May 5th, 2003 was the day I almost died. Each year that passes, I don’t dwell on the negativity or my fear. Instead, I look at all the wonderful experiences I’ve had and all the amazing people who I have in my life. In remembrance of that day, I have included a section from my book, “I Am Not Contagious.” Enjoy!
“A glow of light shined like a spotlight on my hospital bed. The sheets were stiff, with a hint of bleach. The pain in my stomach was horrific, which made it difficult to speak. It felt as if I had floated out of my body, and I was watching myself from a corner in the room. A Surgeon entered and walked to my bed showing little emotion on his face. He informed me that I had ruptured open somewhere in my abdominal cavity and my tummy was filling with blood and stool. My body was going septic. In a state of shock, I said “I have to get back to California…they have to save my internal pouch” and the Surgeon responded, “No way. You are not stable to travel… You would die.”
I couldn’t process what he was saying any longer, with my head in my hands, I began to sob. That day, I called 911 at 12 noon and by 4 pm, I was on the operating table. This moment changed my life forever; I still have an eerie feeling on May 5th each year that passes. No Margaritas or Tacos for me. I just think about where my life had been and how shocked I am still alive.
There were no planned surgeries seeing as it was a holiday. I was wheeled into a large room that was lined with a row of empty beds. As I manipulated the tubes from my I.V. so I could changed into the surgical gown, I looked up and realized just how alone I truly was. The sound of my bare feet walking on the tile floor echoed throughout the room. The tile was cold and seemed to radiate through my body. I began to weep quietly until the sound of a person walking at a frantic pace pulled me out of my misery. Jake ran into the room and as we locked eyes, no words were needed. I could breathe again; the weight of my pain was temporarily removed. The last thing I remember is Jake hugging me.
I woke up ten days later in agony. My mother was at the side of my bed. There were tubes coming out of every orifice in my body. The surgeon had lost I.V. access during my surgery, which led to having a port placed in my chest. I had a feeding tube down my nose, which made breathing strenuous. I pulled off the tubing that was providing me oxygen and I said “Am I alright?” My mom went on to explain that my body needed time to rest, so I was placed into a Morphine coma for almost a week. Confused and cloudy, I tried to sit up and that’s when I noticed a very familiar feeling. I touched my stomach and ran my hand down to my pelvic area where I felt plastic. My colostomy bag had some how found its way onto my body again. I began to scream, my mom tried to calm me, but it was no use. The hell I had known became reality once more.
When I was released from the hospital, I was put on suicide watch and was not to be left alone for any length of time. My uncle and cousin came into town to relieve my parents. We watched movies, as I slept the days away. Everyone tried to encourage me and keep my spirits up, but trying to fight for my existence was a battle I was losing.
I could not eat food for weeks; which would allow my body to recover. I had to wear a backpack that was full of a milky white I.V. solution called total parenteral nutrition (TPN). This fluid contained all the nutrients that I needed to survive and it was pumped slowly into my body through the port in my chest. It was undecided if I could ever use my internal pouch again and the thought of having a colostomy bag before I was 25 years old sickened me.
I wanted to die. I would have if I could have found a painless way to end it all. The emotional sorrow and the physical agony had weakened my spirit. Jake came home from his shift at the fire station and found me in the kitchen. A nurse had come to our home to teach me how to flush my portacath, so I wouldn’t get a secondary infection. As she pushed the needle through my skin into the port in my chest, I screamed. I could not take one more ounce of pain.
Everything hurt, especially my heart. I had so many hopes and aspirations for my life. Cancer ripped my dreams right out of my body and left me in darkness. Every day was a struggle. I did not want to get out of bed. I welcomed sleep because my dreams were the only break I could get from my life. I had lost the fight in me. Jake could see it, so one afternoon he came to me and said “If you can’t fight for yourself, fight for me…for us.” It was a slap in the face. Now, I knew I could get through this… I was strong. I just needed someone to believe in me and give me an extra push. This was not going to be the end, in fact, this was going to be the beginning of my life.”
Thanks Allison for a inspirational post;
Glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for your comment!
Happy Re-birthday! Love you.
Miss you my friend. 😘
The stuffed Teddy Bear is the universal healer-speeder-upper for any time you are hurt, recovery from a life threatening surgery, or facing fear. You are never too old to have a Teddy Bear with you when hurt, sick, or scared. He or she will always give you a warm smile and will reassure you that everything will get better everyday. A Teddy Bear will never judge you nor try to give you bad advice nor tell anyone on you when you confide on just how scared you are. He will always give you a warm smile – never a frown. When you need someone to believe in you and to give you the extra push you need, you can always give him a hug and he will give you a big smile back without judging you for feeling weak or wanting to die.
What was your bear’s name, and as you look back on this time in your life, did his smile help you through the pain and fears?
By he way, when I say “Teddy Bear” I actually mean the little stuffed animal. I am not referring to a person represented by the bear. People are great, but sometimes a toy can be your best friend.
You are one of the bravest people I have ever read about and an encouragement. Thank you
Teddy. I wasn’t very original. But that bear help me through a lot!
Wow! I cannot imagine what you went through and you are such an inspiration to everyone struggling with health issues! I am so glad I found you!
Dianne
Thank you for your kind words.
Wow just amazing what you’ve been through! You will persevere 💖
Thanks Allison for this post. Your story serves as an inspiration to those who are faced with a health crisis. My sister in law was recently diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer and has been given about 3 years. I will share this with her as I am sure she will be as inspired as I was.
I’m so glad you’re still here and are writing this blog. Your life has a purpose and it’s to remind us that regardless of our struggle life is worth living. Thanks Allison!
Sending love to your sister in law. She will be in my thoughts.
You’re amazing! Don’t know how you do it, but you’re certainly an inspiration to keep looking forward! ….for all of us to “keep passing the open windows”. Don’t know how I found you, but I’m so glad I did. Thank you.
You’re so sweet! Thank you for your kind words.
Good Lord; I am almost speechless at the sheer agony of mind, body and spirit you describe, Allison. Thank you for sharing this important leveller – both humbling and sobering.
Let’s not do THAT again, OK? You must have inherited a feline gene that gave you 9 lives. Keep up the good works.
You are a strong woman.
You are AMAZING! For always being you and having that beautiful smile on your pretty face no matter what comes your way :-*
I just never quite know what to say when I read stories like this. They suck the breath out of me and make me stop. Cold turkey. You always amaze me with your writing Alison. It touches people in a way that is what? I am at a loss. Except to say I’m eternally grateful that you let all of us share in this journey, this tiny glimpse into what it felt like for you to go to the edge and back. What a privilege you have given to all of us. Thank you.
Dear Perkie,
Thank you for sharing that dramatic and moving excerpt from “I Am Not Contagious”. Your book and is so fantastic. You and the account your challenges never cease to encourage me as a 20-year Parkinson’s patient. You are other-worldly amazing, Allison. Thank you for sharing your very personal story.