I Can Hear You!

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Let’s Play Some Music Bingo

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On Thursday nights, my friends and I would gather at a local “bar” that had become our cherished retreat for food, drinks, and an engaging game of music bingo. I am a HUGE fan of music, a passion that has permeated my life for as long as I can remember. My taste is eclectic, spanning most genres, though I hold a particularly deep affection for the vibrant sounds of the 80s. This fondness is so pronounced that my friend even gifted me a shirt emblazoned with the phrase "I love 80s Music," which I proudly wore to our music bingo nights, a badge of honor for my musical enthusiasm. This establishment was far more than just a place to grab a drink; it was a cozy haven where laughter and camaraderie flowed as freely as the drinks, creating an atmosphere where all the cares of the world could be pushed aside for just a few hours of unadulterated fun and connection. The owners of this beloved bar were a warm couple who treated everyone like family, embodying the spirit of hospitality. They were often seen walking around the establishment, greeting patrons with genuine smiles and friendly banter that made everyone feel welcome and appreciated. Their presence added a personal touch to the experience, making it feel like a home away from home.

On this particular night in March of 2022, I was eagerly meeting up with four of my closest girlfriends, all of whom had been integral parts of my life journey. As we arrived, the atmosphere enveloped us in a warm and inviting embrace, filled with the sounds of clinking glasses, animated conversations, and the occasional outburst of laughter that echoed through the room. We quickly settled into our spot, a cozy table in a side room, which at times made it hard to hear the songs. The menu was filled with an array of extremely delicious food options, and we eagerly placed our orders, anticipating the delightful flavors that would soon arrive. As we waited for our food and drinks, I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me, a gentle reminder of all the times we had gathered here to unwind, share our stories, and support each other through the ups and downs of life. We didn’t meet up there every Thursday night, but we met up as often as we were able to. The anticipation of the upcoming game of music bingo filled the air with excitement, as we shared our favorite memories tied to the songs we loved, reminiscing about the carefree days of the past while looking forward to the new memories we would create. The bar was not just a venue for entertainment; it was a backdrop to our lives, a place where friendships were strengthened and laughter was abundant, and each gathering was a testament to the enduring bonds we shared.

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Social Anxiety Relief

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I had dabbled with THC gummies in the past, enjoying their effects in a more carefree manner, but I had taken an extended break for reasons that I don’t quite remember. Perhaps it was a combination of personal circumstances and a desire to focus on my health and well-being. Yet, as the evening progressed and the small place started to become even more packed, I started to experience a panicky feeling creeping in. The sounds around me became increasingly overwhelming, each conversation blending into a cacophony that made it super hard for me to concentrate on any one interaction. If you read my anxiety post, you would have noted that I’ve always struggled with social anxiety, which often manifests in situations just like this one.However, it was in that moment, surrounded by friends and laughter, that I made the spontaneous decision to indulge once more. The atmosphere was filled with joy and camaraderie, and since I was not driving that night, I felt a sense of freedom that encouraged my choice.

Recalling my previous experiences, I remembered how I would typically consume half of a gummy to gauge its effects before consuming the rest. I was acutely aware that the onset could take an hour or longer—a crucial point that many people often overlook, leading to the regrettable scenario of overconsumption due to impatience. This knowledge serves as a reminder of the importance of moderation and self-control, especially in social settings where the temptation to overindulge can be strong. However, on that particular night, I was particularly dehydrated, a fact I was acutely aware of as a nurse who often advised others on the importance of hydration. It’s something I have been really working on, striving to maintain a healthy balance in my daily routine. More often than not, I fail to meet my hydration goals, which only adds to my overall discomfort. At this moment that I am writing, I feel the effects of dehydration weighing heavily on me, and I’m working on getting through a large cup of water with hydration mix in it, trying to counteract the symptoms that are beginning to surface.

Ironically, despite my professional knowledge, I had neglected my own advice that evening, having only consumed a single cider throughout the night. As I sat there, the familiar light-headedness and nausea began to creep in, making me increasingly aware of my physical state and the consequences of my choices. A friend beside me, noticing my pallor and the way I was clutching my stomach, inquired about my well-being, her concern evident in her voice. I asked her if she could fetch me some water, hoping it would alleviate my growing discomfort and help me regain my composure. As I began to sip the water she brought back, she remarked, “You look really white; maybe we should go outside for some fresh air.” My heart raced, and my head spun as I tried to process her words, feeling a sense of dread wash over me. The idea of stepping outside, away from the noise and chaos, seemed like a relief, yet the thought of moving was daunting.

