The Mom Behind The Finger 2/2

The last blog I wrote was some useful background information on me, my past, my experiences, before and during our journey on the Rainbow road. I shared bits of my childhood, the high school I graduated from, my career choices before mommy-hood, cancer, my husband, and some more. If you haven't checked it out yet I'd encourage you to take a peek. It may offer you a little more understanding as to who this  finger flipping Mom really is.

I left off with the rare, freak, and super rare non-cancerous cancer that took over my breast resulting in a radical mastectomy and the loss of my dream. I was released from the hospital a few days after my surgery. Miserable does not even come close to the way that I felt. I  have yet to find the perfect word to describe it, so if any of you out there know of any please let me know!
I was recovering, slowly but surely, a couple of weeks had come and gone. I don't remember much of it because I was in such a pain-medicine induced brain fog. I woke up one morning feeling especially tired, weak, sick... I don't know really but I knew I didn't feel "good". I called my mother, who had only been back to work for a couple of days and asked her if she could take me to the emergency room. I was strangely calm and gave no indication of just how sick I really was. She told me she'd be there after work and I sat on the couch... and waited.... for hours.... just sat there, no TV, no Facebook perusing, just sitting in silence. She arrived and took one look at me, she later described to me that my face was an odd hue of white and grey. I told her I couldn't leave yet because I needed to brush my teeth, but I didn't move. She stared at me for a few moments waiting for me to walk to the bathroom but when a few minutes passed and I was still sitting she threatened to call 911 if I didn't get in her car. Even in an altered frame of mind I knew I didn't want my co-workers to see me like that. I slowly walked to her car, she rushed me to the ER. When we arrived I walked myself in, I recognized the nurse who checked me in and completed my initial triage.
She was a volunteer Medic with the same county as I was. I was relieved to see her because I knew I wouldn't have to wait in the crowded waiting room for very long. She took my blood pressure and asked me in her ever-so-perfected Medic voice "YOU WALKED IN HERE? With a blood pressure like that?" I
slowly turned my gaze to the machine - 78/52

Things began moving fast, very fast, alarms dinging, doctor's and nurses rushing in, needles, blood, catheter, monitor, and defibrillator pads just in case. Had I been in my right frame of mind I would've recognized they were preparing for the worst, but it's probably best I didn't... I was crashing FAST!
While I was in the ER my fever spiked to over 104. The doctor's told me I had a freak infection that most antibiotics can't fight and it managed to enter my blood stream. I was in septic shock...

"Septic shock is very serious. According to the Mayo Clinic, some studies have found that the death rate for septic shock is almost 50 percent." ehow

 and then the rest of the memory goes completely blank.

The next thing I remember is being in the ICU, my mom and dad were beside the bed with the chaplain. They were crying. This confused me even more..."What is wrong with them? Hey, when did Dad get here? And who is this preacher who's holding my hand and praying over me?" ... the memory cuts out again...
The next thing I remember was waking up in the middle of the night, I only know that because there was nothing but darkness in the window and all of the rooms were dimly lit to allow patients to rest, except for mine. I was so tired, and just wanted to fall back asleep. A strange peace came over me. I began convincing myself that it would be so easy to just let go, just stop breathing. I was so exhausted I wasn't sure how much longer I could force the movement of air in my lungs.

Side note: When I was in college for my Medic I was taught the tell-tale, fool-proof sign that the Reaper is on his way. Impending doom- the feeling or belief that death is near, and when a patient says something to that effect you'd better prepare to fight back! People just know, they can feel that strange comfort the Reaper offers them in exchange for their life. 

I never truly understood how that could possibly be true, until I felt it that night. And it hit me - My body was trying to die on me! I wanted to scream for someone, anyone, everyone... but I couldn't find the energy to move my lips. Trapped in my own mind, unable to move, I prayed...I prayed hard... I bargained...I begged... I promised I would go back to church, I'd be a better Christian, a better mother. I kept repeating in my mind "please don't take me please don't take me please don't take me "
I felt myself beginning to fade into sleep again, I tried to fight it for the fear that I wouldn't wake up, but sleep was much stronger than I was at this point. Finally I surrendered to the peace being offered to me, I couldn't fight it anymore. In my final prayer before drifting off again, I asked God to protect my son, to always let him remember just how much I love him and how hard I tried to hold on...for him.

