‘Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Except for my computer mouse.
For a hot second, I was tempted to rewrite the entire poem, but then I came to my senses. It’s the end of a really rough year in so many ways. We’re still in the middle of a pandemic, though I think we can rightfully call it endemic now (my brain doc agreed with me). I was in the hospital for two weeks with life-threatening issues and I was so fucking lucky to escape mostly unscathed.
I’ve been doing a lot of research into Sudden Cardiac Arrests (SCAs) in the past week or two. My heart doc told me the last time I talked to him that his patients and their families become experts in SCAs in ways that even the medical experts aren’t. He’s right. And since it’s in my nature to research stuff, that’s what I’ve been doing. I signed up for the SCAF (Foundation) website and I’ll keep searching for a support group.
My problem is that I’m in a very small group. Only 10% of people who suffer an out-of-the-hospital SCAs actually survive. The number doubles for in-the-hospital SCAs. Even though mine were technically the former, it functions more like the latter since the EMTs got to me within minutes. At least the cops did.
Of that 10% who survive, most of them are expected to have some brain damage/other damage. I was without oxygen for some amount of time, though we are not sure exactly how long. At first, they thought it was thirty minutes, but it turned out to be more like ten minutes. Still not great, obviously, but better than thirty minutes. Still. The brain should not go without oxygen for more than three minutes. Mine went for over three times that amount.
I don’t have much problem accepting that all this happened to me or that I went through something medically traumatic. What I do have a hard time accepting is that I escaped it seemingly without any lasting physical damage. Survivor’s guilt is real and I’m struggling with it. Why the hell was I spared from the grim realities of what happened to me? I’ve read other stories of miraculous SCA survivals and even in those, there is still SOME damage. Or it took much longer to recover. I was walking normally within three days of waking up. I had a few issues with my vision and a huge issue with my stamina. I had a mild tremor in my middle left finger. That was the extent of it, though, and it all went away within the first month of returning home–except the stamina. I had a walker, but I never needed it to walk. I had someone help me wash my hair for two months, but that was simply a stamina issue. I could have done it myself if not for the part where I got tired so easily. I didn’t need the commode my brother put together and I was able to make it to the bathroom from the start. I didn’t have any accidents and stopped wearing my pull-up briefs after a month or so.