Walking to the door was a challenge, as I struggled to zigzag through the crowd of people, each step feeling heavier than the last. My head was spinning, and I could feel the world around me starting to blur. The moment I stepped through the threshold of the bar’s door, everything went black, and I lost consciousness. It was as if the vibrant life of the evening had been abruptly snuffed out, leaving me in a void of darkness. In that instant, I was unaware of the concern etched on the faces of my friends, the laughter and music fading into silence as I succumbed to the overwhelming sensations that had taken control of my body. The experience served as a stark reminder of the importance of listening to one’s body and recognizing the signs of distress before it’s too late.

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The Fall

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My friend later recounted the harrowing moment when I collapsed, an event that unfolded with alarming rapidity yet felt like an eternity in the depths of my consciousness. The suddenness of it all caught everyone off guard, and the air was thick with tension. Fortunately, she was right there, positioned strategically at the door, which allowed her to react quickly and catch me just before I hit the ground, preventing what could have been a more severe injury. Her quick reflexes were nothing short of life-saving, and I often think about how different things could have been had she not been there at that critical moment.

As I regained consciousness briefly, I was only aware of my surroundings for a fleeting moment, just long enough to assist them in getting me into a chair, but then I faded out again, slipping back into that disorienting abyss. This time, however, the experience was markedly different. I found myself in a peculiar state of awareness; I was acutely aware of everything happening around me. I could hear the conversations of my friends, felt the pressure of people touching me, moving me. Yet I was utterly unable to exert control over it. It was as if I was trapped in a surreal world, where my mind was alert but my body was unresponsive.

One of them gently opened my eyes to check my pupils, and in that brief moment, I caught a glimpse of the concerned faces surrounding me. I remember my friend, her expression etched with worry, gently cradling my head in her hands, telling everyone around that she needed to support my head to help me breathe better. Her concern was palpable, especially regarding my airway, as I was slumped awkwardly in the chair, a position that seemed to exacerbate my distress. I could hear all their conversations, the urgency in their voices as they discussed calling an ambulance. The gravity of the situation began to settle in, and I presumed someone must have made that call, as the weight of their concern enveloped me like a heavy blanket.

Amidst the chaos, I also heard someone reaching out to my husband, informing him of the alarming situation. Their voices were a blend of urgency and compassion, as they relayed the seriousness of what was unfolding. The conversations shifted to practical matters, as they deliberated over what arrangements would need to be made for my children, ensuring they were taken care of so my husband could go to the hospital to be by my side. The thought of my children added an extra layer of anxiety to the already overwhelming experience. I could almost feel the weight of their innocence pressing down on me, a stark reminder of the responsibilities I had as a parent.

I could sense the love and concern enveloping me, even as I struggled to process the events unfolding around me. Each sound, each touch, and each whispered word seemed to resonate deeply, creating a vivid tapestry of emotions that I was unable to fully engage with, yet could not escape from. It was a strange dichotomy; I was both present and absent, aware yet detached. The moments stretched out in front of me, each one filled with the unspoken fears and hopes of those gathered around, and I felt an overwhelming gratitude for their presence, even as I grappled with the uncertainty of my own condition.

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Where Am I?

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It was a surreal experience, one that felt both disorienting and profoundly enlightening, as if I were caught in a dream yet fully aware of my surroundings. In that moment of introspection, I became acutely conscious of the distinction between the soul and the body, a realization that seemed to transcend the boundaries of ordinary perception. It was as if I had stepped into a realm often depicted in movies or books, where characters undergo transformative experiences that reveal deeper truths about existence.

