No, this is not a religious blog. This is a blog about my experiences over
the past 4 years.
4 years ago, a bit before Mother's Day, for some reason, I stopped breathing. It feels like someone just sealed up your body. Nothing gets in. Fortunately, my son Jonathan was there. He gave me mouth to mouth until the ambulance came. I was taken to the hospital, considered clinically dead, they revived me, put on a ventilator, and was out within 4 days. I had gotten pulminary edema. The doctors ruled it as congestive heart failure. It took me about 2 weeks to recover from the ordeal. Mentally, it took me a whole lot longer. I had to go to therapy to get over the racing thoughts that at any moment, that could happen again.
2 years ago, August 12th-2 days before my son's birthday, it happened again. Basically the same thing. I couldn't breath, my son was there, he called 911, gave me mouth to mouth, went to the hospital E.R., died and revived, Jonthan counted about 7 times. Traechea edema this time. At one point, I had no vitals, totally flatlined. Gone... Spent 8 days in the hospital this time, 7 days on a ventilator. The doctors had ruled out congestive heart failure, and said that it was anaphylactic shock. I had a toothache at the time, and was taking Penicillin for the infection and codeine for the pain. Apparently, I was allergic to one of those medications, which caused the reaction. They say that with anaphylaxis, the bouts only get worse. This time, it did a number on my heart and lungs. Took me about a month before I could go back to work, and about 6 months before my heart and lungs were okay. The time in the hospital was spent on a morphine drip, so I don't remember most of it. A week later, when I saw my doctor, he told me that he was happy that I was still here. He is the one that pointed out that I had flatlined. He had told my son to start calling family, because it hadn't looked good. That knowledge really did a trip on my head as well. I felt like crap physically,
and then, mentally.
I went back to work after a month. As time went by, I kept getting sick.
Odd things, throat aches, sinuses mostly, but oh so tired. Finally, it got so bad at work, in February, I finally just quit. Gave up. Didn't know, or realize what was wrong with me.
It took me until July to understand what was going on. I ran into an ex co-worker, and explained that I didn't really care about finding a job anymore, I had tried to no avail. He said that it sounded like I was detached, to protect myself. That made me start thinking. I was feeling detached about a lot of things. It kinda scared me, so I called the crisis center, and they got me in to see my old therapist.
I wish things would have been different. My therapist said that someone can't go through that traumatic of an experience, and not need help/at least most people. I let it go too far.
What had happened, slowly but surely, I had become majorly depressed.
That explained all of the symptoms of illness, which I never knew could effect you in that respect. I was very happy that I did not have congestive heart failure, very happy at that. But the whole dying and living thing weighs a lot on your mind.
I understand when people die. I don't understand why I did it on 2 separate occasions, and was blessed enough to come back to keep living.
It's a very strange feeling. The Stages of Death poetry was written on my darkest hours when all hope was unseen.
Fortunately, my days are much brighter now. I can see the past for what it was. I just felt like sharing this part of my life with you, so that you may understand me a bit better.
If you have gotten through this, thank you for reading it. Drop me a line with your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate it.
Smiles to you,
Cynthia
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