More alarms, louder, more frantic, I heard the sound of feet as they ran into my room and just like that, the  memory quickly fades.
The next time I opened my eyes I immediately wondered where I was. Did I make it? I frantically looked around and saw the familiar window, the monitor - only now there were no loud alarms. I knew then I was alive. I didn't know for certain how long I was out but when I saw sunlight beaming in through the window I knew God listened to my prayers, I was given more time. The sun never looked more beautiful than it did in that moment.
After some really awful procedures, an entire list of antibiotics I couldn't pronounce, and a few blood transfusions over the course of a couple of weeks, they let me go home. The first moment I saw my son after that horrible event I dropped to my knees, held him so tightly, and cried.
I was so close to never feeling his little arms again, so close to leaving him, the thought alone was enough to break me.
I became septic once more about a month later but that time I recognized the symptoms much sooner. I wasn't nearly as sick as before. I was still admitted but for a shorter time frame and I didn't require nearly as much treatment.
That night in the ICU room was probably the single most traumatic and life changing event I have ever been through. I was boldly dancing with death!
Not everyone survives such a horribly fatal infection. But I did, and I can't give the credit to anyone but God.

It took years before I confided the intimate details of my dance with death that night. And even now I feel the old familiar knot in my throat as I describe it. Just this past summer my Mom and I talked about what she experienced during that awful night. She told me when my father showed up they were chit chatting about nothing in particular, not aware of the severity of my condition. The doctor came out and told them the odds were against me,  he didn't think I would make it through the night. My mother said she felt the blood leave her face, she felt like she was about to collapse. The doctor told her if I could hold on through the night, I had a better chance of surviving, but he couldn't say for certain if I would. My father broke down in tears.
They felt helpless, hopeless, and completely out of control. They let her
and my father stay with me as much as they could but would rush them out when my vitals started going haywire. She said they didn't sleep that night. My parents stayed awake, crying, praying. Every time the ICU doors opened  they feared it would be the doctor coming to deliver some kind of unspeakable news. This intense panic filled them with every swing of the doors. How they managed this for 12 hours I'll never know.
My parent's waited, counting the minutes until dawn. With the first hint of sun peeking over the horizon my
mother grabbed the phone sitting in the waiting room. She called back to the ICU nurses station and asked for an update, they told her I was stable. She fell to the floor and surrendered to all of the emotion she was trying to choke back all night. She sobbed into her knees and my father was soon on the floor beside her, crying into his knees as well. The night was over, I survived it. The overwhelming fear they felt all night couldn't be contained anymore, the flood gate that held back every ounce of emotion finally opened and every drop came pouring out of them.

Until we finally took the time to have this long overdue conversation I didn't think anyone else knew how close to death I felt that night. It was truly a traumatic experience for all of us. Hearing her describe it choked me up. I couldn't imagine feeling so helpless while my child's life was on the line... My parent's were incredibly strong for braving the night with me... I guess the saying is true - You don't know how strong you truly are until strong is the only choice you have...

Now, post traumatic near death experience - the air tastes sweeter, the sun more beautiful, and  I was taught a lesson one can only learn from that intimate dance with death - everyday is a gift even more valuable than the last... a beautiful, amazing, unique gift which can only be given once. Tomorrow is not a promise - so live, live peacefully, live happily, but above all else just live.

I suppose this is where the seed of finger flipping was planted. I recognized an inner desire in myself, in my child, for the opportunity to live life, to enjoy it, to slow down, stop rushing, It was like a divine understanding was suddenly given to me, an understanding that things will happen in their own time, in their own way, according to God's plan which we can't know or begin to comprehend. So ladies and gentlemen, the notion, the idea behind "becoming normal" was tossed out of the window, my middle fingers raised high in the sky.
Screw normal! Give me exceptional, give me unimaginable, give me unique! I want a life that is phenomenal. I want a life for my son that is remarkable! Anything less is a waste of a priceless gift!

If you'd like to know more about desmoid tumors (also called aggressive fibromatosis) please check out The Desmoid Tumor Research Foundation.
For more information about sepsis please visit this informational site about septic shock.

Of course, this isn't all there is to my story, but I get bored with writing all about myself. Writing about rainbows is much more fun! I'm sure I'll tell more of my own experiences at some point in the future, but for now that's enough of me.... back to the rainbow road next time!