Forward: The next few posts will be about my dreams and my eventual journey back to reality. Each dream makes no sense but, I will try to psychoanalyze how my mind coped with what my body was going through while in a coma. I've thought long and hard on the dreams trying to find words to describe each of them.
Dream 1:
One day it's November 2011 and when I wake up I'm pregnant in the hospital. From the looks of it, I'm roughly around 8 months. My sister-in-law, Heather is my room pacing and venting about how the doctor should be here by now.
"Where is he? They have go straight to the hospital after an appointment and he takes his time getting here?!? When I was having the twins, they immediately started to prep me."
Bryan attempts to calm her.
Finally my OB comes in and announces that he and his nurse is going to take me to another room to deliver the baby. As I'm being transported, somthing goes horribly wrong, blood is everywhere. When he finally cuts me open, the baby is dead.
"This is so sad," his nurse says helping him get the baby out.
"I know. So close. If this had not have happened, she would have been a perfect candidate for fertility drugs," he replies.
"Do you think she'll be able to get pregnant naturally after this?"
"One never knows. It's possible but fertility treatments would definately help her odds. But since she can't carry full term, we can't recommend it as an option."
I close my eyes and fall asleep. When I wake up I'm in a different hospital room. It's a different day, a different month, a different year. My OB walks into the room smiling.
"Michelle, it was a success. You are pregnant with twins."
I smile at him and when my nurse walks in I tell her I'm pregnant. I fall sleep and when I wake up, my mum is there.
"I'm pregnant Mom."
"Really? That's so wonderful."
She pulls outher cell phone and starts dialing a number, "I'm going to call your uncle to tell him the good news."
I close my eyes and when I wake up, I'm in a different room. Today is the day I'm supposed to deliver the twins. Bryan is sitting in a chair next to me holding my hand looking excited. Flowers and cards fill the room saying good luck. The nurse comes in to prep me and I fall back asleep. When I wake up, Bryan is sitting in the chair looking away from me. I call his name and he refuses to look at me. I look to the left and see cloth stained with blood. Bryan gets up and leaves the room. All I feel is depression and anger exuding from his body. I know he's mad at me, I know he's going to leave me and I can't blame him. His wife can't carry a child to full term, why should he stay with her? Deep down inside, I know as he walks away from me that it'll be the last time I see him. As he leaves, Mum walks in. A few minutes later a nurse comes in.
"How are my babies?" I ask.
"Oh, Michelle, they didn't make it. The doctor checked you and said that you can leave whenever you're ready," she tells me.
"Fuck that shit."
I attempt to get out of bed and Mum holds me down.
"Michelle, wait," she says restraining me, "just wait."
"No, she told me I could leave so let's leave."
"Why don't you stay an extra night, make sure you are completely okay."
"Fuck that shit."
I lay back down because I'm tired of fighting the grip she has on me an fall back to sleep.
Psychoanalysis:
I distinctly remember thinking in the middle of this dream that it had to be a dream. I couldn't figure out how on earth 8 months went by without me remembering a thing. How could I not remember being pregnant? Everytime I tried to think of the last thing I remembered it came back to black friday, blockbuster, twin peaks, and work. The last thing I remember is November, but here we are 8 months in the future somehow. And then to all of a sudden be pregnant with twins! More like wishful thinking. Nothing made sense. The timeline was off and I knew it.
When they put me in ICU, Byan and Mum immediately recognized the room. It was the same room I woke up in last time when I DKAed with Maddie. There fear was that I would have flashbacks. In a way, I guess I did. Bryan told me later that for a whole day I tried to convince him I was pregnant. He always told me that if I was, he would definately know about it from all the test they ran on me. The one phrase I kept saying before I was able to actually string thoughts into spoken word was, "Fuck that shit." It must have come from the dream. Mum told me that was the only thing I would say and that's when they started doing CT scans to check my brain activity. Although none of it was real, it felt real. One of my biggest fears is that Bryan will leave me because I can't carry our children full term. Although he and I have discussed at length that it is okay I can't have kids, I still worry about it. We don't even know if I can get pregnant again, and the last thing I want to deny us is kids of our own. Of course we know we can do a surragote and adoption is always an option. But honestly, I want to be able to carry my own children. Sometimes I feel like I lost part of my womanhood when we lost Maddie and that I will not feel whole until I have another kid. I realize this how most childless parents feel and it's perfectly normal. But there's a hole in my life, a void, that I want to fill.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
A Heavily Sedated Coma is not fun the second time around
I still remember waking up the first time I DKAed. I opened my eyes, looked at Mum who was giving me the everything is okay smile despite everything not being okay (It's the same smile she gave me before she told me Dad had died. Ironically, I didn't remember that smile until I woke up). I remember thinking 4 thoughts: 1) What the hell happened? 2) Where is my baby bump? 3) Oh fuck, Pam is going to kill me. 4) I'm going to die, aren't I?
