathing machine(I forgot the name for it. I called it DNAS) and I'll be fine.
Sadly, that was not the case. Doing that seemed to make it much worse. I knew things were going wrong so I told my Roommate that we're gonna drive to the Hospital. I tried to stand up to get my shit together so I could drive but I could barely do just that. I sat down, told him "We ain't driving" and called 911 instead.
While waiting I gathered my Laptop and various other accessories that I like to have with me when I'm in the hospital. Lord knows how boring that place can get.
My check list was always my Laptop, my 2TB External HDD, PSP, DS, several games for both, and power cords for each. I learned that 2-6 weeks in the hospital can always drag on. You can only read so much or watch so much TV.
So, I managed to gather all that without even standing up. 911 arrives and I tell them what's going on. They take my SATs and see that I'm doing very badly. They throw me on a stretcher and start to wheel me to the hospital.
I get to the hospital and I'm on Oxygen while I wait. Starting to feel....I guess dizzy or light headed would be the way to explain it but I kept up high spirits. I was thinking I just had a lung infection and that it would be a typical two weeks in the hospital. That wasn't the case.
The Ward I usually go on was full so I went to another till a room opened up. I don't really remember much but what I do remember was I was coughing a lot. I mean nearly nonstop. I was in extreme pain. I was crying it was hurting so bad. They ended up giving me Morphine to help with the pain but from what I'm told it didn't.
I started to cough up blood and things started to go black for me.
After coughing up blood I remember waking up to a Doctor coming in and I begged him not to let me die. He ended up promising me that he wouldn't.
After that it was lights out for me. I awoke 5 days later.
What had happened was that they put me in a chemically induced coma to stop the coughing. They did this weird thing where they stuck a tube down my throat and drained the phlegm out of my lungs. It was apparently black and gross.
I asked if anyone took pictures while I was asleep, they just gave me looks and asked if I was retarded. What? I find this stuff cool. I may have been dying but that doesn't mean it's any less interesting in my eyes.
Anyways, while I was asleep the doctors and nurses told my friends and family that it's not looking good. That chances are, I'll die. No one really seemed to believe that I'd make it out of it.
Things just kept getting worse I'm told. There was a part were it started to get better but it was just a bumpy road that had a come recent repair in the middle. Things just started to get worse again. So, because of all that, I had friends and family by my side constantly. Talking to me, telling me stories, hoping I wake up and not die. I'm told I was never alone.
Even while under though, I was fighting, both mentally and physically. While asleep, I was trying to pull out tubes and everything. They had to tie my arms and legs down because I couldn't be stopped. My body just didn't want to be there.
After the 5 days though, a nurse is looking over me and she ended up turning around for a few minutes. When she looked back though....I had managed to pull out the tube in my lungs. See, what I somehow managed to do was while asleep, I used my tongue to remove the tube in my lungs that was sucking out the phlegm and blood. I don't know how but I did it.
Because of that they were forced to wake me up. I don't really know what happened and I wasn't told so I can't really fill anyone in on that but what I do remember is two things.
The first is that I yelled at my mom for spilling my entire Catheter all over the floor and demanded she clear it up.
The second is fighting with my uncle about how the curtains were pulled. I remember bitching at him to fix them and he pretended to do it so I said to him "I may be stoned but I'm not stupid".
The rest is pretty blank after that.
Now, while all stuff is happening when I was asleep, in my mind I was dreaming. I had a dream that my two best friends and I got a House together. I had the main floor, my friend John had the second floor, and my friend James had the basement. I had this really awesome computer/video game room set up and I was enjoying in it there but then I heard my mom screaming from outside demanding I move back home. That's when I woke up.
I miss that dream...
Well, there you guys go. That's my Coma experience. I'm not running out of stories. Life is just getting extremely busy is all. This new job is exhausting and I've been making new friends and hanging out with them. I'm barely home these days. Life sure is busy when you aren't dying.
Till next time~
After about an hour of playing and switching off, my breathing started to feel heavy. I figured "no problem, I'll just do my breathing machine(I forgot the name for it. I called it DNAS) and I'll be fine.
Sadly, that was not the case. Doing that seemed to make it much worse. I knew things were going wrong so I told my Roommate that we're gonna drive to the Hospital. I tried to stand up to get my shit together so I could drive but I could barely do just that. I sat down, told him "We ain't driving" and called 911 instead.
While waiting I gathered my Laptop and various other accessories that I like to have with me when I'm in the hospital. Lord knows how boring that place can get.
