The day that turned into months.

When God allowed me to have a beautiful baby boy in February of 2012, I never realized how my life would completely change. I had known that the cause of the debilitating migraines I had during the pregnancy had never been found, but I never imagined I would be dealing with it after my pregnancy and possibly for the rest of my life. I was happy. I was finally a "mommy".  My family finally felt complete and my son was loved by so many who had prayed for his existence and health. I had no idea what I was doing and friends and loved ones got a kick out of watching me "figure it out as I go". I started having what my doctor considered post partum depression and I began taking medication to try to allow me to live without the constant increase in heart rate and the shortness of breath I felt when that occurred. The headaches were dull, but was not thought to be anything more than just a tired, first time mother. I was also working as a nurse and of course the physical, emotional, and spiritual toll it can take on a body was why I never considered anything other than the stereotypical post partum depression, even though I never really felt "depressed". August 16, 2012 was the day that all the small symptoms turned into big symptoms and the day that my life as a "normal", healthy, woman ended. The day started off as hectic as any other. I was being pulled from my desk to help the other nurses to catch up on the load that came into the clinic so quickly. On a daily/hourly basis we would end up dealing with very angry patients and also the ones who would occasionally try to break down the door to get to the back to the treatment they wanted. Each patient had, at one time, been an active member of the military and it was our job to give them the care they deserved. That care included trying to calm irate men who never received vital medications, to being an ear to listen to the soldier who had recently returned home from war and didn't know how to act as a civilian. I loved my job and did it with pride. Even on the worst days there was always something good you could find by just taking a step by and really trying to let them know that we weren't ignoring them, and that regardless of the outcome due to red tape, we really wanted to help. We had seen probably 40-50 patients before 1030 or 1100 that morning and I had a patient needing his blood pressure rechecked when I went to stand up and head towards him, I was overwhelmed with stabbing pain in my head and any time I stood from the seated position, I would get very weak, begin dry heaving, and my heart rate increased. Needless to say, I ended up in the ER and was just given medication and sent home. The next day, I had to stay at my mother's house due to my husband working his normal 48 hour shifts on the ambulance. We knew I couldn't take care of my 6 month old son as bad as I was feeling and his Grammie was more than happy to babysit! Like a song on repeat, the sudden onset of the symptoms from the day before hit me again that day. Medication, ice cold rags, laying down and every other remedy we could think of did not ease the pain. I remember I was hurting so bad, I felt like I just had to move, almost as if I was trying to run from the pain. The moment I sat up my mother said that I hit the hardwood floor face first and I was unconscious for about 10 minutes. The ambulance was called and countless hospital stays followed. I could obtain my conscious status as long as I was laying flat, but the moment I sat up unconsciousness followed. The doctors I had worked with for years and had formed a friendship with basically scratched their heads and said they "gave up". Hopelessness was a new feeling to add to all the other feelings of fear, pain, and nervousness. My lumbar puncture showed that I had an extremely high white count, which meant that I had a serious infection somewhere in my body. Sadly, my neurologist looked at the numbers and never did anything about them. September 13th rolled around and I was on the 3rd floor of the hospital and I remember my chest getting really tight and telling my mother that I couldn't breathe. She called for the nurse and told them I was having a hard time breathing and a nurse was promised to come to my room as soon as possible. Seconds later I remember the tightness getting so bad that I wanted to cry from the pain. The oxygen saturation monitor that was attached to my finger started alarming and I remember nothing until I woke up with all my former colleagues standing around my bed with tears in their eyes. I asked what had happened and they stated that a "code 9" had been called to my room. That meant that a team from the ER (where I had formerly worked) had to go to whatever room was announced to work on and try to revive the patient that had stopped breathing or whose heart had stopped. They said that in my case, I had went into respiratory arrest. I stopped breathing. I was in complete shock as they told me this and prepared to take me to the ICU. They said that not only had I stopped breathing once, but I did it twice and my pulse began to drop. I again lost consciousness as I was being wheeled out of my room, past my crying family, and down to ICU. The next couple of days were a blur due to me not able to stay conscious for more than about one minute, at the longest, before I lost consciousness again. From stories that I have pieced together from family, an old lifetime friend suggested a new doctor in town and of course they jumped at any hope he would be able to make me well again. He performed another spinal tap which showed my numbers had increased even more and when he told my family that, they told him that they had been unaware of the original lab report. When my husband approached the neurologist about it, his response was "there were five other critical labs that day so I figured it was a lab error".. Needless to say he has since been fired from my care and was turned into the administration of the hospital, after a pretty stern lashing from few members of my family. A couple of days in ICU and I was back to my "original" problems. I was being treated for spinal meningitis and was able to leave the hospital with the help of being confined to a wheelchair and having a home health nurse come to my house for treatment. More months went by with my quality of life being next to zero and I had basically become a prisoner in my own body. Our son spent most days/nights with my sister or my mother and I wasn't even allowed to hold him for fear I would pass out and drop him. He was terrified of me. Whether it was from him being able to sense that I didn't feel good, or if it was because he no longer felt the connection to me, I am not sure. All I knew was that the dream I had always had of being a wife and mother was being ripped away from me and I was angry. Sadly, being angry didn't go away easily. In the upcoming posts, I will reveal how God unfolded Himself to me and how much I resisted, but also how steadfast He was/is. My story is far from over, but the rest I will save for another day. Thanks for reading.