And then Mum said, "Everything is going to be okay."
Then I looked to my left and saw Bryan. He was giddy, almost jumping for joy wearing the same blue button down shirt he wore the first day we met. And I knew he wore it on purpose and was thankful for that. Despite the breathing tube down my throat I managed to smile at him. I could see the love in his eyes, his wife was back and he had missed her dearly.
I had been under for 5 days and within a few minutes of the breathing tube being taken out, I was speaking.
This time was different.
I don't remember waking up. I don't remember a breathing tube down my throat. I don't remember them taking it out. When I first realized my nurses, I had no clue they had been taking care of me for a few days. And when I woke up this time, there was definately something wrong.
I had been under for 7 days. When they tried to take me off the respirator, I was breathing to fast so back down the throat the breathing tube went. When they woke me up, I didn't wake up. A whole day went by and nothing. This was Bryan's worst fear. It would be anyone's worst fear. You hear about it everyso often, people being put into a coma and never waking up. They put me back under and tried again the next day. It took my four hours to wake up. Last time it took 30 minutes. I didn't speak for a few days because I couldn't and when I finally did, I ended up sounding like I had a disability.
Mum and Bryan now had a new fear, brain damage. I think it created a lot of questions for Bryan. What if I had brain damge and could not regain abilities I once had? Could he devote his life to taking are of me knowing I was trapped inside my mind, a shell of what I used to be? It hit Mum pretty hard that I might be this way permanently, no longer the eloquent vocal daughter she loved.
After a brain scan, there was good news - my brain was active and healthy. Also, no brain tumors. The nurses decided there was probably sugar still in my brain messing with my communication and language area. The remedy, TV. Time to stimulate her brain. Bryan had them keep it on food network for me.
Although I had been awake for a few days, I did not know it. My mind was constantly going from reality into a dream state where I couldn't tell the difference between the two. The only reality part I remember is when Bryan told me I had DKAed again, this time on the couch fully unconscious where he literally had to carry me to the car and into the ER, and that I was in the hospital. It turns out everything else was a dream.
Except they weren't dreams. They were nightmares. My innermost fears played out in front of me. Nightmares where I couldn't figure out how one ended and why another began. I had four of them. Each one more gruesome, more horrible, more debilitating than the previous. To the point where I thought I was in reality causing minor paranoia. When I started to actually hit reality, I cried, I freaked out, I convinced myself Bryan had left me, and asked questions that didn't make sense.
This is how bad my coma was. It was a parallel universe that left me crippled and alone in the end. There are still days where I fear that this reality is actually a dream I made up in my mind to cope with with my actual reality. I fear I'll wake up one day back in the parallel universe.
Obviously, this time around, the coma did a number on me.
And then Mum said, "Everything is going to be okay."
Then I looked to my left and saw Bryan. He was giddy, almost jumping for joy wearing the same blue button down shirt he wore the first day we met. And I knew he wore it on purpose and was thankful for that. Despite the breathing tube down my throat I managed to smile at him. I could see the love in his eyes, his wife was back and he had missed her dearly.
I had been under for 5 days and within a few minutes of the breathing tube being taken out, I was speaking.
This time was different.
I don't remember waking up. I don't remember a breathing tube down my throat. I don't remember them taking it out. When I first realized my nurses, I had no clue they had been taking care of me for a few days. And when I woke up this time, there was definately something wrong.
I had been under for 7 days. When they tried to take me off the respirator, I was breathing to fast so back down the throat the breathing tube went. When they woke me up, I didn't wake up. A whole day went by and nothing. This was Bryan's worst fear. It would be anyone's worst fear. You hear about it everyso often, people being put into a coma and never waking up. They put me back under and tried again the next day. It took my four hours to wake up. Last time it took 30 minutes. I didn't speak for a few days because I couldn't and when I finally did, I ended up sounding like I had a disability.