## The Nature of the Experience

I felt as though I was ensnared in some kind of black box, an opaque enclosure that isolated me from the world outside while simultaneously allowing me to observe it in an unusual way. This black box was not just a physical space; it represented a mental and emotional state, a cocoon of confusion and introspection that enveloped me completely. The sensation was both confining and liberating; it was a paradox that left me grappling with my own identity and existence. Within this enclosure, I was stripped of the usual distractions and noise of everyday life, which, while suffocating, also provided me with a unique opportunity to reflect deeply on my thoughts and feelings. As I navigated this strange mental landscape, I found myself screaming silently, my fists pounding against an unseen black wall that surrounded me. The frustration and desperation of my situation were palpable, yet they also lent a strange intensity to the moment, creating a vivid contrast between my internal chaos and the external stillness of the world I could see but not touch. Each time my eyes opened, it was akin to catching a glimpse of reality through a small, translucent window embedded in that vast black wall. Through this window, I could see the vibrant colors of life outside—people in front of me—yet I remained separated from it all, an observer rather than a participant.

## Fleeting Clarity

These fleeting moments of clarity were both illuminating and disheartening; they appeared suddenly and vanished just as quickly, leaving me in a state of yearning for more. The sights that flickered through my vision were like fireflies in the night—beautiful and ephemeral, illuminating the darkness for just a brief moment before fading away. In those precious seconds, I could almost grasp the elusive truths that seemed to dance just beyond my reach, teasing me with their brilliance. As the fireflies would light up the night sky, so too did these sights bring a sense of clarity in my black void. Just as swiftly as they arrived, they would dissipate, leaving me grasping at shadows.

## The Challenge of Articulation

Unless you have experienced something akin to this, it is exceptionally challenging to articulate the depth of such an experience. It is a phenomenon that eludes easy explanation, one that exists in the realm of personal experience and subjective interpretation. The sensations, the emotions, and the insights are intricately woven into the fabric of one's consciousness, making it nearly impossible to convey the full weight of the experience to someone who has not lived it themselves.

## A Vivid Picture

I hope that I have managed to paint a vivid enough picture to convey the essence of what it felt like for me, a glimpse into the intricate workings of my mind during that extraordinary moment. The internal struggle, the profound realizations, and the haunting isolation all coalesced into a singular event that reshaped my understanding of life and existence. It was a moment that forced me to confront the very nature of my being, to question what it means to exist in a physical organic form while harboring a spirit that yearns for freedom and understanding.

## Lingering Reflections

This experience is one that lingers vividly in my memory, serving as a poignant reminder of the delicate balance that exists between the physical and the ethereal realms, as well as the known and the unknown facets of our existence. It is a profound encounter that invites contemplation and introspection, urging us to delve deeper into the essence of consciousness itself and the myriad mysteries that lie just beyond the veil of our everyday reality. In sharing this narrative, I aim to spark a dialogue about the nature of our awareness and the intricate tapestry of experiences that shape our understanding of life.

As I reflect on this journey, I recognize it as an exploration into the very depths of human experience, one that challenges us to confront the complexities of our own minds. It compels us to consider the profound connections we share with the universe, connections that often go unnoticed in the hustle and bustle of daily life. This experience serves as a catalyst for self-discovery, urging us to peel back the layers of our consciousness and examine the thoughts and feelings that lie beneath the surface. In this quest, we may find ourselves grappling with questions that have perplexed humanity for centuries: What is the nature of reality? How do our perceptions shape our understanding of the world around us? What lies beyond the confines of our immediate experience?

Through this reflection, I hope to encourage others to seek their own moments of clarity and introspection, to embrace the enigmatic nature of existence that surrounds us. It is within these moments of stillness and contemplation that we can uncover the hidden layers of our consciousness, revealing insights that can transform our perspective on life. Each of us has the potential to embark on a similar journey, one that invites us to confront our fears, embrace our curiosities, and ultimately, to connect with something greater than ourselves.

In doing so, we may find that the mysteries of existence are not meant to be solved, but rather experienced and embraced. This journey is not solely about seeking answers; it is about learning to live with the questions and appreciating the beauty of uncertainty. As we navigate through the complexities of our thoughts and emotions, we may discover that the path to understanding is as valuable as the destination itself. Let us, therefore, remain open to the wonders that life presents, allowing our consciousness to expand and evolve as we traverse the intricate dance of existence.

