America's life changed twenty years ago on 9/11. My life changed on this exact same date last year. While this is in no way a comparison to the tragedy of 9/11, it has been cathartic for me to explore how life gives and can just as easily take away. To know where you're going it's important to reflect on where you've been, so I've taken some time to revisit my journey. This is my story.
Just Keep Truckin' On...
My cousin Tyler died in a car accident several years ago. Fresh out of the service and celebrating with friends, I was so devastated by his passing. He was young, full of life and happiness; it is beyond unfair that he's gone. Connecting to loved ones who aren't here anymore looks different for everyone but music is my primary avenue. It's how I've stayed in touch with lost loved ones, classmates, friends; with Tyler, it's the Grateful Dead. Whenever I see or hear anything deadhead related, I think of Tyler and it brings back happy memories from my Eastern Kentucky upbringing.
Sometimes the Light's All Shinin' on Me
Monday
On Labor Day last year I spent the day on a river with friends. It was my first time kayaking and we had a lot of fun celebrating my friend Chris' birthday. Overall it was an uneventful day full of food, friends, and lots of river beers. Except... early on in our trip down the river a tree branch unexpectedly fell in my path. To avoid making contact I swerved, resulting in my kayak overturning. I recovered quickly and didn't let the hiccup interfere with the party, but I did swallow a lot of river water; gross. I came home and laid low the rest of the evening; not unusual for me.
Tuesday
I woke up feeling... gross. My entire abdomen was sore, sensitive, upset - I really did not feel like a person, much less myself. The general consensus from my friends and family was, quite frankly, that I was out of shape. They weren't totally wrong - the pandemic was hard on this extrovert; still is, to be totally transparent. I had gained weight and wasn't really exercising, so it made sense that kayaking was the reason I was sore. Don't you hate that about exercising? If you fall off the wagon, when you finally get back on there's a penance to be paid for your absence. Did I mention I swallowed river water when I capsized? That was also a fan favorite; perhaps I had swallowed an amoeba and that's why my tummy hurt. Laughs all around and assurance I would be fine in a couple of days. I don't blame anyone for not knowing - who could've known? I didn't.
Wednesday
My parents were in town buying a car and stopped by to check on me around dinner time. I was not well; my symptoms and discomfort had worsened. I didn't feel like eating or drinking, only sleeping, but was constantly in and out of the bathroom. They took one look at me and the next thing I knew we were at a local urgent care. I was diagnosed, as suspected, to have sore muscles because of inactivity and sick because I likely swallowed an amoeba. They prescribed me an anti-diarrheal and sent me home; I never even filled the script. My parents offered to stay or take me home to Kentucky, but I trust doctors and nurses so I declined the offer. Sore muscles need rest, right?
Thursday
I awoke feeling worse, as if that was possible, and called a friend to take me to an actual Emergency Room. You know when you have a stomach bug and you can't control anything your body is expelling, from both ends? It took about an hour for me to make it out of my house because I kept needing to revisit the restroom, though I wasn't making any progress; there was nothing left to expel. We arrived at a hospital and contacted my parents; my dad was immediately on his way. I went into the ER and was eventually given a bed behind a curtain for examination. I'm not the world's greatest dancer but I had some pretty epic moves on that hospital bed, writhing from all the pain and discomfort. It was the literal worst I have ever felt in my entire life and I've had the flu three times. My dad arrived and spoke to the medical staff who said I likely had an amoeba and sore muscles; they sent me home, crying uncontrollably in pain with no medication to dull...
Commercial Break
I wish I could tell you things get better here, but I can't; they get a lot worse before they get better. TW for graphic content ahead. But to keep your spirits up because - spoiler alert, I survive - here's a funny joke. What does a passive aggressive hippie say? You wanna peace of me?!
Other Times I Can Barely See
Friday
When the ER sent me home a second time, my dad called my mom and she said I needed to come home to Kentucky. I protested - I had been to two different hospitals and gotten the same diagnosis; I clearly needed rest and would be fine once my amoeba was evicted. It really isn't fun to shit and puke your brains out but I'd rather do it without a captive audience, mother; thank you very much. I was clearly delusional... even when you're an adult, there's no negotiating with your southern mother. So, I went home. My only condition was that my dogs had to come too so my dad left his truck and drove my SUV with me and my pups in tow. When we arrived, I felt like a martini - shaken, not stirred. I love my father, but that man hit every single pothole on our two hour drive. Friday morning, 9/11/2020, my mother drove me to the ER in Lexington, KY. Unbelievably, I felt worse; how was that possible? I hadn't slept a wink, couldn't walk, couldn't hold myself upright; I was in so much pain it impaired my ability to communicate. I would find out later that I was septic.
