Tomorrow is only a gift

In my last blog post, I briefly talked about my hospitalization in 2009. Here's more to the story. Get ready, it's a long read! 

Tomorrow is only a gift

In the world that we live in, we as human beings all know that tomorrow isn't promised. While some of us use this fact to live our lives to the fullest, following our dreams and find appreciation for all that we have, others lose their way. They stop seeing the open doors in front of them and soon enough, everything that was once important, loses meaning. I have been through a lot in my life, more than I ever expected to go through in my lifetime. Though, I shamefully admit that I for one, was clearly losing my way. Along with losing my way, I was forgetting my dreams and I as a person, a daughter, a friend, had been slowly disappearing. Sometimes it takes a big event; a celebration, a tragedy, to pull yourself back into reality. For me, one event in particular, will stand out in my mind for the rest of my life; the time I almost died. 

For better understanding, let me rewind into some of the previous years leading up to this event. On September 2nd, 2004, I was taken into DFS Missouri's state custody, Division of Family Services. Never getting to settle into a solid living situation, I was bounced all over to over 17 different placements. This ranged from foster homes, hospitals, trauma units, group homes, residentials, treatment centers, etc. These years were with no doubt, the toughest, most dreadful, dark, years of my life. However, that is not what this story is about. 

In October of 2008, at the age of 20, I legally became independent from DFS (now called

Childrens' Division) and was living on my own in an apartment. At first, the separation of me and State was freeing and nevertheless, exciting. There were still conflicts going on with the court that involved my parents; the charges that had been following them since 2004, were finally surfacing. Certain factors around this issue where stirring up a tornado of emotional conflict and it was literally taking a physical toll on my overall health. I was already underweight and not taking care of myself like I should have. I was still in school full time, and just trying to keep myself from completely falling apart. The stress was overwhelming and my appetite was nowhere to be found. Consequently, after much persuasion  and consideration, it was decided that I had to take a drastic measure. The date was set, there was no turning back, I had to surgically get a feeding tube put in my stomach. This was only the beginning.

My Bestie Samanity always by my side! :D

From the very first day I had the feeding tube put in, I starting experiencing paralyzing pain. I was put on high doses of Dilaudid and Oxycodone intravenously which helped briefly kill my stomach spasms and dull the madness of what was happening to my body. I was released from the hospital several days later with high hopes for the progress of my health. From there, things only became worst. As the torturing pain in my abdomen continued to grow, simple every day tasks became impossible. I could no longer eat nearly anything without getting physically sick, and the nutrition through the tube was simply not enough. Soft and liquid foods were minutely easier to choke down. I got through the days by eating Dairy Queen blizzards and chocolate shakes. I was getting a good amount of calories, although at the same time, there was no real nutrition. I had to take leave from school which was risky because if I did not pass all of my classes, I would lose my desperately needed health insurance for good. Every bit of the energy I had once possessed was depleted. To say that I was struggling to even get out of bed or shower, would be very much be an understatement.  I lost control of my bowels and had to wear children's pull-ups just to make it through the night. I will never forget the first night I woke up after soiling myself in my own bed. I felt unbelievably degraded as the tears of shame flooded my through my eyes. On top of that, I couldn't think straight, and walking without aid, was no longer an option. 

This was from one of my many falls...

I could no longer balance my body causing me to constantly fall down, spill drinks, and break things in my path.

If you're wondering why it was difficult to walk...

 I had to walk with the aid of a cane wherever I went, and my mom, (fortunately being a nurse) was now my main lifeline. She would take me to parks to relax and take comfort, which I very much appreciated. I was supposed to be getting better, gaining health back, while instead, I was doing nothing but dying. 

At the park with Taffy and my mom

 Another dog park! (Taffy is not high, I promise) lol

No one could tell me why I was in so much terrible pain, which just made the situation worst. The only reason I could even get through the day was by living on pain medication. I walked though the world in a cloud, while still keenly being aware of everything that was going wrong. My doctor finally decided to do a cat-scan. He was not expecting to find any problems but this was just to see if, in fact, there was anything to see. After 3 weeks of blaming my pain on re-feeding syndrome, the cat-scan held the answer that thankfully ended up saving my life. 

Within minutes of the doctors getting the results of the scan, I was ordered to pack an overnight bag and head back to Barns-Jewish hospital. My mother was given the day off to help me, who ironically works at this same hospital, on the same unit I was sent to stay at. For that reason, I couldn't have been more fortunate. As I walked through the hospital doors, I was immediately scooped into a wheelchair before I could even register. All it took was one glance at me, to clearly see how ill I was. I was drained of all color except that of the veins that streaked all over my body. Every one of my bones protruded in sick, unnatural way. At 55 pounds, I was at the weight of a child, not even one-third of my age. Hanging on by a thread, I was alive but bluntly, not living.

