The year of endings and beginnings

Debbie Kerr word count: 1,665

dbkerr50@yahoo.com lines: 139

2400 Shady Lane, C23

Anderson, CA 96007

The year of beginnings and endings.

“If your mother doesn’t have this surgery she will definitely die. If she has the surgery she will probably die but there is a 5% chance she will live.” These were the words my son heard about one and half years ago. It was many months later when my son told me this. Yori doled out the words and events of the 4 months I was hospitalized or in a rehabilitation facility; he feared knowing the realities of these months would stand in the way of my full recovery. It took more than 2 million dollars to put me back together again, not counting the doctors’ fees. More than 15 doctors had their fingers in me or on me. I was permanently altered and it was clearly the biggest experience of my life. And it was one of the best things to ever happen to me. But I digress. You need some specifics.

In 2010, I drove myself from Connecticut to California, by myself, in winter. I needed to know I still had what it takes to live a meaningful life . . . . that I still had me. My children were both in California and I missed them; it was time I was closer. In January, I finished my BA, 26 years after I stopped, only 2 courses away from completion. In May, my son, Yori, graduated from college, followed by my daughter, Danie, in June. Yori was married in July. Although I had been living in Connecticut for several years, Cali was where my heart was. These events convinced me it was time to move west again.

Never the healthiest, with the chronic pain of Fibromyalgia and COPD (among other things), I became even sicker in Cali, falling, with terrible tremors, very poor memory, horrible vertigo and respiratory concerns. The doctors couldn’t figure it out. I fell a full flight of stairs at the library, ripping open my knee. I fell down two other stairways that I remembered. The other knee fell victim to a gas station’s cement curb. I couldn’t remember what was said or had happened 5 minutes before. I tipped the scales well over 200 pounds; my kids thought I had dementia. People getting to know me saw the manifold problems I was having before getting to the real me underneath. And those problems had a way of pushing people away.

As December moved in, I developed double pneumonia. A visit to the emergency room was fruitless; I was sent home only to return the fallowing morning, unable to breathe.

Hallucinations dogged me. That first morning, in my mind I was at a college to start teaching courses. What I think I vaguely remembered was being told I was going to be put in a medically induced coma so they could save me and me saying to do whatever they needed but to make sure I lived. I woke up 3 ½ weeks later unable to move any part of my body. The good news was I was alive. The other good news was seeing Danie, my daughter. She had been in Malawi on a mission for most of a year. Seeing her was a rare and priceless gift. Nobody thought I was going to live so she’d taken an emergency flight back. Prayer vigils were going on from one end of the country to the other. No longer could I doubt God’s grace.

Upon waking I found I had lost all muscle memory and was unable to move anything. Let me tell you, it is a strange experience. I was rotated frequently to prevent bedsores. I kind of felt like a rotisserie chicken. There were these weird, dream memories that seemed vividly real, so much so that I was confused about what was real and what wasn’t.

My earliest recollections were of trying to make my hand go from the ice bucket to my mouth with bits of ice. I had to laugh – I knew how ridiculous I looked. The Physical Therapists had their work cut out for them. It is terrifying standing on legs that don’t have the strength and ability to hold your weight. And, I couldn’t remember most of the past year, still can’t. Today I have full use of my body. I am grateful for the skilled people who made me that way.

There were other changes to adapt to. I had a 14-inch scar down my abdomen. I was 65 pounds lighter (this was a good thing!) And all of my bodily waste was now collected in an Illeostomy bag outside my body. I was on a feeding tube and dialysis. The doctors thought there might have ongoing brain damage. And I don’t even want to go on about how long the hair on my legs had gotten.

It turns out I went septic while being treated for the double pneumonia. My gall bladder and 7/8 % of my colon died. Both my kidneys and lungs shut down. I was placed on dialysis and a ventilator with tubes coming out of every orifice. When they opened me up (as per the “your mom will die” statement.) there was so much infection they left me open for two days as a wound vacuum did its thing to make sure they had gotten it all. I was released to rehab but had a mini-stroke and was shipped back to the hospital within a couple of days. Compressor sleeves on my legs cause permanent bruising. And on, and on . . .

None of this was real to me. It was a strange experience that so many changes occurred and I couldn’t remember them. I was glad about the weight – who wouldn’t be?

But the Illeostomy completely grossed me out. I felt dirty all the time. It smelled. It was enormously embarrassing. It had a tendency to break when I was in public. Sometimes waste would be everywhere. I always had to carry bag supplies and a change of clothes with me. Of course I was in a lot of pain.

My sisters flew out from Connecticut while I was taking a breather from reality. One sister said I looked like the Michelin tire dude, all bloated out. One of the great gifts I gained in my medical catastrophe was much of the dissention between the three of us ended. My sisters came to understand I might not be around to be mad at. Anger I was holding inside burned up. The resentments and hurts no longer meant anything and that is largely true today. I understood the expression “life is too short”. A few months after I got home from rehab I went to visit them for most of a month. It was a healing, spiritual gift for each of us.

I kept asking family and friends what they remembered because I lacked the memories. My family might act a certain way or say something about those months based on their fears and concerns. My son came every day to check on me. He would ask the nurses and doctors how I was doing. If the nurses said I was getting out of bed and falling he would chide me. (I was in the Frequent Faller Club. I tend to be stubborn) But the complete burden of all medical decisions fell on this young man newly married and working in his first professional job. When my sisters said they thought I was going through too much and perhaps I should be allowed to die, he vehemently refused, lucky for me as it turns out.

The night before I was to finally go home I was upset, scared of how I would do on my own, without back up. One of he nurses told me, “you were a big blob when you came here. You were a failure to thrive – no one thought you would do much. Look at you now. You are walking by yourself. You will be fine but if you need to, you can come back for a bit.” That being a blob part hurt to hear, but it was effective to motivate me to leave with head held high. It was true . . . and God had certainly had a hand in my healing. Who was I to worry? I knew now God would certainly not give me something I couldn’t handle.

I learned I had some real friends both in Connecticut and more recently gained in Cali. My new daughter-in-law’s family came to pray and support Yori. They are very good people. People from my new church came, as did women from my AA meetings. When I went back to CT to visit, my sister would say to anyone and everyone, “See, See? It’s my sister the Miracle!” Not verbose by nature, I was embarrassed but she had to do that because it was so very real for her.

People who don‘t know me would never know I had had these experiences. As it is, people who did know the shaking, falling, overweight, sad person I was are always telling me how great I look. I am content, even joyful at times, something I was not before. I fit into my life now. It is a good one.

You know the saying “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle”? I learned a lot about God and my relationship with him. I was blessed. I have spent most of my life feeling unworthy, that I wasn’t good enough. Two million dollars is a lot of worth. I intimately realized I had a purpose in this life and God wanted me around to do it. It might not be for me . . . it might be for someone else, but it didn’t matter, I was needed.

Every day I am grateful. I never could have envisioned what happened and what changed because of it. God’s plan is wonderful to behold.

By: Debbie Kerr

 

 

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