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I remember the ambulance arriving, its sirens blaring, cutting through the chaos of the moment, and the hustle and bustle surrounding me. The scene was a blur of flashing lights and the hurried footsteps of the paramedics as they rushed to my side. As they carefully lifted me onto the stretcher, I could feel the jarring motions as they transported me into the ambulance; it was super bumpy the whole way, each bump sending jolts through my body. I can visualize the young male paramedic, while the other paramedic, a female, was just out of my line of sight, but I knew she was female by the sound of her voice. The male paramedic leaned over me, his hands gentle yet firm, as he opened my eyes to check my pupils. In that fleeting moment, I caught a glimpse of him—a moment of clarity in an otherwise overwhelming experience that felt like it was spiraling out of control.

Here is where things took an unexpected turn. The paramedics didn’t perform any immediate medical interventions that I could perceive; they simply hooked me up to a vital sign monitor, its beeping sound becoming a rhythmic backdrop to the chaos around me. They speculated aloud that I was likely just passed out from being overly intoxicated, tossing around assumptions that felt dismissive of my actual condition. They assured themselves and each other that I would be fine by morning once I had the chance to sleep it off. Their casual conversation about my state felt like a stark contrast to the turmoil I was experiencing inside.

However, I distinctly remember feeling my heart rate plummet during their conversation, an unsettling sensation that gripped me with fear. My breathing became shallow, each inhalation a Herculean effort. I remember screaming in my head, pleading with myself, “No, I cannot die—my babies need me, my husband needs me, I can’t go yet; I still have too much to live for.” It was a desperate mental battle, a fight for survival. I had to mentally will myself to take each breath, in and out, a struggle that seemed to go unnoticed until my vital signs began to drop significantly on the monitor, the beeping growing more frantic as the numbers displayed alarming changes.

As the situation escalated, the paramedics began to take things more seriously. They shifted from their initial nonchalance to a heightened sense of urgency, applying oxygen and inserting an IV line with practiced efficiency. It became clear to them that someone who was merely passed out drunk wouldn’t experience such drastic changes in heart rate and respiratory function so rapidly. Their demeanor shifted, and I could sense their concern deepening as they realized the gravity of the situation. It was important to note that I had only consumed a single cider, so the idea of being drunk was far from the truth; I realized they didn’t know that, though. It was still very rude for them to make such an assumption, and I felt a wave of frustration wash over me, adding to my already overwhelming sense of panic. The fight for my life was not just against my physical condition but also against the misconceptions that surrounded me in that moment of vulnerability.

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Why To That Hospital?

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As we sped toward the hospital, the sirens blaring and the lights flashing around us, I couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of frustration about arriving there in such a vulnerable state. The cacophony of the sirens seemed to echo the turmoil within me, amplifying my anxiety and sense of helplessness. Each wail of the siren felt like a reminder of my precarious situation, resonating with the chaos swirling in my mind. It was a disconcerting experience, one that I had never anticipated, especially considering that just a short while ago, I had begun my journey working at the very same emergency room we were headed to.

The irony of the situation weighed heavily on me; here I was, a new part-time nurse, thrust into the very environment where I was supposed to be learning and growing, now finding myself on the other side of the care spectrum. Although I recognized some of the staff by name, thanks to the shift change, and I recognized the doctor when he opened my eyes to check my pupils—he was one of the few who worked both shifts—I doubted they recognized me as the new addition to their team. This uncertainty only compounded my feelings of vulnerability and embarrassment. The thought of being treated by my colleagues, people I had only just begun to know, in such a compromised and exposed state filled me with a deep sense of humiliation that was hard to shake off.

I envisioned their faces, familiar yet distant, as they rushed around me, their expressions likely a mix of concern and professionalism, but all I could feel was a profound sense of being out of place, as if I had stepped into a role I was not prepared to play. The hospital where I worked was the largest healthcare provider in our region, a sprawling facility that extended its services across state lines and catered to a diverse population with a wide range of medical needs. It was both a privilege and a challenge to be part of such a significant institution, where the hustle and bustle of daily operations created an atmosphere that was both exhilarating and intimidating.

The corridors were often alive with the hurried footsteps of medical staff, the beeping of machines, and the murmurs of anxious families waiting for news about their loved ones. Each sound seemed to weave together a tapestry of urgency and care, a reminder of the life-and-death situations that unfolded within those walls daily. I felt a wave of relief wash over me knowing that I wouldn’t face repercussions for the THC that was in my system. My employer had made the progressive decision to cease drug testing for THC once it became legal in our state, a move that I appreciated deeply, especially in light of the pressures that came with working in healthcare.