My check list was always my Laptop, my 2TB External HDD, PSP, DS, several games for both, and power cords for each. I learned that 2-6 weeks in the hospital can always drag on. You can only read so much or watch so much TV.
So, I managed to gather all that without even standing up. 911 arrives and I tell them what's going on. They take my SATs and see that I'm doing very badly. They throw me on a stretcher and start to wheel me to the hospital.
I get to the hospital and I'm on Oxygen while I wait. Starting to feel....I guess dizzy or light headed would be the way to explain it but I kept up high spirits. I was thinking I just had a lung infection and that it would be a typical two weeks in the hospital. That wasn't the case.
The Ward I usually go on was full so I went to another till a room opened up. I don't really remember much but what I do remember was I was coughing a lot. I mean nearly nonstop. I was in extreme pain. I was crying it was hurting so bad. They ended up giving me Morphine to help with the pain but from what I'm told it didn't.
I started to cough up blood and things started to go black for me.
After coughing up blood I remember waking up to a Doctor coming in and I begged him not to let me die. He ended up promising me that he wouldn't.
After that it was lights out for me. I awoke 5 days later.
What had happened was that they put me in a chemically induced coma to stop the coughing. They did this weird thing where they stuck a tube down my throat and drained the phlegm out of my lungs. It was apparently black and gross.
I asked if anyone took pictures while I was asleep, they just gave me looks and asked if I was retarded. What? I find this stuff cool. I may have been dying but that doesn't mean it's any less interesting in my eyes.
Anyways, while I was asleep the doctors and nurses told my friends and family that it's not looking good. That chances are, I'll die. No one really seemed to believe that I'd make it out of it.
Things just kept getting worse I'm told. There was a part were it started to get better but it was just a bumpy road that had a come recent repair in the middle. Things just started to get worse again. So, because of all that, I had friends and family by my side constantly. Talking to me, telling me stories, hoping I wake up and not die. I'm told I was never alone.
Even while under though, I was fighting, both mentally and physically. While asleep, I was trying to pull out tubes and everything. They had to tie my arms and legs down because I couldn't be stopped. My body just didn't want to be there.
After the 5 days though, a nurse is looking over me and she ended up turning around for a few minutes. When she looked back though....I had managed to pull out the tube in my lungs. See, what I somehow managed to do was while asleep, I used my tongue to remove the tube in my lungs that was sucking out the phlegm and blood. I don't know how but I did it.
Because of that they were forced to wake me up. I don't really know what happened and I wasn't told so I can't really fill anyone in on that but what I do remember is two things.
The first is that I yelled at my mom for spilling my entire Catheter all over the floor and demanded she clear it up.
The second is fighting with my uncle about how the curtains were pulled. I remember bitching at him to fix them and he pretended to do it so I said to him "I may be stoned but I'm not stupid".
The rest is pretty blank after that.
Now, while all stuff is happening when I was asleep, in my mind I was dreaming. I had a dream that my two best friends and I got a House together. I had the main floor, my friend John had the second floor, and my friend James had the basement. I had this really awesome computer/video game room set up and I was enjoying in it there but then I heard my mom screaming from outside demanding I move back home. That's when I woke up.
I miss that dream...
Well, there you guys go. That's my Coma experience. I'm not running out of stories. Life is just getting extremely busy is all. This new job is exhausting and I've been making new friends and hanging out with them. I'm barely home these days. Life sure is busy when you aren't dying.
Till next time~
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Life or Family
I'm well aware that it's been a while since I updated and I apologize. Life is currently kicking my ass. With having a job and my chronic back pain has been worse than ever due to the increase in activity but that's not what this post is about.
Today, I'mma write about my family and how is confuses me. I've known many other families who have had ill Children/Parents/whatever and that family would band together and grow and love life all the more. That's not the case with my family.
My family has gotten to the point of where I am ill but they'll brag about how much they hate their lives, they'll waste them, do drugs, or even attempt suicide.
I have a Mother that would panic and go 100 MPH, go through Red Lights, and be a danger to everyone on the road if I showed any sign of being sick just to get me to the Hospital as quick as possible but if she's deathly ill she'll refuse all help and threaten people who care about her if they offered to call 911.
There was this incident a while back where my Mother was greatly ill, she had breathing problems, was pale as a ghost, couldn't eat, couldn't speak. It was really scary. I wasn't aware of this at the time as I was taking a rather long and relaxing poop.
I like to play video games or watch Netflix when I'm in the bathroom. It's always been my private place. I've never had my privacy in my room but when I'm in the Bathroom, people leave me alone so that's how I release stress.