From then on, everything was very fast paced. It was explained to me that I had somehow grown five large infection filled abscesses in my abdomen. They had grown so large, I was told that they would be visibly protruding on a grown, overweight man. A picc-line was immediately placed in my arm and I was put under anesthesia. They were unable to remove the abscesses because of their dangerous location and for the more alarming reason, I would not survive the surgery. My labs were so terrible, that surgery would cause me to essentially die on the operating table. They couldn't drain the infection or even get a full culture to find out the type of infection because as the doctors explained to me, that the "puss" as it was described, was thicker than jelly. I honestly don't remember much about the next few weeks. What I do remember, is my doctor coming in my room to say, "Stephanie, all we can do now is wait, but I have to be honest, I'm not sure if your body can pull through this." I was hooked up to three different IV antibiotics and TPN (Total Parental Nutrition), flowing through me 24 hours a day. My mom stayed by my side and quietly mourned my death. As each slow day went by, the abscesses were watched through several ongoing cat-scans and there was no progress in sight. I was so angry and bitter that I threatened to get up and leave the hospital. I said, "If I am going to die anyway, then I want to go home and die. I didn't call any friends and I had the phones shut off to my room. I was irrational and I reacted poorly. To top it all off, I also caught MRSA, a deadly, antibiotic resistant infection. I thought, "how could this get any worse?! Why was I being punished?!" I had three different doctors taking care of me and they all had the same thing on their mind, I was going to die. No one believed that I would even make it through the week.

    

I cried every day, every hour, every minute that I lay awake. I still couldn't walk, eat, go to the bathroom properly, and it was painful enough to be away from my dog, Taffy. I was absolutely, in every way possible, miserable. Since my mom was a nurse on my unit, I was most definitely babied and tended to with the utmost care. I only had a couple things that kept me going everyday and the hospital staff knew that. So if I wanted coffee after coffee, I was brought coffee after coffee. When I wanted to go outside for a cigarette NOW, I was immediately wheeled right out. When my infectious disease doctor saw me being wheeled through the hallways, she was very upset. She complained to the nurses that they shouldn't be letting me out of my room. My nurse told her she was not going to stop me from going outside. If I want to go smoke after all I was going through, then so be it. So if nothing else, at least I had that going for me! 

 

Happy to get some fresh air.... and a cigarette!

Long after I had given up on all hope, my heart was lifted with good news. My abscesses were starting to shrink. Things were improving! This finally brought happy tears to my eyes. From that point on, all I could say was, "When can I leave?!" I probably repeated those words a million and one times. I decided to let a few friends, and my therapist, Melissa, come to visit me. Melissa brought me a soft pink blanket that I STILL use. It will always bring warmth to my heart.

Melissa's note attached to my blanket.

Kate, (my former Guardian ad Litem), someone I care for, beyond words can describe, also came to visit me a few times. Even though I have a difficult time remembering the visits, it meant the world to me that she came. She left me a card that I still have with me today. The timeline of my stay is still very foggy to me. I'm quite sure this is due to the pain medication and the fact that I was still very ill. Once the doctors were sure I was healthy enough to be released and home health care was all set up, was I then, finally taken home. 

GOODBYE HOSPITAL!!!! YEEE!

Upon getting back to my apartment, I was monitored daily to continue my IV antibiotics through my picc-line. Although I was still on a high dose of Percocet, I was able to think more clearly and start moving forward. Over time, the abscesses healed, and emotionally, I did too. It took a good chunk of time, yet my attitude towards life continued to change for the better. 

Today, I appreciate life and the amazing people in it to a never ending extent. It's very hard to take things for granted since I've been given this opportunity to see the worth in the everyday things that I used to simply "expect" to have. Like walking, eating, going to the bathroom, and BEING ALIVE! 

More time with my Bestie!

and my loving Taffy <3

Enjoying life again!

Riding bikes again!

Got my Conceal and Carry. Like a BOSS.

More time with my babies!

Ran my FIRST 5K!

Enjoying vacation with my mother!

I made it to Italy!

 

I was in my BEST FRIEND'S wedding!

Reunited with AMAZING friends!

As my body began to heal from the damage, I started LIVING again. As you can see, I'm doing much better. These things take time. This time is a bittersweet gift. DON'T WASTE IT!

I have nothing but the love of my family and friends to thank for getting me to this point. I will continue to take things one day at a time and live, appreciating the current moment. For the current moment is all we really have, and please keep in mind, we are guaranteed nothing more...

