Four years ago (September 3rd, 2021), I died. I was brought back to life and after being kept in a coma for a week, I suddenly came back to myself. I was high as a kite because I wsa stuffed full of drugs, weak as a kitten from my ordeal, but I was alive, damn it. That was a marvel and a wonder, and it’s something I still shake my head at because there was no way I should have survived.
Every medical person I talked to told me repeatedly that it was a miracle I was alive. My favorite story is from when I was back home and had a nurse visiting me once a week to check in on me. One week, the nurse could not get into her tech system (on her phone). We commiserated over how tech is great–until it’s not. Since she couldn’t check on what she was there for, she just quickly ran through a bunch of things that I could have had in the past. I said yes to ‘heart attack/sudden cardiac arrest’ and then had to explain my whole medical ordeal (walking (non-COVID-related) pneumonia, two sudden cardiac arrests, and a stroke) to her.
She went on rattling off more things, and I was only half-listening until my attention was caught by her saying, “heart surgery, yes.” My brain did a mental screech, and I told her that I had not had heart surgery. She lowered her phone and gave me a blank stare. “What?” said she, in a bewildered tone.
“She didn’t have heart surgery,” said my brother. (Remember, gender was very low on my list of things to care about at that point.) “She had an angiogram a few days after she woke up, but that was it.”
The nurse put her phone done, placed her hand on my arm, and said in a tone of awe, “You are a walking miracle. You are very lucky to be alive.”
It was really weird to be treated like some kind of rock star in the hospital. Everyone who talked to me gushed about what a miracle I was. One of the nurses who sat with me while I was unconscious came to talk to me when I was awake. She had tears in her eyes as we talked, and when I thanked her for sitting with me, she cried even harder. This is a nurse from the heart ICU. I imagine that she saw so much pain and grief. I was happy that I could bring some joy to her, even if it had nothing to do with me–not really.
This is something I’m still not over yet. How the hell did I get so damn lucky? I talked to the hospital chaplain*, and he asked me if I asked myself why this had happened to me. I shook my head immediately and said no. I said, “Why not me? I don’t take great care of myself, so why would I expect to be skipped over for something like this?” I went on to say that what I did ask myself was why was I so lucky as to have come back from it. That’s what got to me. I didn’t deserve it, so why the hell was I still alive?
Side note: This is how my brain works. I see things very differently than most people do, and I have to be careful not to let slip much of what I’m thinking. I’ve had a lifetime of dimming my light, and while it may be sad, it’s what gets me through the world. I was probably more honest to the chaplain than I normally would have been because I was drugged to the max and had no fucks to give.
Side note to the side note: One of my other favorite stories from this time was when I went to see my heart doctor after I got out of the hospital. I apologized to him for anything I might have said while I was under the influence because I can have a tongue on me. He laughed and said that I had been very funny the last time we talked. I had no idea what he meant by that, but I was willing to let it go. Later into the visit, though, he repeated that I had been very funny when we first met. He had a huge smile when he said it, so I finally asked him what he meant by that.
He laughed and said that he came in and introduced himself. Then, he went over what happened to me because that’s what he does for his patients the first time they meet because many patients have memory loss from their heart attacks. He said after he told me what happened to me, I said, “So that means I died?” He said yes, and I breathed, “That’s so fucking cool.”
He was laughing as he regaled me with the tale, and I laughed along with him. Yep, that sounded like me–at least me unguarded. And I was very glad it was not as rude as I had feared. Just one swear word? That’s positively tame for me!
It’s hard to believe it’s been four years. I did a whole lot of–oh yeah. I was talking about the hospital chapplain and the wise thing he told me when I was ruminated on what happened to me and how I felt guilt at surviving. He said that I could what if until the cows came home, but at the end of the day, I had to make peace with the fact that there are some things about the event I will never know. I know that sounds trite, but I needed to hear that at that moment.
I need to get my shit together, though. I have lived the last four years like I had all the time in the world, and during that time, I have slowly returned to where I used to be. I’m not happy with myself, but I’m not sure what to do about it. I’ll have to think it over and come up with a plan.
*I think. I might have hallucinated the whole thing. Who knows? I’ll still take the wise things he had to say to me.