Mum and Bryan now had a new fear, brain damage. I think it created a lot of questions for Bryan. What if I had brain damge and could not regain abilities I once had? Could he devote his life to taking are of me knowing I was trapped inside my mind, a shell of what I used to be? It hit Mum pretty hard that I might be this way permanently, no longer the eloquent vocal daughter she loved.
After a brain scan, there was good news - my brain was active and healthy. Also, no brain tumors. The nurses decided there was probably sugar still in my brain messing with my communication and language area. The remedy, TV. Time to stimulate her brain. Bryan had them keep it on food network for me.
Although I had been awake for a few days, I did not know it. My mind was constantly going from reality into a dream state where I couldn't tell the difference between the two. The only reality part I remember is when Bryan told me I had DKAed again, this time on the couch fully unconscious where he literally had to carry me to the car and into the ER, and that I was in the hospital. It turns out everything else was a dream.
Except they weren't dreams. They were nightmares. My innermost fears played out in front of me. Nightmares where I couldn't figure out how one ended and why another began. I had four of them. Each one more gruesome, more horrible, more debilitating than the previous. To the point where I thought I was in reality causing minor paranoia. When I started to actually hit reality, I cried, I freaked out, I convinced myself Bryan had left me, and asked questions that didn't make sense.
This is how bad my coma was. It was a parallel universe that left me crippled and alone in the end. There are still days where I fear that this reality is actually a dream I made up in my mind to cope with with my actual reality. I fear I'll wake up one day back in the parallel universe.
Obviously, this time around, the coma did a number on me.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
A message to the Health Freaks
I'm getting tired of people thinking that they know whats best for me and my diabetes. These people in particular are the health freaks in the world. The ones that found some amazing diet plan that they swear by and commit to as if it is a new religion that saved them. Ironically, these people are more of the vegetarian variety and feel that because they watched some documentary about thier diet they know how to "cure" me.
I'm going to state this once in caps underlined in bold in hopes to get my point across clearly : THERE IS NO CURE FOR TYPE 1 DIABETES. IT IS NOT A LIFESTYLE CHOICE. YOU DO NOT GET TYPE 1 DIABETES FROM BAD EATING HABITS. TYPE 1 DIABETES IS AN AUTOIMMUNE DISORDER AND IS USUALLY GENETIC BUT CAN DEVELOP FROM STRESS, ENVIRONMENT, AND VIRUSES.
Do you understand that statement? Did you read it? Did you reread it? Did you digest and analyze this statement? If not, reread it.
A vegetarian lifestyle change WILL NOT CURE me. A raw food diet WILL NOT CURE me. My diabetes was NOT A LIFESTYLE CHOICE. In fact, once upon a time, I was a health food freak. In fact, I have always eaten right. In fact, my last three years up in Boston, I walked 2 miles or more a day, did 20 minutes of cardio 3x a week, and ate salads everyday. In fact, when I moved back home after undergrad, I spent 2 hours in a gym almost eveyday working out. So if my diabetes was a LIFESTYLE CHOICE, I wouldn't have fucking diabetes.
You know what type of diabetes is a lifestyle choice? Type 2 diabetes. I DON'T HAVE TYPE 2 DIABETES because if I did, I would already be cured of it.
She says, " Healthy eating, healthy body."
I reply, "I do eat healthy. And yet I have type 1 diabetes."
And then she says, "Isn't type 1 diabetes the one where you get it as a child?"
My reply, "Most people get type 1 when they are a child, but it means that thier pancreas does not produe insulin at all.
How can you even tell me to go on this diet because in a documentary it cured diabetic patients of thier diabetes and reduced thier insulin intake when you don't even know the difference between type 1 and type 2?!?!?!?
I DON'T HAVE A PANCREAS. MY PANCREAS IS FRIED. MY WHITE BLOOD CELLS ATTACKED THE BETA CELLS IN MY PANCREAS WHILE I WAS TAKING ANTIBIOTICS FOR THREE VIRUSES BECAUSE THEY MISTAKEN THE BETA CELLS FOR INFECTION...
Do you understand?
