Delayed Return

I’ve got a smile on my face and it feels pretty silly, but it’s taken a bit to finally sit myself down and breathe out through this keyboard. I could throw a few excuses out to the wind why I haven’t kept up, but truly I’ve been in my own way. A few poems have been posted across my social media but it isn’t the same. I’m getting the hang of things, and thankful for followers and new connections!

Life lately entails me trying to romanticize the mundane, and find joy where I can. I was hit again with CMV, an infection in my body that occurred a few weeks post transplant that I’ve been fighting since August 2023. Originally it had taken me down for weeks before the hospital tested to find out what was going on. For a short time, it was undetectable and I was mentally plotting my next tattoo to celebrate my one year anniversary post liver transplant. Unfortunately we are back to the drawing board on quite a few things.

I obviously get ahead of myself and don’t live as cautiously as I should at times. If I lived the way I was instructed, I don’t think I would’ve even gotten to this point, but that’s probably part of a story for another day. You’ll quickly learn that I may need to circle back around a few times to bring you up to speed.

All this to say, I’m chugging along. I’ve come to realize that dates and numbers can trigger flashbacks and uncomfortable feelings. May 30th was a big one that I had to walk myself through and allow myself to feel what was necessary. On that day, a year ago I had only been out of the hospital for a maximum of 3 days. I had talked the doctors into releasing me because I was just being monitored. That evening, I knew that God was urging me to go to the ER. I would never willingly go, and I’d been in worse shape before. I found out pretty quickly that I had made the right call.

That evening I was dropped off by my husband, so he could get back to our daughters. I was waiting well past midnight, and I remember being in a wheelchair because I couldn’t breathe and it was hard to walk on my own. At this point, I was constant having fluid build up in my right lung because there was a hole in my diaphragm due to ascites from my autoimmune liver disease. The hole in my diaphragm wasn’t found until later, so their temporary fix was me getting thoracentesis procedures back to back to draw fluid from my lung sometimes daily.

Everything still feels very clear and vivid in my memory. I ended up in a bathroom stall on the floor, throwing up. I couldn’t get up, and the nurse seemed mad at me because I couldn’t answer her. I was placed back in a wheelchair and another male nurse asked me simple questions, like my name and where I was. I couldn’t answer him, and ended up passing out.

The next thing I recall before waking up intubated was the staff attempting to intubate me and sedate me. I was being held down, I was fighting to escape and not being able to take a breathe. I don’t think I could describe the feeling if I tried, because it wasn’t anything I could ever imagine experiencing again. Suffocation sounds mild compared to this moment.

The sweetest nurse, who quickly became a favorite, held my hand when I was conscious and moved out of ICU. She said that it was a miracle that I was alive. I could’ve easily slipped into a coma. My ammonia levels were well above 400. 15-60mcg/dL is normal range for adults. 200 is enough to cause brain damage, coma, seizures and death.

I just passed my one year anniversary, June 13th, the day of my life saving liver transplant. I am reminded of all the events that led me to that point. Those moments of fear and uncertainty were transformed in my mind and encouraged me to pull through. Although most of what I experienced did allow me to have a supernatural peace, I can’t ignore the circumstances and how I need to heal to lessen the blow.

Every day is different, and as I move forward, I find myself grieving a life I was living, and my expectations of what healing would look like. To those that are here still, thank you for joining me on this journey.