"You could have died..."
Fortunate and grateful amidst a recent valley
We just recently experienced 10 days at the hospital for what began as a bad asthma attack, which triggered acute respiratory failure with hypoxia.
Cast in the lead role, Bev, in the supporting seat, myself.
Together, with a host of caring medical providers, we took part in:
An Unlikely, Unwanted Cruise
Queue the lights, roll film - ACTION.
Trip to the ER Pt. 1 - 1:00p
In the seven+ years that we’ve been together, we’ve only been to the ER once before for something like this, which at the time we left for the ER felt vaguely familiar, but as it unfolded quickly and in its totality was quite different. Back then, even after the first nebulizer, there was a difference. An additional treatment and a couple hours later and Bev was on her way to feeling better.
This time, even after mutliple nebulizer treatments, and an uncertainty about her progress throughout that ER, this was clearly not the same. Though at the time of release, they prescribed an at-home nebulizer and oral medication, it was this statement that gave me pause:
“Come back if you need to.”
Though I’m not a medical professional, those words struck me as odd. Why release her if there’s a need to come right back?
Discharged at approximately 5:00pm.
Trip to the ER Pt. 2 - 8:00p
Three hours later, it seemed worse than when we were there earlier. The home nebulizer treatment gave little relief and as much as Bev told me she was okay, it was very clear that she was not.
She packed a bag, gave her another treatment, and thus began what was really our first act, or if this were a film, that 11 minute sweet spot where the point of the story starts to jump off.
“You’ll probably be going home in the morning.”
THE LADY IN THE MASK - 10:00p
It was here that we learned Bev would be spending the night at the hospital. In rolled the BiPAP, the breathing machine that would become her best friend and life-saving device.
As cool as that sounds, make no mistake, the BiPAP was rough. What was floated initially as you’ll probably be home by morning, this is just to be safe, was not an overnight fix.
Bev was not allowed to take off the mask until roughly 2.5 days later, save for a brief sip of water, which we’d learn was not allowed bc food and drink could trigger pneumonia or worse. There was also an early attempt to transition her to the next stage, but her O2 levels dropped to 70 (we’ll get to that) and the time was nought.
In between those first couple of days, Bev was clearly pale, with color returning a bit more each day. Throughout the 10 days, she had an IV in both arms for fluids and meds.
There were mutliple points where as positive I stayed, I had to allow myself moments to feel sad, angry, and overall, just observe it all. I applied all I’ve learned in my current run in therapy and my inner work throughout my life to be present so that I could move through where I was because life doesn’t stop.
Every morning I’d wake up early to get our animals situated, walk the dogs, and head over to the hospital, where I’d stay as long as I could, then head back home, take care of what was needed, then go back and stay as long as I could.
I remember one time many years back where my Uncle shared how in a different way, health adversity is also a challenge on the person in the role of caretaker. During one break in the hallway while family visited and we were only allowed two vistors at a time, as I waited, a nurse came up to me and asked how I was doing. It was the first time someone there had checked on me and it meant alot.
3-4 simple words:
“How are you?”
or
“How is Bev doing?”
These check-ins from people, whether well-known or just met, they were like little sparks of Light helping me to keep going. And in a time where we’re too often reminded of what’s going wrong, it’s these reminders of kindness that illustrate just how much beauty still exists.
READY BUT WAITING
“I think I’m fine. I can go home.”
Bev would say these words too many times to count during the 10 days, in some cases as she struggled to breathe, others, as she either stifled a cough or had a coughing fit after making the statement.
This grind culture mentality began even before we got there. So many times, I’ve watched as she is challenged by something and she just pushes and pushes.
While it’s admirable and speaks to her strength and drive, it’s so hard to watch being outside of it because I have observed a pattern, which usually culminates in some sort of physical set back.
“If you need rest, the body finds a way to make you take time for rest.”
If there’s one thing I have feared the most in observation of this, it’s that one day, she might push it too far.
And thus far, this was was worst.
I do my best to not overthink, to be present but thoughts do arise.
Is on some level this my fault? Am I not doing enough?
I also have traveled for work and there are all-days events that take place as well.
What if there was no one else around? Would she try to just power through or would she seek the help?
I try not to dwell on any of this too much because part of growth and journeying with another is to give each other the space to grow and continue to love. We’ve only control over what’s within our realm of our control, even if that’s just learning to let go and let what will be, to be.
IT’S OKAY TO PUSH THE BUTTON
So many questions and I think a comment that came through often was that medical professionals, family, and friends remarked how shocking this was because Bev is still young.
What could cause this serious unfolding for a younger person?
While nothing could be pinpointed, it was a perfect storm of all the things that led to it and the reality is that she has asthma and it got so bad amidst other factors like stress, lack of sleep, exposure to illness and the elements and allergies, all of which led to the acute respiratory failure with hypoxia.
I’m not a medical professional. I was learning much of this on the fly and while I did at times wonder when I went home to take care of our fur babies if she’d get better or worse while I was away, I awoke one morning to a screenshot of what they were treating her for in a screenshot she sent my way about day 7 as we entered the final lap of this odyssey.
It made me flashback to that first couple of days, when they tried to take her off the BiPAP too early and her blood oxygen dipped to 70. Upon reading about acute respiratory failure with hypoxia, a person can die within 10 minutes of getting that low.
The title of this wasn’t clickbait.
If you objectively look at the data, she could have died. Anyone in that situation could have died.
Thank God and all the ancestors that she was at the hospital.
