At first, I blamed it on the weather.
Although my nose wasn’t stuffy, I woke up each morning with a headache, sore throat, and an unquenchable thirst. While we had fun in Southampton, something just felt a little… off.
Disclaimer: this is wildly free of medical vocabulary so please forgive my ignorance if you know more what I’m talking about than I do!
Last Tuesday, April 17, I went to work as usual, showing up at 7:30 AM for my morning shift. I served a few customers, and considered asking one- a physician- if this allergy season was producing particularly bad symptoms this year. I’d taken one ibuprofen tablet before I’d gone, but as the morning progressed, so did my headache. I started feeling faint and dizzy, and took advantage of the quiet morning to sit and rest between tables. Around 9:30, I felt so bad that I thought I’d throw up and finally took my manager’s advice to go home. B picked me up from the restaurant and drove me home, installing me in bed with a cold compress and a bowl of ice chips. I e-mailed my parents asking them to please not call me as I wanted to sleep off whatever bug I had,
My fever grew and my body ached. Around noon, I called my doctor, describing my symptoms to her assistant but asking for a prescription over the phone if possible because I didn’t feel up to going in. The assistant promised the doctor would return my call. My fever escalated to 102.8 and every inch of my body felt like it was being crushed. I called my parents, who were in Florida, in tears because I felt so terrible. We tried the doctor again at 2; no response. At 4:20, she called back and suggested I go to an emergency room because my symptoms- including the sore body- could signal either Lyme or meningitis.
Going to the ER is something that never would have occurred to me on my own. Headache? Take an aspirin. Flu? Take Nyquil and sleep it off. B drove me to the hospital and I staggered into the waiting room, asking for a meningitis test. Thankfully, my doctor had called ahead- and B had been in contact with my dad and knew this- so we were able to skip right ahead through the line. My legs hurt so badly that I had to keep them propped up on another chair. We were admitted into an isolation room where my fever continued to climb; meanwhile, my heart rate was skyrocketing and my blood pressure was dangerously low, causing my heart to virtually pump poison instead of healthy oxygen. The doctors still didn’t know what was wrong, but took a spinal tap to try and gain more information. Normally this is a procedure that’s supposed to be really painful; I don’t remember feeling any pain, however, because I was so feverish and wild with panic.
It felt like hours and hours passed, and I was getting increasingly anxious, wondering why the doctors weren’t telling us what was going on or giving us more information. The rest of the night gets very blurry, but I started coughing and couldn’t stop. A flood of doctors rushed in and took me on a stretcher to a new room, putting an oxygen mask over my face. The oxygen itself felt like it was suffocating me and I remember panicking and screaming that I couldn’t breathe. To clear my airway, they’d have to intubate. The doctors sedated me and put in a “Swan” catheter to help me breathe and also help determine whether or not I had congenital heart failure. My mom’s flight arrived from Florida just in time for her to see her daughter wheeled into a room filled with specialists, about to get her throat ripped open. Pretty freaking scary. The last thing I remember was the strangely surreal feeling of waking up from the sedation but not being able to open my eyes, move, or speak.
I’d developed a rash all over my body, eyelids to feet; this turned out to be indicative of bacterial meningitis, which they discovered when one of the lesions on my leg was biopsied. They began treating me for meningitis early Wednesday morning. I spent Wednesday, Thursday, and much of Friday heavily sedated in Intensive Care; they didn’t know if I was going to make it for much of that time. They thought I’d spend at least 2-3 weeks in the ICU alone, with a few more weeks in rehab after that.
But… things got better! The antibiotics worked, I was extubated, and on Sunday I was moved out of Intensive Care to a floor for less severe cases. On Tuesday they took me off the oxygen tubes. I started walking to and from the bathroom (a huge step from the catheter and then bedpan I required earlier… sorry for the TMI).
I was showered with an outpour of love and support from friends and family everywhere, and trust me: even the smallest “get well!” message makes a huge difference in a patient’s morale and recovery.
Food abounded: fancy cookies and chocolates, soups, avocados, coconut water (I drank at least a case of the stuff while I was there).
You’re probably wondering about the actual hospital food, too! I was lucky enough to have quite a bit of outside food brought in, but I also signed up for the vegetarian/vegan options. Initially I thought it was all pretty gross and bland, but then I realized there’s a daily menu where you can choose from a pretty big selection of vegan-friendly items.
Anyway, it’s been a pretty crazy week. It was a much, much harder time for my family and friends, who had to sit by and watch everything unfold. I came home yesterday, and while I’m still on IV antibiotics, I’m getting stronger and stronger every day. I am so, so, so fortunate to be alive and have my health and my family and friends and my dog and the grass and the trees and every little atom in this world. I’ve got a couple battle wounds, too, to keep me grounded and remind me just how lucky I am.
