I Can Still Hear You!

Let’s Play Some Music Bingo

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Spring 2022, most Thursday nights, my friends and I would head to this local bar for some food, drinks, and music bingo—it quickly became our favorite hangout. I'm really into music, especially 80s music, so I'd wear a shirt that said "I love 80s Music" sometimes to these bingo nights. This bar was more than just a spot to grab a drink; it was a cozy place where we could laugh, chill, and escape from the world for a while. The owners, a super friendly couple, made everyone feel like family with their warmth, connecting with everyone and making the bar our second home.

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I met up with a few girlfriends. We found a cozy spot. Even though there was a wall between us, making the music hard to hear, it was still perfect. The menu there is fantastic, and while we waited for our food, I started feeling a bit weird. It’s not a feeling I can really describe, to be honest. I felt it all over my body. Something just didn’t feel right.

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Social Anxiety Relief

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This was back in the days when weed had just become medically legal in my state, and nobody knew yet how to get it. What we had to get was that synthetic Delta 8 crap. I had taken some time off from it for a while because I don’t always like how it made me feel. But I took it with me just in case. Well, I ended up taking it because the crowd was overwhelming. I had not drunk any water that day. Honestly, I don’t drink much water in general like I should. I only drank one glass of cider. As we were sitting there and I started noticing this feeling, I asked my friend sitting next to me if she would mind grabbing me a cup of water. At this bar, you had to get water yourself. She brought it back to me, and I gulped it down. She said that I didn’t look so great, my color looked off, and suggested that I step outside for some fresh air.

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The Fall

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My friend later filled me in on when I collapsed. It all happened so quickly, but in my head, it felt like it lasted forever. Luckily, she was by the door and managed to catch me before I hit the ground, saving me from a nastier injury. Her quick thinking really saved the day, and I often think about how things could've gone if she weren't there.

When I briefly came to, I was just aware enough to help them get me into a chair before fading back into a haze. I could hear my friends talking and feel them moving me, but I couldn't respond. It was like my mind was awake, but my body just wouldn't cooperate.

Someone gently opened my eyes to check my pupils, and I saw a bunch of worried faces around me. My friend, looking pretty concerned, was holding my head to help me breathe better since I was slumped awkwardly in the chair. I overheard them urgently talking about calling an ambulance..

In the middle of all the chaos, I overheard someone telling my husband what was happening. Their voices mixed urgency with compassion as they talked about practical stuff, like who would watch the kids so he could come to the hospital. Thinking about my kids added to my anxiety.

I felt the love and concern around me, trying to make sense of everything. Every sound, touch, and word created a mix of emotions I couldn't fully connect with. I was there but also not there, aware yet detached. Time seemed to stretch out, filled with unspoken fears and hopes, and I felt grateful for their support in the midst of all the uncertainty.

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Where Am I?

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It was a wild experience, like I was in a dream but still totally aware of everything around me. In that moment of deep thought, I really started to feel the difference between the soul (ego) and the body, like I was seeing beyond what we usually notice. It was like stepping into a scene from a movie or book, where characters go through life-changing moments that uncover deeper truths about life.

## What the Experience is Like

I felt like I was stuck in a black box, in a strange mental and emotional state that cut me off from the world and twisted my view of it. It was like being in a confusing cocoon—both trapping and freeing at the same time—making me question who I was and what I was doing. With no distractions, I really got to think about my thoughts and feelings. Inside this space, it was like I was silently screaming, feeling frustrated but super aware of the difference between my inner chaos and the calm world I could see but not touch. Through a small window in this black wall, I could catch glimpses of the lively world outside, but I stayed a distant observer.

## Quick Moments of Clarity

Those quick bursts of insight were both awesome and kind of frustrating; they'd pop up out of nowhere and vanish just as fast, leaving me wanting more. The things I'd catch glimpses of were like fireflies at night—beautiful and fleeting, lighting up the darkness for just a moment before fading away. In those brief moments, it felt like I could almost grab onto the truths that seemed to dance just out of reach, teasing me with their brightness. Just like fireflies lighting up the night, these glimpses brought a bit of clarity to my dark void. But as quickly as they appeared, they'd disappear, leaving me reaching for shadows.