This decision was not merely a policy change; it was a recognition of the evolving landscape of societal norms regarding cannabis use, particularly in a field as demanding as ours. I suppose they realized that they would risk losing a significant number of employees if they continued such practices, as many of us sought some form of relief to cope with the emotional and physical toll of our demanding work. The pressures of the job were immense, often leading to burnout and exhaustion. The long hours, the emotional weight of patient interactions, and the relentless pace of the emergency room created a challenging environment where the demands of patient care could weigh heavily on one's mental health.

In light of this, the hospital’s decision to embrace a more understanding approach towards the use of THC reflected a broader shift in workplace culture, recognizing the need for compassion and support for healthcare workers who often faced intense stress and emotional strain. This acknowledgment of our humanity, amidst the chaos of the emergency room and other healthcare areas, was something I had come to value greatly, even as I grappled with my own feelings of inadequacy in this moment of crisis. It was a complex interplay of emotions—gratitude for the progressive policies that recognized our struggles, yet a deep-seated fear of judgment from those who might see me not just as a colleague but as a patient in need of care.

This duality of my existence—both caregiver and care receiver—was a reality I had never imagined I would face so soon in my career, and it left me questioning not only my professional identity but also my personal resilience in the face of unexpected challenges. The experience was not merely a physical journey to the hospital; it was an emotional odyssey that forced me to confront my vulnerabilities and the very essence of what it meant to be human in a profession that often demanded superhuman strength and composure. I was not just a nurse anymore; I was also a person grappling with fear, anxiety, and the stark reality of needing care myself, a juxtaposition that was both eye-opening and profoundly humbling.

As we neared the hospital, I felt a mixture of dread and relief. I was torn between the desire to be enveloped in its comforting embrace and the fear of being exposed to judgment and scrutiny. I was entering a world that I thought I understood, yet now it felt foreign and intimidating. I had always envisioned myself as a pillar of strength, a beacon of hope for those in distress, but now I was just another patient, lost in the sea of humanity that filled those walls.

This experience was more than just a physical journey; it was a profound exploration of the complexities of the human experience. The emotions swirling within me were a testament to the reality that even those who dedicate their lives to caring for others are not immune to the trials of life. The challenges I faced that night would ultimately shape my understanding of empathy, resilience, and the importance of self-care in a profession that often demands so much from its practitioners. As I was wheeled into the emergency room, I resolved to emerge from this experience not just as a nurse, but as a more compassionate and understanding individual, one who had truly grasped the essence of what it meant to care for others, having first learned to care for myself.

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Into The ER We Go

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Upon arrival at the hospital, I was immediately engulfed in an atmosphere that was both clinical and chaotic, where every action taken by the medical staff resonated within me with an overwhelming intensity that was both disorienting and terrifying. As the medical team carefully maneuvered me onto the bed, I could feel the pressure of the unforgiving surface beneath me. I was hooked up to a series of monitors, their rhythmic beeping and whirring sounds registering in my mind, creating a dissonant symphony of urgency that underscored the gravity of my situation. Each beep felt like a countdown, a reminder of the fragility of life, and I was acutely aware of the stakes at play.

The medical staff moved with a practiced efficiency, their hands deftly drawing blood for tests. I could feel the pressure of the sternum rub they performed to gauge my responsiveness. Despite their best efforts, my body remained unresponsive to my commands and their probing, as if I were encased in a shell that refused to yield to my will. It was as if my physical form was completely detached from my consciousness, leaving me in a state of helpless “observation”.

I felt the pressure of the catheter being inserted, an experience that was both uncomfortable and invasive, yet I was powerless to react, my body betraying me at every turn. As I lay there, I could hear the doctor discussing my condition with my husband in hushed, serious tones, the gravity of their conversation weighing heavily on the air. They mentioned wills and power of attorney—terms that sent waves of panic crashing through me, each word a dagger of fear that pierced my already fragile state. Internally, I was screaming, “You don’t need to worry about that! I’m not dead, and I’m not dying; I’m right here!” My thoughts raced, desperate for them to understand that I was still present, still fighting, and still aware of everything happening around me. But, of course, they couldn’t hear my silent pleas, and their somber discussions only deepened my sense of isolation and fear, amplifying the feeling of being a ghost in my own life.

