Owls and Orchids

image from http://www.mynetpharma.com

Life was busy in my early thirties. I was married, had two small children and we were running a small business. I was also going to the gym and felt fitter than I can ever remember being in my life so far. Then I started to feel, ‘not quite well’.  Exercise would cure anything, after all it had cured my  weight problem so it would fix this. I exercised harder. I looked better but felt worse. The doctor said I was fine, fit and healthy.

After several years of increasing problems I finally saw a specialist and it was decided I needed a hysterectomy – urgently.  I wasn’t concerned, I had my children and as I explained to the doctor, if anything did happen to one of my children (even though I knew nothing would) there would be no way I would want to try to “replace” them with another child.  I don’t know how much that thought was caused by knowing my children were going to be okay, or the unacknowledged situation which was slowly deteriorating at home. Either way I wanted this problem solving.

I went into hospital and the operation went really well. For the first time in three years I felt really good. Apart from an injunction to rest for several days, no heavy lifting, I was allowed home several days later. Unfortunately my mother in law had been asked to come down and help with the children whilst I was “laid up”. Another irritant, my husband couldn’t be bothered taking a few days off to help me or his children until I could take over again. Work came first, last and everywhere else before his family – oh, apart from his mother that is! (Yes, I realise my feelings have yet to be exorcised about the M.I.L. but that’s another story).

image from iwuvtheoffice.deviantart.com

Two days after I came home I started to haemorrhage slightly. I was doing more than I should, M.I.L. simply didn’t want to really help. Back to the specialist but everything seemed okay. However, by the next day it had become something I couldn’t ignore and I had to tell my husband. Another day went by as I felt things becoming worse. Finally it was apparent that the “wait and see” attitude wasn’t going to work.  It was now Sunday and the caring response was, “Well, let’s wait until tomorrow and see if it has changed at all”. OK, apparently I could bleed to death before it was urgent enough to take me to the hospital.

By 11pm I was really ill. I was losing buckets of blood. (It may be a slight exaggeration but that’s what it felt like). I had become as white as a sheet and finally the decision came to call the doctor.  Would you be impressed to be called at 11pm on a Sunday night? We were sent off to the hospital and whisked into Emergency. Of course, not knowing what had been happening the doctor had instructed the hospital staff to “monitor me for a few hours and let him know how much blood I was actually losing”. In retrospect that was so funny.

Ensconced in a room with an adjoining bathroom I barely heard the door close before I needed to rush into the bathroom; Hubby buzzing frantically for the nurse. Of course, by the time she arrived I was perched on the edge of the bed and she was holding a bedpan for me. Oh – too late! I wasn’t happy to be berated for not waiting, or finding out I was to be monitored for a few hours. Bedpans, oh how I detest bedpans.

image from commons.wikimedia.org –

I was in clean pyjamas so I took the nurse’s advice and climbed into bed. Oh dear! It appeared climbing up into the bed set things moving. I “yelled” reasonably quietly for my hubby to grab the bedpan and precariously climbed “on board”. Well, she had her sample to check but the altitude (or the blood loss) had an unexpected effect.

Weaving atop my bedpan I said, “You’d better call the nurse, I’m going to pass out!” Nurse appeared and bedpan was unceremoniously removed as I said, “I’m going over now” and backwards I toppled. There was a delicious feeling of floating and I watched the scene from above the bed. Mayhem ensued. The nurse called the sister who called the doctor on duty. From somewhere another sister appeared.

image from astralsociety.net

There I lay with someone at each arm and leg, blood pressure cuff tight and everyone patting an arm or leg and none too gently, trying to find a vein. My blood pressure reading had tanked. I got the giggles. I felt as though I was watching everything from a huge distance, my hubby wringing his hands in the corner. I heard my voice saying, “It’s alright, it’s not my time to go yet.” The startled looks set me to giggling once more. There was a feeling of drifting away yet being connected to what was happening. Sometime later I realised I was looking at a nurse who was looking somewhat uncomfortable and an IV line was in my hand. Whilst I knew on one level it was wrong I have to admit I felt strangely vindicated when I saw the ashen look on my hubby’s face.

image from http://www.hsj.co.uk

After an emergency operation I woke to find my hand the size of a grapefruit. The IV needle had “tissued” (gone through the vein and into the tissue) and I was uncomfortable. Actually it bloody hurt! Even though the emergency staff had put the IV in, because I had health cover, now that I was no longer “in danger” it could only be changed by a private pathology nurse.  You guessed it, they wouldn’t be on duty for several more hours. They refused to let me sign a waiver, I had to wait until someone came on duty and in the meantime the fluid in my hand continued to build up. Each inadvertent movement was excruciating.

Four hours later I had the IV moved, but my hand took days to recover. Strange that it was my hand I was more concerned about. My specialist popped in to see me. Apparently I had managed to lose a critical amount of blood, much more and they wouldn’t have been able to ‘save me.” I felt like saying “I told you so” but didn’t. He said they couldn’t find any reason for the haemorrhaging but neither could they refute that it had occurred. Tied up tighter than a trussed turkey I was allowed home several days later.

I have no idea ‘where’ I went when all the drama happened. I felt serenely peaceful and had the feeling that I was being told so many things, but I couldn’t remember anything later. I still believe that when the time is right I will remember. It was the most amazing feeling I’ve ever had, and telling everyone ‘it wasn’t my time to go yet’ still has the power to make me giggle. I simply knew that although it was really serious, everything was going to be fine. I wasn’t finished with this life; I had too much to do.

image from justchow.blogspot.com

“Live life to the fullest and never ever look back, there is a reason for the future and a reason for the past. Love till it hurts and laugh till you cry and when your life flashes before you, make it worth while. Be happy for what you have done, and be happy for what you have over come, and most of all always be proud of what you have become.”   – Ritu Ghatourey

Some things as easy to explain. Some simply seem strange. Some are taken on faith or belief. I know what happened and one day I’ll remember what I need to from this experience. Years later I still find it funny.

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Blessings.  Susan  x

© Susan Jamieson

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