## The Articulation Challenge

If you haven't been through something like this yourself, it's really hard to explain just how intense the experience is. It's super personal and tough to put into words. All the feelings, emotions, and insights get tangled up in your mind, making it nearly impossible to describe to someone who hasn't experienced it.

## A Vivid Picture

I hope I've been able to show you what it was really like for me, letting you peek into how my mind was ticking during that incredible moment. The internal battle, those major aha moments, and the weird sense of being alone all came together and shifted my perspective on life and existence. It was a time that pushed me to face who I truly am, questioning what it means to live in a physical body while having a spirit that craves freedom and understanding.

## Lingering Reflections

This experience really blurs the line between the physical world and the mysterious unknown, making us think about consciousness and life's big mysteries. By sharing this, I'm hoping to kick off a chat about how we see things and the complex experiences that shape how we view the world.

Reflecting on this journey really highlights how profound human experiences can be, nudging us to confront the complexities of our minds and the connections with the universe that we often overlook. It kickstarts a self-discovery adventure, urging us to explore our consciousness and think about big questions like reality, perception, and the unseen.

I hope to inspire others to find clarity and embrace life's mysteries by taking some time to reflect. In those quiet moments, we can discover insights that shift our perspective on life, encouraging us to tackle our fears, stay curious, and connect with something greater.

Life's mysteries are meant to be experienced, not solved. This journey is about living with questions and appreciating the path to understanding. Let's stay open to life's wonders, letting our consciousness grow as we navigate existence.

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I remember the ambulance showing up with its sirens blaring right in the middle of all the chaos. The paramedics rushed over, and once they got me on the stretcher, every jolt during the bumpy ride felt intense. A young guy checked my eyes, which gave me a brief moment of clarity, while a woman stayed just out of sight.

Surprisingly, they didn't jump into action right away. Instead, they hooked me up to a monitor, thinking I'd just had too much to drink and passed out. Their laid-back chatter felt totally out of sync with the storm going on inside me.

As my heart rate slowed down incredibly low, I could actually feel my heartbeat slowing down, and I had to mentally will it to continue to beat. The same with my breathing; it got shallow and slowed down. I was mentally battling to hang on for my family. I just kept screaming into the void that I was not ready to die, my family needed me. They didn't catch on until the monitor started showing some alarming changes, which finally made them realize how serious things were. They quickly hooked me up with oxygen and an IV, figuring out it wasn't just me being drunk. I was pretty frustrated by their first assumptions, which only added to my panic when I was already feeling so vulnerable.

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Why To That Hospital?

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As we rushed to the hospital with the sirens going off, I felt pretty vulnerable and anxious, especially since I had just started working at the same ER. It was kind of ironic being a new part-time nurse who suddenly needed care. I recognized some of the staff, but I doubted they knew me, which just added to my embarrassment. This hospital is the biggest network around, handling all sorts of needs, so working there was both an honor and a bit overwhelming.

The hallways were alive with a mix of urgency and care. I felt relieved knowing I wouldn't get in trouble for having THC in my system, since my employer stopped testing for it once it became legal. This policy change really shows how society's views on cannabis are shifting and recognizes the stress healthcare workers deal with. The job can be intense and often leads to burnout, so the hospital's understanding of THC use reflects a more compassionate workplace culture.

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Into The ER We Go

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Being at the hospital was a lot to handle with all the clinical vibes and chaos going on. The medical team was super intense, and getting moved onto that hard bed was pretty unsettling. Once they hooked me up to the monitors, the nonstop beeping really drove home how serious things were, making me think about how fragile life is.

The team was quick with the tests, but my body just wasn’t cooperating, leaving me feeling stuck and disconnected. Knowing I had a catheter in and not feeling any of it was unsettling. Overhearing the doctor talk about serious stuff with my husband, like POAs and wills, just amped up my fear and made me feel more isolated. I was silently screaming/begging for someone to notice me. I was screaming in my head that I am here; nobody is dying today. No need to talk about wills and POAs. Obviously, they couldn’t hear me. I remember them doing the sternum rub on me and feeling nothing. It’s like I knew it was happening based on what he was saying, but I didn’t feel it.

This sense of being disconnected from my body lasted for twelve hours. I slowly started coming back. I managed to speak a few words within the first few hours of coming back to myself, wiggled a few fingers, which gave me some hope. But then exhaustion hit, and when I woke up, I was back in my body completely, though in pain and totally overwhelmed. I still couldn’t talk all the way. It’s like I could say some words and not others.