This state of disconnection persisted for twelve long hours, each minute stretching into what felt like an eternity, a relentless passage of time that refused to relent. I remained trapped in that limbo, a spectator in my own life, until, at last, I began to regain consciousness and the ability to move again. My journey back to awareness was gradual and fraught with uncertainty. At first, I was able to utter a word or two—my voice weak and strained, a mere whisper of my former self, yet a sign of life nonetheless. I managed to wiggle my fingers, a small victory in the face of overwhelming odds, a flicker of hope that perhaps I was not as lost as I had feared.

Then, just as swiftly, I fell asleep again, my body succumbing to the exhaustion that had built up during my ordeal, a deep, unyielding fatigue that enveloped me like a heavy blanket. When I finally awoke, I was attached to my body once more, yet it was in a state of immense pain. The sensations flooded back, overwhelming me; the ache in my muscles, the throbbing in my head. It was a confusing mix of relief and distress, as I struggled to reconcile the disconnection I had felt with the reality of my current state. I was back, but the journey to reclaiming my body and my sense of self was only just beginning, a path fraught with challenges that lay ahead, where I would have to navigate the complexities of healing, both physically and emotionally.

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Please, Make It Stop!

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My back, neck, and hip ached intensely from being in the same uncomfortable position for far too long, a situation that had become all too familiar to me. The pain radiated through my body, a constant reminder of my past medical struggles, echoing the trials I had endured over the years. I had previously undergone two surgeries for herniated discs in my cervical spine, a debilitating condition that had plagued me with chronic pain and with lingering discomfort that seemed to settle into my very bones. Each day was a battle against this chronic pain, and the weight of it felt like an anchor dragging me down. In addition to that, I also dealt with hip dysplasia, a developmental condition that only added to my physical woes, complicating my ability to move freely and without discomfort. The combination of these ailments made even the simplest movements feel excruciating. The discomfort was a relentless companion in my daily life, shadowing me in every activity, from getting out of bed in the morning to sitting for extended periods, which only seemed to exacerbate my suffering. Thankfully, this particular episode of pain occurred before I experienced the unfortunate incident of breaking my ankle, which would later exacerbate my existing back and hip issues, compounding the agony I was already feeling. Despite the overwhelming nature of the pain, there was a peculiar solace in the fact that while I lay there, motionless and unconscious, I couldn’t feel the persistent ache that had become a part of my waking reality, if only for a fleeting moment.

Due to the severity and intensity of my pain, the medical staff made the decision that they could not discharge me until they had effectively managed it to a more tolerable level. They administered dilaudid, a potent narcotic often reserved for the most severe cases of pain management, in an effort to provide me with some semblance of relief. This medication, while powerful, came with its own set of challenges and complications for me. I have always had unique and sometimes unpredictable reactions to various medications, including cannabis, which I used regularly to cope with my chronic pain and anxiety. I found that narcotics like dilaudid did not have the same level of effectiveness for me as they might for others, which was both frustrating and disheartening. Dilaudid typically lasts for about 20 to 30 minutes, and the hospital protocol allowed me to receive it only every four hours, which made for agonizingly long days filled with escalating discomfort. The intervals between doses felt like an eternity, as the pain would creep back in with a vengeance, leaving me in a state of both physical and mental distress. I often felt trapped in my own body, as the clock ticked slowly, each second a reminder of my suffering.

Moreover, narcotics tend to induce a side effect that I have always found particularly distressing: uncontrollable itching. This side effect was not just a mild annoyance; it was a relentless itch that drove me to distraction, compounding my already overwhelming discomfort. While the medical staff could provide Benadryl to alleviate the itching, it was only available at intervals, meaning I was often left to contend with the discomfort on my own. The result was a visible manifestation of my struggle, as I was left with deep gouges on my skin from scratching, particularly on my face and scalp. These marks served as a physical reminder of the discomfort and distress I endured during my hospital stay, a stark illustration of the battle between seeking relief and managing the side effects of the very medications meant to help me.