There is zero chance we would have gotten her there in time if that had happened at home. We live a short way aways, but that’s 10 minutes we would have not have had. Even an Ambulance response would have been too late.
Thank the Universe she started to push the button to get help. She really didn’t want to at times. If she had tried to get up on her own and collapsed, that would have been left up to chance.
We have to stop normalizing people making sacrifices of the only true wealth that exists - health and time. I say that just as much for myself because I’m just as guilty but I’m trying because I know it’s okay to get help when needed.
When I realized I needed help for my mental wellness, I chose to seek it because I could feel how harder and darker the path got during each cycle of depression and I wasn’t sure if I could navigate it if I didn’t get professional support.
“I’m at ease with my unease, until I am not.”
In looking back, had I not gone into therapy, there’s no way I would have navigated this experience. Even then this wasn’t smooth, not that I expected it to be, but all the work on letting go, being present, I had to do it because I couldn’t afford to dwell. There was just too much going on that I didn’t have the time to stop and get on the wrong train of thoughts.
A 10 DAY CRUISE?
This was a crazy experience and I’ve probably not fully processed it. Usually lessons learned, the full value manifests over time.
But one thing I do know is that as bad as it was, as terrible as life can be, everything is mixed and it’s possible to find light, if only that we may see.
One way to make the way lighter is through laughter and to help find a way to be a part of the cosmic joke. And one of the jokes we came up with was that this was like an unplanned working staycation or retreat, one that we have zero interest in ever booking again.
As an artist, I had to find a way to see the beauty here, and I would pretend that when I left to the bathroom, cafeteria, or leave, I was taking an art walk (FACTS - amazing collection adorn the walls).
Bev took it a step further and likened it to that we were on a cruise - she was stuck in the infirmary and I got to wander the halls each day, leaving the vessel to go on the day’s excursions before making my way back to visit her.
SO NICE TO SEE YOU, HOPE WE NEVER MEET AGAIN, AT LEAST NOT HERE
And we can’t forget the people…
The overall care was good though I was told multiple times by family and friends that medicine is practice.
That said, there were some real superstars that we were really stoked on, just so compassionate, giving, and truly people-people. I had no illusions that I would be good at that work. I both felt for and admired the people we encountered, even the challengings ones.
The joke we started to tell some of them was that we really like you, but tbh, we don’t ever want to see you again - at least not there.
I doubt any of you will read this but Dr. Mariano, Dr. Kim, Maria, Leonard, Apple, Demetrious, Veronica, Donia (?), Shannon, MJ, Faceshield Guy, so much mahalo to each of you and your colleagues.
If we do run into you, say hi, because we probably won’t recognize you without the mask.
GET REST BUT DON’T SLEEP ON THE JELLO
And of course, you have to eat, even if it’s hard so special shout out to the food.
Once, she was allowed to eat solid food again, Bev rediscovered a love for poi, and found the magic of papayas with a squeeze of lime from the hospital room service.
While she snuck (or let’s be honest because she’s like Gran’ma Edie and forced) a bite or two my way, it was the general cafeteria on the ground level that brought back so many memories of an earlier chapter of life back when I was the HOT Marketing Director.
For nearly seven years, it was one of the only lunch options nearby as our offices were around the block. During my eight and final year, it was still one of the go-tos though with the lockdown, though the visits were far less frequent.
I thought of my former colleagues and friends, reconnected with some of the Aunties who still worked there and remembered me enough to give me the employee discount (when I say it was one of the only nearby food options, I’m talking up to 2-3 times/week we ended up there).
And perhaps the fun(ni)est find was the jello with fruit cocktail. Bringing Bev something fun was a way to break the monotony of being stuck there and we tried all the flavors, with red and orange being a toss up for best.
Pro Tip: Go for breakfast if you enjoy bacon - some of the best tasting and crispiest around.
Another beautiful aspect that I’m so grateful for in this is with my employer and colleagues for the grace with which they gave throughout this. The check-ins, the flexibility, the authentic concern for Bev and I means so much. From texts, slacks, or calls, we felt all the aloha pouring out.
EXT. READY FOR OUTSIDE - SUNDAY MORNING
We woke up early, took a walk to get coffee, and marveled at how well Bev was doing.
She’s still on meds, is very sore and tired and hasn’t shaken the cough completely. But looking back a week ago, where she wasn’t allowed to walk two steps alone, had an IV in both arm, had coughing fits while trying to speak a sentence, the fact we walked two blocks and back with a stop at the grocery store in between, we’ll take that as a win.
FADE TO
CLOSING THOUGHTS
I can’t share enough how much gratitude I have for Bev being okay and getting better each day. Thank you to all the medical care team. I truly appreciate the care she received. And thank to our family, loved ones, and colleagues who shared their concern and checked-in. That really means alot.
This was a bad situation. Any number of twists could have made it even worse and it’s not lost upon me that how extremely lucky we are to have weathered this storm.
This was a worst yet and it scares me to think what worse yet lies ahead, but I can’t think that far ahead.
Rather, I’m going to just keep approaching life as follows:
Right now, it’s like this.
And the moment, exactly as it is, that’s really all we ever got.
Soul thank you for this moment, thank you for this breath, because breath is Life.
If you or anyone else is struggling with something, mental, emotional, physical, ask for help.
Get what’s affecting you checked out.
It’s okay, the practice of spit and blow on the cut to clean might have worked for a time then, but if we’re truly present, we are Here & Now and we must apply learning, logic, faith and feeling to truly heal.
Happy for your luck, and for your good medical care. Enjoy some more poi and jell-o, and time together.