Anyways. I had just sat down on the toilet and my brother comes knocking on the door. He's holding a phone in his hand and he's telling me that "Mom doesn't look well. You should probably call 911".
I just want this to sink in. He was holding a phone in his hand and he told me to call 911 while I was sitting on the toilet.
I called him an idiot and told him that I just sat down, would like to take a crap, and that since he's holding the god damn phone that should call 911. He said something like "Fuck, fine". I thought that was the end of it so after about an hour and a half I get off the Can and make my way upstairs. I was wondering why the Ambulance hasn't gotten here yet. I took a look into my Mom's room to see her look like she was dying and I asked Jason why he didn't call 911. He said he was too busy.
Spoilers, he wasn't. He was watching T.V in the living room.
So, I tell my mom I'm calling 911 and she starts to barely say to me that if I call them that she'll refuse to go unless I call my Step Father and get him over here ASAP. He was out working or something at the time. I yelled at her for being an idiot and called 911. When they arrived I told them exactly what she said and that she might be mentally stable.
She actually tried to tell them that she was fine. Her SATS were complete shit, she had to be put on several litres of Oxygen and she was rushed to the Hospital.
That crap just confuses me. Even now, if my breathing isn't perfect in her eyes it's "We're going to the Hospital or I'll have you declared unfit to take care of yourself" yet she did that crap to herself. She could have died. It's not like breathing problems were new in her life. She's watched me nearly die, die, be in Comas, have seizures, and a whole bunch of other crap.
You'd think that a person who witnessed all that would make sure they were absolutely healthy.
Anyways, that's my rant for now and I'll try to update this again in a week. My boss went on Vacation and threw my name in every open shift slot and didn't bother to tell me about it so damn near every day I get a call from Dispatch asking me why I'm not at work yet.
Least I'm making money.
Till next time.
Today, I'mma write about my family and how is confuses me. I've known many other families who have had ill Children/Parents/whatever and that family would band together and grow and love life all the more. That's not the case with my family.
My family has gotten to the point of where I am ill but they'll brag about how much they hate their lives, they'll waste them, do drugs, or even attempt suicide.
I have a Mother that would panic and go 100 MPH, go through Red Lights, and be a danger to everyone on the road if I showed any sign of being sick just to get me to the Hospital as quick as possible but if she's deathly ill she'll refuse all help and threaten people who care about her if they offered to call 911.
There was this incident a while back where my Mother was greatly ill, she had breathing problems, was pale as a ghost, couldn't eat, couldn't speak. It was really scary. I wasn't aware of this at the time as I was taking a rather long and relaxing poop.
I like to play video games or watch Netflix when I'm in the bathroom. It's always been my private place. I've never had my privacy in my room but when I'm in the Bathroom, people leave me alone so that's how I release stress.
Anyways. I had just sat down on the toilet and my brother comes knocking on the door. He's holding a phone in his hand and he's telling me that "Mom doesn't look well. You should probably call 911".
I just want this to sink in. He was holding a phone in his hand and he told me to call 911 while I was sitting on the toilet.
I called him an idiot and told him that I just sat down, would like to take a crap, and that since he's holding the god damn phone that should call 911. He said something like "Fuck, fine". I thought that was the end of it so after about an hour and a half I get off the Can and make my way upstairs. I was wondering why the Ambulance hasn't gotten here yet. I took a look into my Mom's room to see her look like she was dying and I asked Jason why he didn't call 911. He said he was too busy.
Spoilers, he wasn't. He was watching T.V in the living room.
So, I tell my mom I'm calling 911 and she starts to barely say to me that if I call them that she'll refuse to go unless I call my Step Father and get him over here ASAP. He was out working or something at the time. I yelled at her for being an idiot and called 911. When they arrived I told them exactly what she said and that she might be mentally stable.
She actually tried to tell them that she was fine. Her SATS were complete shit, she had to be put on several litres of Oxygen and she was rushed to the Hospital.
That crap just confuses me. Even now, if my breathing isn't perfect in her eyes it's "We're going to the Hospital or I'll have you declared unfit to take care of yourself" yet she did that crap to herself. She could have died. It's not like breathing problems were new in her life. She's watched me nearly die, die, be in Comas, have seizures, and a whole bunch of other crap.
You'd think that a person who witnessed all that would make sure they were absolutely healthy.
Anyways, that's my rant for now and I'll try to update this again in a week. My boss went on Vacation and threw my name in every open shift slot and didn't bother to tell me about it so damn near every day I get a call from Dispatch asking me why I'm not at work yet.
Least I'm making money.
Till next time.
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