Warning: Very Long Entry

In my farewell blog I mentioned I had been thinking about death. For those of you that know me well, you realize that this is something that is always on one of my burners. Sometimes when I have a horrible migraine (like today) it takes a front burner -- ya know, the big one in front like on the stove. But in August it always takes up all four burners. I can't help it. It's my anniversary month.

What's odd is that August is just another month to almost everyone else. Granted, M is thinking about her birthday for the first 19 days of the month and everyone else is trying to get in one last trip to the ocean/beach/mountains before school starts. But since 2003, each August makes my throat a little tighter, I'm more emotional and I'm praying, praying, praying that September will hurry and make August seem like a bad dream.

August 27, 2003. M (barely 2 yrs old) & I walked the one and a half blocks to our community pool. I was so grateful that M loved the water. We spent most of the day at the pool. The weather was so oppressive that day. Humidity was off the charts, but I was ecstatic about the new tan I acquired in just one day at the pool. I forgot to put sunscreen on the tiny little part in M's hair, I hoped it wouldn't burn to a crisp. The day ended with a bad headache, but that was normal after a day in the heat.

August 28, 2003. Angela came over that morning to watch M while I borrowed her car to go to the dentist's office. I needed another root canal (almost all of my teeth have them), but it was only supposed to take a while since I didn't need to go to the endodontist. I'd be back before lunch and nap time. My headache had subsided somewhat and I was grateful it hadn't grown into a migraine overnight. The dentist administered the Novacaine and tilted my chair in preparation for the root canal that would follow. The assistant and dentist left the room to give me time to numb up. Then it came. The pain. That pain to surpass all pain. The worst pain of my life. All at once it was there. I cried for help. No one could hear me, for I was simply whispering. Help. Help! HELP! Marianne (the front desk manager) finally heard me. I need help, something is wrong with my head. There is something horribly wrong. Is it a migraine, she wanted to know. NO! I know migraines and this is NOT one. Call my husband. NOW!! In rushed everyone. My blood pressure had skyrocketed so that it would not register on a BP cuff. Cool, wet paper towels on my forehead. Closing of the blinds in the room. The LIGHTS! TURN OFF THE LIGHTS! T had recently changed jobs and the number in my file was outdated. They couldn't locate him and because of privacy, his co-workers wouldn't give out his new number. It's an emergency. It's his wife. Do you want us to call 911? I hesitated. What if it really was just a bad migraine? I would have to pay $50 for an ER visit for nothing. $50 I didn't have at the time. Angela had to get to work soon and I needed to get back home. T is supposed to fly out of town for his niece's baptism tomorrow and what will I do if they won't release me in time for him to travel? Hmmm. Should you call 911? For once in my life I listened to my gut. My body. All of me. I knew my body better than anyone and I needed to trust myself. YES! Call an ambulance.

The blast of heat, diesel and humidity was almost more than I could take. While I sat in the doorway of the building, next to the ambulance spewing out diesel fumes the EMTs quizzed my dentist. What was in the needle? What is the lot number? Manufacturer? What time? How much? The dentist kissed my hand. She would pray. She would call her mother in Egypt to pray, for God always seemed to answer her prayers. We were off. I envisioned a scene from ER. I would go zooming through the traffic with ease, the sea of cars would part at the first note from the ambulance siren. But there was no sound. There were no lights. I couldn't tell where I was. Where are we going, I asked. We were taking back roads due to the lunch hour traffic and since there was no sign of immediate danger there would be no siren or lights. Oh, no immediate danger. The questions to keep me awake and alert persisted. Medications? So many I carried a list in my wallet. Your name? Where do you live? Diesel. I could only smell diesel.