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Please, Make It Stop!

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I was in a lot of pain from being stuck in a weird position for too long, which made my chronic issues worse. I've had two neck surgeries for herniated discs, so I deal with constant pain. On top of that, hip dysplasia makes moving around tough and painful. The pain never goes away completely and messes with my daily life at times. Luckily, this all happened before I broke my ankle, which made my back and hip pain even worse.

The doctors decided to keep me in the hospital until they got my pain under control. They gave me dilaudid, a strong painkiller, but it didn't really work for me because I have unusual reactions to meds. Dilaudid only helped for about 20 to 30 minutes, and I could only get it every four hours, leaving me in pain for long stretches. It was physically and mentally exhausting, and I felt stuck in my own body.

The narcotics made me itch like crazy, which just added to my discomfort because I gouged holes in my head and all over. Sometimes they'd give me Benadryl, but I often had to deal with the itching on my own, leaving me with noticeable scratches. Trying to balance pain relief with the side effects of the meds was really difficult.

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I’m About To Explode

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Trying to talk was tough, and I couldn't make it clear that I needed to use the bathroom, but I literally couldn’t make myself go. I felt the need to, but it’s like my body wouldn’t allow it to come out. The nurse used a PureWick device, but it didn't help with my urgent need to pee, and there was no way to pee. Even though I kept asking for help, the staff didn't understand how stressed I was, which made me feel really alone and powerless. All I was able to say is I have to go, they tell me to use the PureWick, I tell them I can’t. They walk out of the room expecting me to eventually do it. While in there, one of the nurses gave me some meds that knocked me out for a bit, giving me a break.

The next day, I felt more clear-headed. I managed to tell the nurse that I couldn't physically make myself pee, and finally, she understood and used a straight catheter. It wasn't the most pleasant thing, but the relief was instant when they drained over 1200 cc of urine. This whole experience showed me how crucial it is for healthcare professionals to really listen and understand patients, emphasizing the need for good communication and empathy.

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Visitors

During my three-day hospital stay, which felt like it lasted forever, I was lucky to have visitors who helped make a tough time a bit easier. The hospital's sterile vibe was pretty isolating, but my loved ones made the whole experience more bearable and even a bit uplifting.

My mom and stepdad came by and hung out a bit with me. A close friend, who was looking after my kids, brought them over to see me. Their smiles and laughter reminded me why I was fighting so hard—their happiness. Their presence lit up the room, temporarily chasing away the sterile feel and filling me with joy. Laughing with them, I momentarily forgot about the tubes and monitors, and their familiar faces brought a sense of normalcy. It was just before Easter, they totally surprised me with a gift basket while I was stuck in the hospital. It wasn't just about the stuff inside; it was all about the love and care they showed. The basket had all my favorite snacks, a puzzle book to keep me busy, a cute balloon, and an adorable stuffed horse that now keeps me company at night, reminding me of all the love around me. His name is Trevor.

My husband, always a rock, stayed by my side the entire time, giving me the strength I needed to face the uncertainties of my condition.

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Meet Trevor

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It was just before Easter, they totally surprised me with a gift basket while I was stuck in the hospital. It wasn't just about the stuff inside; it was all about the love and care they showed. The basket had all my favorite snacks, a puzzle book to keep me busy, a cute balloon, and an adorable stuffed horse that now keeps me company at night, reminding me of all the love around me. His name is Trevor.

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After that pretty intense experience, I felt the need to reach out to the local EMS supervisor about the weird conversation I overheard in the ambulance. He seemed concerned about it and said he'd look into it, but I figured he would probably just brush it off. As time went on, my urgency faded, and life got busy. I never followed up, but the memory still sticks with me, changing how I think about vulnerability and connection.

Since then, my relationship with alcohol has really changed. I've only had a few sips, without smoking weed, never mixing them again. Drinking just isn't my thing anymore, and I stayed away from edibles until last December when I used them while in Europe. I got those at the local dispensary, and they were just enough to keep me from having withdrawals while there but not enough to affect me too much. I've become the designated driver, keeping my friends safe while staying sober, and I’m okay with that.