Day 73 and Counting

I'm starting to want to put a few things down. I've waited and waited because:

1. I can't stop coughing
2. I'm not sure I wanted to remember.

Thankfully I don't remember the first half. When I hear the bits and pieces I shudder. I rejoice that I'm alive. I cry because I just don't understand how quick life can change; it can be ripped right out of your hands. But mostly I cry because of how prayer really does affect our world.

A lot has been shared on Facebook so you may know most of this story but this is my telling, my perspective.

My whole family had been sick and I was the last to get it. It came on pretty strong with aches, sore throat, coughing, that kind of thing. Two days of this had me at urgent care where they concluded I had the flu but they couldn't give tamiflu since I was still nursing Joel. Rest and fluids and you'll be fine he told me. I went home to a miserable night of coughing up blood but I wasn't worried because Google said unless it's bright red no cause for alarm.

Early that morning I felt like I was having an asthma attack, only I grew out of my asthma years ago. I felt so weak and breathless that I couldn't get out of bed. I was getting scared and knew I needed help. Of all nights to forget to charge my phone this had to be the worst. Unfortunately John was sleeping downstairs with the baby since I was sick. I resolved to at least get to  the top of the stairs.

I crawled out of bed over to the stairs. I tried calling out but I was breathing so hard I couldn't get my voice loud enough. Luckily there were some toys and random things laying in the hall. I started pitching them down stairs. John stumbled over and once he saw me he knew something wasn't right. I whispered in broken speech that I could barely breathe. He carried me over to the big windows in our room and opened them hoping the cool air would help clear my lungs. He left me sitting on the window seat to see if he could find some medicine. I sat there feeling so weak I might fall out that window.

In a matter of minutes the squad was parked outside  with its red lights streaking across its surroundings. A paramedic carried me down the stairs of our skinny row house and next thing I know I'm taking an ineffective breathing treatment and trying to answer questions through restricted breathing. It felt like someone was hugging me too tight and wouldn't let go. I was afraid but never imagined the outcome to be remotely serious.

                                   

Once in the ER they tried different breathing masks to no avail. And after that my memory drops off. I don't know if I blacked out, I've tried so hard I just can't remember. 

Apparently I was transported to a couple  different hospitals until I ended up at the UC cardio vascular ICU. During all the transporting and trying to figure out what was wrong, things were going downhill fast and I was in multi organ failure before they knew it. Friends and family were gathered, prayers were going up and hope was shaky.  Once at UC, the process of saving my life was set into motion. I was on a vent, ECMO, had a tracheotomy and put on every drug under the sun. I was there for a month fighting to live but I remember nothing. Just flashes.

                                       

I remember being strapped to the bed while tubes were inserted in various areas of my body. Fighting, I remember fighting to get up and seeing the pictures on the wall of my life, my beautiful family that my grieving yet prayerful mother had taped up. I remember trying to communicate so hard but just not being able to. I remember tears and horrible nightmares. But I also remember the staff lining the hall as I was wheeled out to be transferred to a Long Term Acute Care facility at Christ Hospital. They all clapped with smiles and waves, celebrating my life. I really didn't understand still what I had been through.

I was in LTAC for another month trying to repair some of the damage that was done. I've had chest tubes, feeding tubes, IVs, a trach, and more pain than I thought my body could endure. 

I've lost most of my muscle mass which I'm trying hard to regain. Right now I'm in rehab doing just that. For 3 hours every day I am up exercising and relearning to balance and walk. It can be really exhausting after lying in bed for as long as I have. I was terrified to come here, scared that I couldn't do it. But I've been surprised what a little trying can do. 

                                   

I've been up, I've been down. I was depressed for the first part of my stay that I was conscious. I was in shock: how could the flu knock me down so hard? 

(Which I'm learning more and more that it wasn't just the flu, but more like a rare H1N1 combined with strep which led to double pneumonia and infection in my blood). But the more I heard about the darkest part of this story, I can't help but be thankful that I made it. I've seen miracles before in other people's lives and my own. But our day to day life tends to make us forget. 

We forget that miracles aren't just in the thin pages of the Bible that's tucked away somewhere. They don't just  happen to other people. The thing is miracles happen during pain and suffering. We don't see miracles in the everyday drive to work, do the dishes life. Maybe things come together like extra cash comes our way right when we need it. Or we find our car keys just in time.  No. Miracles involve pain and grief, hurt and true loss. Miracles can be slow, they can be a process. We might not always recognize them. And maybe sometimes they don't show up at all and we are heartbroken and we ask why. I wish I knew but I don't. All I know is that I'm here against all odds.

I met another guy like me, he came with his wife to visit my room. I think his chances of living we're even smaller than mine, but there he was sitting in my room talking and laughing. Living proof of healing. Another miracle breaking through suffering. 

I really don't know what to make of all this. I'm still processing and probably will be for some time. I suppose miracles are really just mysteries to us and sometimes all we can do is be grateful. I feel like I've barely scratched the surface. As I sit here in rehab and look out the window over the city I think about all the people milling around down there. I think about their stories, their pain and if they've experienced miracles. My story feels so little, so small in this huge hospital filled with hurting people. I look at them and try to smile. I pray for their miracles to come soon.

            

I couldn't be more grateful to the people around me and my family. If you said a prayer or encouraging word. If you visited, waited in the lobby or brought food. If you have sacrificed time, vacation days, or a drive to Cincinnati. Some very kind friends organized a benefit to raise money for our medical bills. My hairstylist even came to cut my hair to make it more manageable. Maybe you sent a card or made a card, maybe you clicked 'like' or shared an update on Facebook. You might have bought a gift or gave money. Maybe you listened to my story. If you're reading this now: thank you from the bottom of my heart. Every little bit has gotten me through. I can't thank you all enough for your support.

More to come...

Jenna