The next several hours (6 to be exact) were spent in the hallway of the emergency room. I puked on the EMTs shoes and pants despite my constant pleas for a bucket. My body told me the weather was changing. My fibromyalgia never lies(http://www.fmnetnews.com/basics-symptoms.php). It was a storm and I could feel it all over. With T finally at my side they finally got me to the CT scan and into a bed instead of a gurney. That t.v. -- why did it have to be so loud? T braved the scowls for me and requested that it be turned down. Two hours later: a trip to Oregon canceled, M cared for by Angela's more than capable hands, T on the phone with my parents across the continent in the ambulance bay. The attending doctor saunters into my space. My friend is near my side. Mrs. Hughes, you have a nure ISM. Wha? Wha? You have a nure ISM. I turn to my friend and ask -- did he just say aneurysm? She put the doctor on hold while she fetched T and as they hurried back I envisioned my waist long hair being shaved off. My skull jackhammered open and lots of stitches and staples. Blah, blah, blah...we had to fax the CT scan to Baltimore, blah, blah, blah, we can't life-flight her to the next place because of the electrical storm, blah, blah, blah...... 3 hours later I am on an ambulance to Washington Hospital Center. I was eerily aware of everything. I can almost recreate the interior of that ambulance. I was positive they were aiming for each pothole in the metro area trying to kill me with pain. All I could think of was insurance. Did they notify my insurance and get pre-approval? I didn't want to get this bill. Pre-approval. We need pre-approval. Don't do anything until you get that pre-approval. Control. I need control.


Then I had the conversation with my husband that no one prepares you for. I want you to re-marry. M needs a mom. I want to be buried back home. I want to donate my organs -- at least the ones that are worth something. Remember what song I want played at the service, okay? It's hard to think of anything else when they have you signing your life away (along with your rights) at bedside. My mom was on the way. My name is on the prayer roll in multiple states. Everyone is praying. So am I. Promises were made. Love expressed. Those things you think are so pressing seem ridiculous. Except the pre-approval.


My mom made it just in time. She came as they were wheeling me off to have the procedure done. "The Lord didn't finally give you a little girl so you could up and leave now. You're tough. Be tough." Oh, my sweet M! How I longed to give her a last cuddle, to hear her giggle, feel her love. Bright lights. Music. A cold table. I'm tired of fighting the pain. But if there is pain, I'm still alive. Then the darkness and relief come.

I remember certain things while I was out that are far too personal to mention on a blog. Sufficeth to say that the Lord is very kind and the Holy Ghost is real and truly comforting. As I came out of this fog of anesthesia I remember drowning. Suffocating. Choking. The male nurse yelling my name along with instructions to BREATHE, you must BREATHE!! I know, I'm trying, what is this tube coming out of my mouth, why are you so loud?! I'm not dead. I'm not dead. I'm not dead. I'm awake. Thank you, Father. I'm not dead. Can I speak? Can I remember my name and address? Can I see? I went through a mental checklist of my faculties. Yes, I could remember most everything. Darkness circles around me. Sleep calls my name. Oh, I'm so tired. The pain is still there, but I am alive.

The nine days that follow find me in a dark room at the hospital. There are too many details to list. They make sure to tell me I am a miracle. My 13mm aneurysm just behind my right eye has been coiled through my femoral artery with 7 feet of platinum coils. My hair is still attached. My skull is intact. I have the track marks of a junkie from the pain medication. My mother is tending to M. My sister has come and gone. People are cooking meals. There are cards, prayers, pictures, flowers and voicemails. I want to hold my daughter, but I'm restricted to lying flat on my back and afterwards there will nothing heavier than a gallon of milk for a time. Another sister comes to town. I can't bend over and she shaves my legs for me. Angela has cleaned my house and even done my laundry! Something she will tease me about forever. No one that does your load of whites can ever be classified as "just a friend. Another friend flies from Denver. Hurrican Isabel visits us.

Two months later I am back at the dentist's office for that root canal. They are beyond accommodating. They book only me on the schedule, change rooms and allow T to be in the room with me. I see the needle filled with Novacaine and my body instantly stiffens. Breathe in, breathe out.

August will never be the same. Life will never be the same. I have platinum in my head for crying out loud. I carry my own brain scans, avoid anything that will potentially injure my head and remain grateful (depending on the day) for almost losing my life so I could have it given back to me by the One who first gave it. Still I pray, September, please come soon.

To see an aneurysm and what my procedure entailed: http://www.bafound.org/treatment/endovascular.php