Yes, I believe my diabetes is stress induced. Yes, I believe my diabetes is psychological to a degree. But the only way I can be "CURED" is if I have a pancreas transplant or if they approve stem cell research and shoot a batch into my pancreas creating new beta cells. But even if we did any of those, there's no guarantee that I would be cured. Hell, techincally we all have cancer and diabetes and other disease in our DNA, but over time our DNA changes, becomes damaged, and flips switches on that were originally turned off. If I could turn it off, if I could figure out how to turn it off, don't you think I would have done it already, wouldn't I be more than happy to jump at the opportunity?
And if I did half the things these damn health food freak homeopathic psychopaths, yes, I called you psychopaths, I'm pissed and I'm venting, told me would "cure me", I would be dead. One person once told me to stop taking my insulin and drink nothing but watermelon juice for a week and my system would straighten itself. Ok, if I STOP TAKING INSULIN, I DIE.
Then she says, "Well no one should eat sugar."
My reply, "If my blood sugar is 36, guess what, I have to eat sugar."
If I don't eat sugar, guess what happens, I collapse, loose cognitive functioning, start having seizures, go into a coma, and die.
Then she asks, "Well what do you do to help you immune system?"
And I couldn't help myself, "I do written disclosure." (technically this blog is written disclosure for my diabetes)
She looks at me weird, "What's written disclosure?"
I smile, "Written disclosure is writing about certain subjects that bother you. Studies have shown by doing written disclosure it can improve your immune system."
"I meant nutrition wise."
"I eat food that is high in vitamin C."
Then she says, "Well the American diet is not designed for optimal health."
My reply, "My diet is more European than American. And I know exactly what I need to eat to have the right numbers."
Then she says, "Well the raw diet can help you acheive the numbers and reduce your insulin intake."
My reply, "I have to have protein."
"Vegetables have protein."
"But not enough for diabetics. Protein helps me by slowly releasing the sugar into my blood."
Then she says,"Well I just want to open your eyes to what possibilites are out there to cure you. If I had that disease I would do anything and everything to cure it."
Open my eyes. Maybe you should do more research on type 1 diabetes before talking to someone that battles the disease every single day. You don't have diabetes you don't know what it's like. You don't know the frustration. You aren't pricking your finger and using a syringe 4 times a day. Food is not only part of the problem.
So please, PLEASE, don't tell me you know how to cure me. Don't tell me there is a cure out there and doctors are hiding it from us in order to get more money and control us. Don't tell me that doctors would rather have us settle with the fact there is nothing we can do other than cure us. Don't tell me they are taking away my hope. Because you aren't fighting everyday to stay alive. You aren't dying, you don't have a chronic disease that will ultimately kill you.
I fight for my life everyday. I eat right, I take my insulin because I want to stay alive as long as possible despite having this disease. I have goals, I have memories that I have to be apart of like watching my friends get married, hanging out with my amazing friends laughing and having a good time, having kids, watching my kids play with my friend's kids, watching my husband get his degree, watching my kids grow up, growing old with my husband. Everyday, this is what I fight for. And everyday, I pray, I pray that one day during my lifetime, there might be a cure. Because I know there are amazing people out there dedicating their life's work to find a cure. And until they find it, I fight.
I'm going to state this once in caps underlined in bold in hopes to get my point across clearly : THERE IS NO CURE FOR TYPE 1 DIABETES. IT IS NOT A LIFESTYLE CHOICE. YOU DO NOT GET TYPE 1 DIABETES FROM BAD EATING HABITS. TYPE 1 DIABETES IS AN AUTOIMMUNE DISORDER AND IS USUALLY GENETIC BUT CAN DEVELOP FROM STRESS, ENVIRONMENT, AND VIRUSES.
Do you understand that statement? Did you read it? Did you reread it? Did you digest and analyze this statement? If not, reread it.
A vegetarian lifestyle change WILL NOT CURE me. A raw food diet WILL NOT CURE me. My diabetes was NOT A LIFESTYLE CHOICE. In fact, once upon a time, I was a health food freak. In fact, I have always eaten right. In fact, my last three years up in Boston, I walked 2 miles or more a day, did 20 minutes of cardio 3x a week, and ate salads everyday. In fact, when I moved back home after undergrad, I spent 2 hours in a gym almost eveyday working out. So if my diabetes was a LIFESTYLE CHOICE, I wouldn't have fucking diabetes.