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I’m About To Explode

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The first day I regained full mental consciousness was an intense struggle filled with confusion and frustration. I found myself in a hospital room, surrounded by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of medical machines that seemed to pulse in time with my own heartbeat. My body felt foreign to me, as if I were trapped in a shell that refused to obey my commands. I still had difficulty moving my limbs and even speaking full sentences, which added to my sense of helplessness. Each attempt to communicate my needs felt like an uphill battle. I repeatedly informed the nurse, using the limited words I could muster, that I needed to use the restroom. My attempts were met with a polite but dismissive response, as the staff relied on a device known as a PureWick. This device, designed to draw urine away into a bucket mounted on the wall, was meant to provide convenience and comfort, but it felt inadequate for my urgent needs.

Despite the technology at my disposal, my body was not responding as it should have. I felt a growing sense of panic as I realized I was unable to push my bladder to release the urine that was building up inside me. The pressure was uncomfortable, and I kept insisting to the nurse that I needed to pee. However, they would just tell me to use the PureWick and walk away, their expressions reflecting a lack of understanding of my predicament. I felt increasingly isolated in my struggle, unable to convey the urgency of my situation. As the hours dragged on, someone eventually returned and administered medication that sent me back into a deep sleep, a temporary escape from the discomfort I was experiencing.

The following morning—or was it early afternoon when I finally woke up?—I emerged from the haze of sleep after what felt like an eternity. As I blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, I felt somewhat refreshed mentally, my thoughts clearer and more coherent than they had been the previous day. I was finally able to articulate my needs more clearly, the fog of medication lifting to reveal a sense of urgency that I had to communicate. When the nurse came in, I took a deep breath and explained my situation in detail, emphasizing that I literally couldn’t make myself urinate despite the overwhelming pressure. It was a moment of relief when I saw her expression shift from one of routine professionalism to genuine understanding. Finally, she comprehended the seriousness of my predicament and decided to perform a straight catheterization, a procedure I had hoped to avoid but knew was necessary.

The process was uncomfortable, particularly as they prepared to drain my bladder after it had been so full for such an extended period. The sensation of relief was almost immediate once they began the procedure, as over 1200ccs of urine were released—a significant amount that had been trapped within me for far too long. The pressure that had built up was finally alleviated, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. It was a bittersweet moment, as the uncomfortableness of the catheterization was overshadowed by the sheer joy of finally being free from the discomfort that had plagued me for hours. I realized then how vital it was to communicate my needs effectively, and how important it was for the medical staff to truly listen to their patients. This experience highlighted the challenges faced by individuals in similar situations and the critical nature of empathy and understanding in healthcare settings.

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Visitors

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During my three-day hospital stay, which felt like an eternity stretching out before me, I was fortunate to have visitors who brought a profound sense of comfort and warmth during what was undoubtedly one of the most challenging times in my life. The sterile walls of the hospital, with their clinical ambiance and the constant beeping of machines, created an environment that could easily feel isolating and cold. Yet, amidst this backdrop, the presence of my loved ones transformed my experience into something bearable, even uplifting.

My mother and stepfather made the journey to see me, their concern etched deeply on their faces, reflecting the universal worry that any parent feels when their child is unwell. In addition to my parents, a dear friend who had graciously taken care of my children during my hospitalization brought them along to visit me. Their innocent smiles and joyful laughter were a beautiful reminder of what I was fighting for—their well-being and happiness. As they entered the room, their faces lit up with excitement, momentarily dispelling the sterile atmosphere that surrounded me. Their energy was infectious, and it filled my heart with an indescribable joy. I found myself laughing along with them, momentarily forgetting the tubes and monitors that surrounded me. The sight of their small, familiar faces brought a sense of normalcy to an otherwise chaotic situation, making the hospital environment feel a little more like home.

My husband, a pillar of strength throughout this ordeal, stayed by my side for the entire duration of my stay. His unwavering support was not just a comfort but a source of immense strength that helped me navigate the uncertainties of my condition.

Meet Trevor

Just before Easter, a time typically filled with joy and family gatherings, they surprised me with a small gift basket meant to brighten my spirits while I was confined to the hospital room. This thoughtful gesture was not just about the items in the basket but the love and care that accompanied it. The basket contained a few of my favorite snacks, which I had longed for during my stay, a book of puzzles to keep my mind engaged and occupied during the long hours of waiting, a cute balloon that danced gently in the air, and a whimsical stuffed horse that now serves as a constant companion on my bed. This stuffed horse, with its soft, plush exterior and cheerful expression, has become a source of comfort during my nights, a tangible reminder of the love that surrounds me.

