I am one of those people that seems to have been born with a storm cloud over my head. If there is a problem, it is sure to find me. 2018, at least so far, has been one of my most difficult years yet.
It all started in late fall. My dog, who was the center of my universe, was diagnosed with diabetes. And while I didn't mind any of the time, she became a larger and larger drain on my time, trying to care for her and keep her healthy. I became so wrapped up in caring for her that i didn't eat the way I should, didn't sleep the way I should - it was all about her.
So, we fast forward to Christmas. By this point in time we were both feeling pretty rough. I continued to haul her to the vet and monitor every little symptom, and ignore what was happening with me. This continued through January and early February.
On February 6 I came home feeling especially rough. I was hopeful I would be able to stay home the next day due to a incoming ice storm. I got my wish - but it quickly became one of the worst days of my life. My dog experienced a rapid deterioration and died.
The shock and grief overwhelmed me, and I moved through the next several weeks in a fog. I didn't want to eat, sleep, do anything...I just wanted my girl back. Finally, a friend that I worked with insisted that I go to the doctor and let him know how I was feeling and talk to him about possibly getting an antidepressant.
I went to the appointment on March 14 after work. We didn't talk about any medication because he commented that I seemed to be retaining a lot of fluid and he wanted me to go to the hospital right away to get it taken care of. I told him I would go the next day, I just wanted to go home and sleep first. My friend insisted that I listen to the doctor and go right away.
The next thing I knew, I was in the back of an ambulance going to the hospital. We arrived and they took me to a room, found me a gown and a bed, and gave me a few minutes to change. I remember going to the bathroom and returning to bed - and then nothing. I woke up to find myself in a different room, in a different hospital, with my family staring at me - and was shocked to hear that I had been unconscious for nearly three weeks.
Apparently at some point in time during that night I became unresponsive and was rushed to intensive care. After testing, it was discovered that my Carbon dioxide level was 132. (Normal is 25 to 35.) I went into respiratory failure, heart failure and my kidneys started to shut down. Long story short, if I had gone home that night like I wanted to, I would most likely have died. Oh - and as a parting favor, I discovered that I had been given a tracheotomy.
I spent five weeks in that hospital before being sent to rehab. I lasted 5 days at rehab before I had another CO2 spike that made it necessary for me to readmitted to the hospital for another week. I went back to rehab for another 3 weeks and they discharged me, and I was so happy that this experience was finally over. It had been 80 days since I first entered the hospital, and I was going home!
WRONG! I made it out for 4 days, and started to experience the tell-tale signs of a CO2 spike again. I was admitted once again for another week until my levels were under control. Even then, the only way they would agree to release me was if I promised to never be alone.
So, 88 out of 93 days in the hospital has been followed by a stay at my parents' home. I have nurses coming in several times a week; along with occupation, speech and physical therapists. I still haven't made it home.