You know what type of diabetes is a lifestyle choice? Type 2 diabetes. I DON'T HAVE TYPE 2 DIABETES because if I did, I would already be cured of it.
She says, " Healthy eating, healthy body."
I reply, "I do eat healthy. And yet I have type 1 diabetes."
And then she says, "Isn't type 1 diabetes the one where you get it as a child?"
My reply, "Most people get type 1 when they are a child, but it means that thier pancreas does not produe insulin at all.
How can you even tell me to go on this diet because in a documentary it cured diabetic patients of thier diabetes and reduced thier insulin intake when you don't even know the difference between type 1 and type 2?!?!?!?
I DON'T HAVE A PANCREAS. MY PANCREAS IS FRIED. MY WHITE BLOOD CELLS ATTACKED THE BETA CELLS IN MY PANCREAS WHILE I WAS TAKING ANTIBIOTICS FOR THREE VIRUSES BECAUSE THEY MISTAKEN THE BETA CELLS FOR INFECTION...
Do you understand?
Yes, I believe my diabetes is stress induced. Yes, I believe my diabetes is psychological to a degree. But the only way I can be "CURED" is if I have a pancreas transplant or if they approve stem cell research and shoot a batch into my pancreas creating new beta cells. But even if we did any of those, there's no guarantee that I would be cured. Hell, techincally we all have cancer and diabetes and other disease in our DNA, but over time our DNA changes, becomes damaged, and flips switches on that were originally turned off. If I could turn it off, if I could figure out how to turn it off, don't you think I would have done it already, wouldn't I be more than happy to jump at the opportunity?
And if I did half the things these damn health food freak homeopathic psychopaths, yes, I called you psychopaths, I'm pissed and I'm venting, told me would "cure me", I would be dead. One person once told me to stop taking my insulin and drink nothing but watermelon juice for a week and my system would straighten itself. Ok, if I STOP TAKING INSULIN, I DIE.
Then she says, "Well no one should eat sugar."
My reply, "If my blood sugar is 36, guess what, I have to eat sugar."
If I don't eat sugar, guess what happens, I collapse, loose cognitive functioning, start having seizures, go into a coma, and die.
Then she asks, "Well what do you do to help you immune system?"
And I couldn't help myself, "I do written disclosure." (technically this blog is written disclosure for my diabetes)
She looks at me weird, "What's written disclosure?"
I smile, "Written disclosure is writing about certain subjects that bother you. Studies have shown by doing written disclosure it can improve your immune system."
"I meant nutrition wise."
"I eat food that is high in vitamin C."
Then she says, "Well the American diet is not designed for optimal health."
My reply, "My diet is more European than American. And I know exactly what I need to eat to have the right numbers."
Then she says, "Well the raw diet can help you acheive the numbers and reduce your insulin intake."
My reply, "I have to have protein."
"Vegetables have protein."
"But not enough for diabetics. Protein helps me by slowly releasing the sugar into my blood."
Then she says,"Well I just want to open your eyes to what possibilites are out there to cure you. If I had that disease I would do anything and everything to cure it."
Open my eyes. Maybe you should do more research on type 1 diabetes before talking to someone that battles the disease every single day. You don't have diabetes you don't know what it's like. You don't know the frustration. You aren't pricking your finger and using a syringe 4 times a day. Food is not only part of the problem.
So please, PLEASE, don't tell me you know how to cure me. Don't tell me there is a cure out there and doctors are hiding it from us in order to get more money and control us. Don't tell me that doctors would rather have us settle with the fact there is nothing we can do other than cure us. Don't tell me they are taking away my hope. Because you aren't fighting everyday to stay alive. You aren't dying, you don't have a chronic disease that will ultimately kill you.
I fight for my life everyday. I eat right, I take my insulin because I want to stay alive as long as possible despite having this disease. I have goals, I have memories that I have to be apart of like watching my friends get married, hanging out with my amazing friends laughing and having a good time, having kids, watching my kids play with my friend's kids, watching my husband get his degree, watching my kids grow up, growing old with my husband. Everyday, this is what I fight for. And everyday, I pray, I pray that one day during my lifetime, there might be a cure. Because I know there are amazing people out there dedicating their life's work to find a cure. And until they find it, I fight.
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