It’s almost nine months since I died twice–and came back twice! The latter fact is very important to the narrative. Obviously. If that hadn’t happened, then I wouldn’t be able to write this. That still trips me up when I think about it, by the way. The fact that I should be dead. It’s also not something I find easy to talk about because it’s pretty much a conversation stopper. It’s not something I want to whip out casually, but it’s also very important. It literally changed my life, even if it didn’t change the day-to-day aspects of said life.
When I came out of the hospital, I said that I did not want to talk about what I was doing with my life for six months. I had the luxury and privilege of focusing on my recovery, not that I needed it. The biggest issue I had was my stamina, which was roughly 10% of what it was pre-trauma. But even that is lucky because so many people could not even get out of bed.
There was someone in an Ask A Manager thread a month ago who talked about having a stroke in January. She was unable to drive any longer and had to work from home on a reduced schedule. She had trouble typing and basically, her quality of life was dramatically reduced. Her whole life was turned upside down in the matter of minutes.
This is one of my issues with finding a support group. First of all, to put it bluntly, there aren’t many people who survive one cardiac arrest, let alone two–and a stroke. Those who do, have stories like the commenter on AAM. It feels almost cruel to stroll in with my story about evading death without a scratch. I know my story is my own and that I don’t need to feel guilty about it, but I do.
I’ve said many times that I don’t question why this happened to me. I’m not in great shape, don’t always eat the best, and am pretty sedentary. Why NOT me? I’m susceptible to bronchial issues, which is how it all started. Non-COVID-related walking pneumonia. That stressed my heart enough to trigger two cardiac arrests and then a stroke. I have no problem accepting that this all happened to me.
But, what happened next just may surprise you as it did me (yes, I just Buzzfeeded that sentence. What of it?).
I should have died. I did die. Twice. But I should not have come back. I. Should. Be. Dead.
You know what gets to me the most? Survivor’s guilt. I don’t ask why the initial events happened to me, but I question why I was the one who lived. Why me? My mom insists its because I’m a fighter, but that’s giving me way too much credit. I’m sure she also thinks it’s an act of God, but I think that’s giving ‘Him’ too much credit.
My answer for why I’m still here: love, luck, and Taiji. Taiji because it prepped my body and got it about as ready for what was to come as it could get. It helped me walk away from a minor car accident with nothing but a big bruise on my stomach from the seat belt. It also has helped with my agoraphobic tendencies, my ability to move in crowds, and my interpersonal relationships.
Love because so many people were rooting for me while I was in the hospital. My brother hooked up my friends and family with Zoom visits even though I was unconscious. He was there every day, twice a day, being my point man for my medical team. When I woke up, he filled me in as to what happened in a very detailed manner because he knew that’s what I needed. He patched in my friends so I could Zoom with them and he did all this while still working his day job (realtor) and taking care of his family. He was my rock and that was how he showed his love.
I’ve told this story a million times (with refinements as my brother clarifies what he meant), but it’s still my favorite as a depiction of my brother. When he and my care team were talking about what was coming next, they tried to prepare him for the fact that I was most likely going to die. This was from the two social workers. He cut them off and said, “If she dies, she dies. I’ll deal with it them.”
When he told me, I burst out laughing because I could imagine the look on their faces when he said that. I knew what he meant, of course, because I know my brother. He doesn’t do emotions and not because he’s hiding them. He’s not. He’s on the spectrum and emotions are not his thing. He simply does not feel them in the same way that other people do. He shows love by doing things for people and him holding everything together while I was unconscious was all the love I needed from him.
In addition, he did show emotions. Once. When he was telling me how the doctors had talked about pulling the plug on the breathing machine, he raised his voice and it started trembling. I am so glad he didn’t have to make that decision. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
Finally, there’s luck, which I think played the biggest part in me surviving. I talked to the hospital chaplain while I was in the hospital. I talked about some of my survivor’s guilt. He listened and said it was important for me to think about what happened to see what I could learn from it. But, and this is the more important bit, he said at some point, I had to accept that there were things I would never know about what happened to me.
That’s one of the things that eats away at me when I think about it, honestly, the fact that there’s a week-and-a-half missing. The last thing I remember is messaging with Ian the day before about a boss we both fought in Nioh 2. But, I did not remember emailing my Taiji teacher three days earlier to skip out on a Taiji Zoom class because I was incredibly fatigued.
Then, yes, there was the week of being unconscious/in a coma. I don’t remember any of that and never will. My mom showed me videos of one of our Zoom meetings while I was unconscious (which, I will be honest, was really strange), but that’s all I know about that. The first thing I remember is one minute I was not and the next, I was. I had a breathing tube in my nose, and I was terrified out of my mind. I was also high on drugs, which did not help.
I was also mad as hell. I knew someone needed fighting, even if I wasn’t sure who that someone was. I’m sure it took them some time to settle me down, but I don’t remember that, either. The next thing I do remember is Zooming with Ian and babbling about the ’80s video trailer for Dark Souls III, my favorite video game. The tagline for it is, “When you pick a fight with the Devil, you better be stronger than HELL.” Which I repeated to Ian again and again and again. I added, “I did it twice and fucking won.”
That proves that I’m stronger that hell, right? I’m not sure about that, but I’m still here–and that’s all that matters.