I still cherish those gifts deeply, with the balloon remaining in my closet as a symbol of love and support, a vibrant reminder of the people who care for me and the moments we share. Each visit, each gesture of kindness, reminded me of the importance of connection and the power of community, especially during the most trying times. It was a vivid illustration of how the bonds we create with others can uplift us when we are at our lowest. The support I received from my family and friends reinforced the idea that we are never truly alone, even in our darkest moments. Their love and encouragement served as a reminder that hope and healing often come hand in hand with the connections we nurture in our lives.

The experience of my hospital stay, while daunting, became a testament to the strength of relationships and the incredible impact they can have on our journey toward recovery. Each day brought new challenges, but the presence of my loved ones made those challenges feel surmountable. The laughter, the stories, the shared moments of vulnerability—all of these elements wove together to create a tapestry of support that enveloped me. I emerged from that hospital with not just a renewed sense of hope but also a deeper appreciation for the people who stood by me. Their unwavering presence reminded me that love is a powerful force, capable of bridging even the widest gaps created by illness and fear.

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In the aftermath of this intense and transformative experience, I felt an overwhelming compulsion to reach out to the local EMS supervisor. It was imperative for me to discuss the unsettling conversation I had inadvertently overheard during my time in the ambulance. When I finally managed to connect with him, he expressed genuine surprise at the nature of what I had shared. His reaction suggested that he was not fully aware of the dynamics at play within his team or the implications of the conversation I had witnessed. He assured me that he would take the matter seriously and address it appropriately with his staff. However, beneath his professional demeanor, I couldn't shake the feeling that he might view my concerns as the ramblings of a “crazy lady,” someone whose emotional response was not grounded in reality. This suspicion left me feeling somewhat disheartened, as I feared that any action taken would merely be a polite acknowledgment rather than a meaningful effort to address the issues at hand.

As time went on, the initial urgency of my concerns began to fade from my mind. Life has a way of sweeping us up in its myriad distractions and responsibilities. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and I found myself caught up in the ebb and flow of daily life, which often pulls our focus away from significant events that once felt monumental. I forgot to follow up with the EMS supervisor, and by the time the thought resurfaced in my mind, too much time had passed since the incident. Yet, the memory of that day remains etched in my consciousness, tucked away in a corner of my mind, waiting to be revisited when needed. It stands out as a pivotal moment in my life, one that reshaped my understanding of vulnerability, the intricate connection between the soul and the body, and the profound ties we share with those around us, especially in moments of crisis.

Since that significant experience, my relationship with alcohol has undergone a profound transformation that has reshaped not only my consumption habits but also my overall perspective on substance use and personal well-being. I have consciously limited myself to only four sips total of alcohol since the situation happened, all of which occurred during moments when I was not smoking, and even those were merely sips rather than full drinks. This deliberate choice stems from a deep-seated conviction that I refuse to mix the two substances again, a decision that has been reinforced by the lessons learned from past experiences. In essence, I have come to the conclusion that I simply do not drink, and I have also made the conscious decision to refrain from taking any edibles since that pivotal moment in my life.

In my commitment to this new path, I have embraced the role of the designated driver (DD) during social gatherings, a position that I take on with enthusiasm and responsibility. I find it empowering to be the one who ensures that my friends and loved ones get home safely, free from the impairments that can accompany excessive drinking. I often find myself as the only person at these get-togethers who is contentedly sipping on water while others indulge in various alcoholic beverages, and this choice has become a source of pride for me. It reflects my dedication to maintaining clarity, self-awareness, and a sense of control over my life choices. This transformation has not only impacted my drinking habits but has also influenced my interactions and relationships with others. I have come to appreciate the moments of connection that can occur without the influence of alcohol, allowing for more genuine conversations and experiences. By choosing sobriety, I have discovered a newfound appreciation for the subtleties of life and the joy of being fully present in each moment. If you were to read my previous post titled “Poison,” you would understand the depth of my feelings regarding this matter and how it has profoundly influenced my lifestyle choices moving forward. This journey has not only been about abstaining from those substances but also about embracing a healthier, more fulfilling way of living.