There is more to this story about the before and after, that I will maybe write in a future blog. So stay tuned!! Muah! If there's anything you want to know more about, questions, comments, feel free to comment here or on my facebook page! 

My number was 9- but I'll give you 5

 #1

 I've feared being murdered for as long as I can remember.

When I was in 2nd grade, there was a day that our class had to practice emergency procedures by calling 911. Police officers set up a table in our classroom, and had us kids use a prop phone to practice calling for help.  All the classmates did great, called 911, asked for help, gave them their name and address, and hung up the phone when they were told it was safe. When it was my turn, I SCREAMED on the phone, yelling that someone was in the house, and coming towards my room. "HELP ME, HELP ME! NOBODY'S HELPING! He's going to KILL me! He broke down my door! He got me." I started crying and they had to yank the phone from me and bring me into another room. I looked at the man that had been talking to me on the other end of the phone. I said, "You know this is pointless, I would have been dead before you got there."

 I would elaborate more but these are SUPPOSE to be short facts. Whoops!  

#2

 I was a VERY misunderstood child.

From Kindergarten through 5th grade, I was redundantly tested for cognitive and behavioral function status. This was prompted a concern because it was clear I was in my own world ALL.THE.TIME. I was monitored in and out of class because they thought something might have been wrong with me. HOURS and HOURS of testing for YEARS. At the time, it didn't bother me, nor did I know I was the only one being tested. No one could find anything intellectually wrong when they met with me one on one. Still, in the classroom, I was oblivious to my surroundings, and my grades were near failing. The last test was suppose to be held at a different location and I had an appointment to go. At the last minute, the 5 hour test was cancelled. They concluded that there was nothing more they could find. I was a mystery. And that was that.

#3

I was told I would die within the week in 2009.

I was admitted into the hospital for having 5 abscesses in my abdomen in 2009. These abscesses had grown so large and were killing me quickly. I was 55 pounds, walking with a cane, and was going to college full time to keep from losing my health insurance. I was also living alone. It was a miracle I survived. Although, in anger, I almost left the hospital because I wanted to be at home with my dog, Taffy, when I died. This was the day my mother started smoking again. She had quit years prior when she found out she had cancer. I have a dry erase calender board on my fridge. This is the same one I had in 2009, before I moved into my current house. There is only ONE thing written in the corner of  calender and that is a short message to my parents. I wrote it there so they could easily find it when I died. I needed them to see this message and I have never erased it.

#4

I have moved 17 times (not including short term placements) from 2004-2011.

I haven't lived with my parents since September 2nd, 2004 because I was placed in the States' custody. In 2005, I was placed in Boys and Girls Town in St. James, Missouri. Although I was told I would only be there for 2 weeks, I was left there for nearly a year. During the first few months I was in a lock-down cottage. My room was no bigger than a walk-in closet. I had a small cot to sleep in with the luxury of a 2x4 barred window. The room locked from the outside, and the lights were also controlled from outside the door. A camera was placed in the upper corner inside my room. During my entire stay, I had countless violent altercations with others. We had designated chairs for us to sit, according to our room number. When someone else wanted to sit in my chair, I was dragged across the floor by my hair, crying for help, as one of the case managers watched without action. That was my FIRST DAY there. I got in several fist fights, prompted by other girls. I had a ceramic mug shattered in my face, completely unprovoked by a fellow resident. I felt like I was in a LIVING HELL. I have memories about this place that people would be SHOCKED to hear about. Though I must say, I ended up meeting some amazing people while I was there. Mostly staff members, some of whom I still talk to. I will forever be grateful for what they have done for me. They may not even realize it, but they were my saving grace, in what I felt was a hell hole.

* I have heard this facility is not the same as it once was, when I was there.

#5

I'm a realist and have had problems with being TOO honest at the wrong times.

My Kindergarten bus driver was a very nice, young lady. When I got on the bus one day, my lady driver was crying. She said that it was her birthday and her daughter had just been taken away. I didn't know anything else about her situation. I felt very sad for her, and decided I would make her a birthday card from a piece of paper in my backpack. Some of my friends on the bus did the same. This is what I wrote, "Happy Birthday! I don't want you to be sad and I'm sorry your day is starting off so bad. I hope it gets better later in the day, but it probably won't."

*I STILL feel bad about writing that.

If anyone actually wants to hear the rest, just let me know! Although, I don't blame you if you fall asleep before getting though the first fact/story! I felt I needed to give some detail to each one for you to understand. I had to stop at 5 because as you can clearly see, this was becoming a novel. So here is a sliver of the pie!  

After further review, I am deciding to add a SHORT #6 ;)

  

   Samantha Wright-O'Brien is my best friend and the sister I never had.

 She is my rock and my lifeline. Love you Samanity.