September 2020
I was admitted to the hospital shortly after arrival; passing out in the lobby bathroom must've strengthened my case. I had a nasogastric tube inserted and remember projectile vomiting almost two liters of black bile all over myself and the nurses. To say I was swollen was an understatement. I rocked my tube for almost two weeks before I was scheduled for an exploratory laparotomy. I remember waking up afterwards in the ICU and the nurses saying my surgery had turned into a full-blown bowel resection - but I kept my belly button! I didn't know losing it was an option on the table. I stayed in the ICU twice during my hospitalization. I was really sick. In total I had two abdominal surgeries, a bowel resection, four covid tests (all negative), and blood draws four times a day, every day, to ensure I hadn't actually swallowed an amoeba. It was like the 2020 version of a partridge in a pear tree; I didn't want the gifts to keep on giving. I wasn't allowed to eat or drink for the majority of my stay - great for weight loss but not so much for your mental health. I cried, a lot. I cried because I was severely hangry and completely bedridden. I cried because covid visiting hours were strict so I spent a lot of time alone. I cried because I missed my dogs, and my friends, and my freedom. I cried because I was a human pincushion. I referred to the phlebotomists as vampires... it was as close as I was coming to basic white girl fall celebrations, which I love.
October 2020
I waited for what felt like forever before I actually left the hospital. When I was finally discharged, all of the staff lined up and clapped; it was Friday, 10/16/2020. I had been in the hospital for 35 days. I think they were both proud and relieved to see me leave; same, friends. These were the men and women who literally kept me alive; cleaned me, wiped me, fed me, medicated me, bathed me, encouraged me, cried with me - nurses are the real MVPs. But just because you're discharged doesn't mean you're better, it just means you get to go home. I spent all of my time in a recliner because I couldn't get out of a bed by myself. I couldn't wipe myself after a bathroom visit for the first couple of weeks. My abdominal dressings had to be changed daily and I wasn't able to do it. I'll spare y'all pictures because they're graphic to say the least. I'm incredibly lucky to have a great support system who helped me get back on my feet, literally and metaphorically. I could not be more thankful for those who took care of me, especially my mother.
Commercial Break
Last year was one like none other, especially for me. At times it doesn't feel real and then I see the nine inch scar trailing down my abdomen; merely a flesh wound. It's amazing that I didn't die, but old hippies never die... they just go to pot.
Lately It Occurs To Me...
I mentioned at the beginning of this story that to know where you're going you have to know where you've been. As I reflect on the last 365 days, I have come a really long way. I'm proud of my progress but I am far from perfect. I absolutely have my moments of anger, regret, disappointment, and sadness. Why me?! Why this?! I have more questions than answers but I'm learning to accept what I can't change; it's a tall ask for an independent first-born, but I'm trying. For example, I lost a lot of hair in the hospital so I recently treated myself to extensions. I can't grow my hair at the speed of light but I have a talented stylist. That said, enjoy my hot mess head of hair just before I left the hospital. Y'all, I'm a deadhead but somehow the universe heard dread head... please.
Hair aside, between quarantine, a global pandemic, my illness and subsequent hospitalization, I was on a mission for normalcy. I started back to work as soon as I was able, in November, moved back into my house as soon as I was able, in December, and then in January I got covid; because of course I did. I am so grateful that mine was a mild case and my worst side effect was losing my sense of taste and smell. Given how my 2020 went, I am thankful and humbled that the universe gave me a pass on this one. I know how lucky I am.
February was rather uneventful and in March I not only celebrated my birthday but my first round of the Pfizer vaccine. Science saved me more times in the last 12 months than I may have deserved so I got vaccinated as soon as I was eligible. I got my second dose in April and hosted my annual Kentucky Derby party in May. Since then I have continued working, volunteering, and trying to build back my physical and mental strength; therapy has been invaluable. I haven't kayaked again, though. Mortality is a really humbling experience and while I've made great progress, I'm not ready to revisit some of the past. Not quite yet. What I discovered is that I didn't actually want normalcy in my life - what I wanted was to live it.
So, that's it. I've lived an incredible year but I LIVED. That's a win in my book. To celebrate the one year anniversary of the day that changed my life I'm going to a concert. It's incredibly ironic that Dead & Co is playing in Cincinnati tonight; serendipitous, even. I'll spend the evening listening to John Mayer shred the guitar and swooning over his stage presence. Side note for John - I was discharged on your birthday last year if you're interested in keeping the celebrations going... lemme know. Regardless, I'm gonna keep on Truckin'. Now if only I could get both of my dogs to look at the camera at the same time. What a Long, Strange Trip it's Been...
Want more of my trip? Subscribe below!