It was Thursday, May 2, 2024. The night before, I had taken one dose of a new medication that my doctor recommended. We knew that it could cause side effects, but I needed to try it to be certain. Sure enough, by the next morning, I was exceedingly dizzy, to the point that I could not walk several feet to my bathroom. I knew that since I live alone, I should get help. I called the “other grandma” in our family (my daughter-in-law’s mother) to see if she could help. She wound up helping me far more than either of us had anticipated.
Peggy sat with me for a total of six hours. At first, we carried on conversations about our writing, publishing, website content, and the like. It was not long, though, before I could not stay awake and kept sleeping in my favorite chair. During this time, Peggy noticed that the calf of my right leg was turning red. I saw it, but it did not feel different to me, and I was too sleepy to stay awake and think about it. Concerned, she contacted my son and suggested that he come to see me after work. He did, and she left, not knowing what impact her conscientiousness would have for me.
Throughout the evening, after taking me to bed, Jon stayed in touch with my primary care physician and gave them updates. I continued to sleep. Eventually, my leg swelled and I started to run a very high temperature. The nurse who was on call that night told my son to get me to the Emergency Room. He called 911, and the last thing I remember is seeing six husky Emergency Responders come into my bedroom. I think it was about 11 p.m.
With no recollection at all of my trip in the ambulance, I awoke at 3 a.m. in the ED. That meant four hours had elapsed that I could not account for! My son was by my side, and I immediately started to ask him questions: What happened? How long have I been here? What is wrong with me?
I was not, however, panicking. I was not sure if it was because I have been in the Emergency Department so often with family members, or the fact that I was awake and coherent, or something else, but I was calm. What did start to concern me was that as several ED personnel came into to see me, three of them asked if I “wanted to be resuscitated” if my heart should stop. That got my attention.
“Of course” I answered the first time. When the second and third persons asked me the same thing, I became alarmed. I asked my son, because he is my medical proxy, if he were asked that as well and he answered “Oh, mom, many times!”. I did not feel as though I were on death’s door, but I at least wondered about it now.
Gradually, my son and the doctors explained that I had Cellulitis (about which I knew nothing), which developed into Sepsis. In addition, my temperature had reached 103.8, and importantly, my blood pressure had dropped to 70/20. I did not know it was possible to have a BP that low and still be alive, but I had, in fact, gone into shock. No wonder that I had four IV lines running into me! I didn’t know that was doable, either, but there I was. Four lines, and I had not felt a thing when they were put in.
Here is the other thing that I did not have when I was unconscious: a Near Death Experience. Why would I look for that, or even retrospectively think about an NDE? Because I have visions and other transcendental experiences in my everyday life, so it seems logical to me to think that I could have had something similar when I was unconscious, and dancing near death.
Am I disappointed? Not at all. First of all, I am so extremely grateful for my conscious mystical experiences (for which I have no explanation as to their appearances specifically to me) that I can hardly complain about not having something extraordinary happen when I nearly died. If anything, I am grateful that I woke up and now live, so that I can continue to fulfill my purpose.
Here. In Life. On Earth.
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I am beyond grateful for the many people who were instrumental in keeping me on this planet: Peggy, Jon, the Emergency Responders, my primary care physician, Dr. Melissa Dattalo and her team, the incredible doctors and staff of the UW Health Emergency Department and Intensive Care Unit, where I lived for four days and nights before being transferred to the hospital proper. To say, as well, that the nurses, assistants, doctors and other specialists on the sixth floor who took care of me for the next seven days and nights were extraordinary, would be inadequate. They reaffirmed my trust in, and gratitude for, humanity.
They are all good people. They kept me alive and nursed me to health. That continues now with the exceptional at-home medical care that I am receiving. I cannot say enough about my newfound hometown of Madison and the people here who care.
I am alive because of them.
Thank you.
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