Hello everyone, the bad penny has turned up again, after going on for four months. For those of you who don’t know, I’ve been in the Vic for nearly two months. I’m back after trying to cheat death and succeeding!
The last blog I wrote was It’s agony, Ivy! which Jane published on 31 October, although I’d written it a few days before. Such a lot has happened since then! Jane also did an update on 14 December about where we were at. The above photo was taken on 31 December while I was at my worst and blown up with fluid retention. How amazing that weeks later I’m home and typing!
Trying to Cheat Death!
I’m not exaggerating, cheating death is what happened to me, after I developed pneumonia last October.
I’m being vague as I was unconscious most of the time, that’s when I wasn’t rambling and apparently delirious, saying all sorts of rubbish. It seems I was in the cardiac unit for almost two weeks which I have no memory of at all (that was the torn cartilage between sternum and ribs episode). They tell me I came home and went back again when I had loads of tests done.
A long time later, when I was coming round and could understand what Jane was saying, I discovered that good old me has got heart failure. It was no surprise to my lot that I kept rambling when I was unconscious. Because now that I’m home, they can’t stop me talking! I’ve just got into trouble at the dinner table because I wouldn’t shut up. What do you think to that people. I’ve hardly spoken for weeks on end and when I do they can’t stop me. I did go on a silent ban, just for them. Which to their surprise lasted about eight minutes or so – didn’t I do well. I know I’ve been non-stop prattling, but I have a lot to talk about, all the time.
Making me ‘comfortable’
Anyway, as I was told I was actually dying and inches from them ‘making me comfortable’. What a phrase, I ask you. But one of the doctors told Jane they would try one last thing. Having heard all the things that went wrong in a matter of days, like my kidneys just about packing in and all sorts of nasties, it’s a wonder I did survive.
But I did, along with being pumped full of antibiotics non-stop. I remember in my stupor, Jane saying at one point that they had a massive syringe of antibiotics. Then when I came round asking if I imagined it as I was non-compos-mentis at the time. She told me I was right and the syringe was very big – the fluid all went in my cannula. One strike to Chrissie, having got what seems like amnesia with so many weeks just gone missing. Because I was so ill and just about unconscious I hadn’t a clue what was going on around me, a bit like I usually am I suppose! Or so they tell me, cheeky things.
Anyway, Jane keeps filling me in on various things, which quite shocks me as to how bad it was for my family – and me. Only Jane was allowed to visit me the whole time. But as she’s the most sensible, she drew the short straw as chief spokeswoman, the poor thing. Thank goodness, as she is by and large the voice of reason.
To DNR or not?
The one thing I still feel annoyed about was the man stuck who his face in mine and started on about whether I would like a DNR (do not resuscitate if you don’t know). I was losing conscious so I can’t remember some of it.
I know a lot of people prefer a DNR, but not when you’re barely conscious and scared stiff at what’s going on around you. Then a stranger starts asking if I was to be left to die rather than them trying to help me. I’d have bashed him if I’d the strength. I couldn’t believe how they were badgering for a response there and then. I was barely conscious and so seriously ill while I was busy trying to cheat death. How insensitive and scary can you get.
My last memory was telling him I would talk to my family before I went back into nothingness. I thought he’s not having me put down like a dog! While at the same time somewhere in my mind was the knowledge that I was seriously ill.
Jane: Which is not quite what a DNR is… but she was ga-ga, even though the staff thought she had ‘capacity’. A DNR – or DNACPR as they call them in hospital (do not attempt cpr – chest compressions) just means that they don’t do chest compressions/shocks if your heart stops beating. Otherwise the treatment you get is exactly the same.
One thing, and another
I’m telling you this because all hell broke out then with a domino effect through my body. Within the space of a few days, one thing after another became serious, in spite of treatment. My body was being flushed out at the rate of knots. They pumped bag after bag after bag of stuff through the drips and eventually I turned a corner.
There was no sign of this before I ended up in hospital so they told Jane it was the many drugs and drips. Solving one issue created and another. It took about a week to resolve, not that I would have known as I was in the land of nothingness. It was like being asleep and not dreaming. Or when you’re under anaesthetic, just blank space.
But I was telling you about the thoughtless man wasn’t I. Well someone, I did ask which doctor it was afterwards, who suggested trying one last thing before they gave up. Although they told me what they tried, they were keeping mum about who he was. I saw so many doctors and nurses it was amazing, always doctors there, seven days a week, brilliant.
Hazy Days
However, Jane may remember what they tried before I was left to drift off to heavens knows where, but I can’t for the life in me. Whatever it was it saved my life. Jane: She’d had so much fluid and furosemide (diuretic) that the electrolyte salts had washed out of her body, but concentrated the sodium level dangerously high. Not being able to stabilise it the furosemide was changed for a different type of diuretic and bob’s your uncle, it worked!
That man could have left me to fade away. But I was brought back to life by the actions of the medical staff who didn’t give up on me., Meanwhile poor Jane was left alone facing all that and dealing with doctors etc every day. It makes you think doesn’t it. Obviously there was a lot more going on, wrapped around all this while I was in my twilight world and trying to cheat death. But I’d be here forever telling you it all. So next time I will start to tell you about when I opened one eye!
Other blogs you might be interested in:
- Chrissie Update
- It’s agony, Ivy!
- My third covid jab
- Time off and more troubles
- Lunch and hot chocolate
- What happened to the weather?
- Party time again
- Celebrating 30 years
While you’re here…
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