Gore alert: Medical terms in title refer to situations involving blood, blood, and more blood.
Were mine a glass house, what you would ordinarily see are four people: Mom, Dad, 14-year old Daughter, and 20-year old Son sitting in separate rooms, staring at separate screens. Even holidays aren’t so different; each year they come chugging along with annoying regularity — and I still can’t figure out how to get on board. Orchestrating Hallmark Moments, creating those Special Memories your family will cherish for a lifetime, all that is beyond me. No surprise then that Mother’s Day barely registers on our screens. But I’ve something better than a lifetime’s stack of cards (and why do people give greeting cards to people they live with, anyway?): my fractured memory of this past Monday afternoon.
Last Saturday night we returned from a 3200-mile+ roadtrip out west, so Sunday I wasn’t surprised to be really tired. Monday wasn’t any better, and I had no appetite but no stomach pains, ate a banana and some soup. I wasn’t even that surprised when I had the most horrible black diarrhea. I put this down to culinary karma — what did I expect after eating a sausage pizza at a truckstop in rural Arkansas? But Husband was concerned and called to get me a doctor’s appointment. The nurse said I needed to get to the ER, asap. I learned later that this was blood I’d passed, blood mixed with stomach acids: melena.
I resisted. I’d just have to sit there for hours. Besides, I couldn’t even get to the refrigerator and back without having to lie on the floor to rest. Looking back I see how odd it was to think that a reason not to go to the ER. I relented, but told my husband, who needs a total hip replacement, that Son would have to help me to the car.
We hadn’t reached the door when I said I needed to rest, so Husband went to get the air going in the car.
And then I started vomiting up huge black clots of blood. I wasn’t seeing what was going on at this stage, but I was hearing it. Husband called 911 for an ambulance. Dispatcher heard collie barking, said to get him secured. Rascal wouldn’t leave my side, but Daughter and Son together pulled and pushed him out to the backyard. Then both returned and as Husband talked with dispatcher the two of them followed her instructions, keeping me on my side as I continued vomiting up this foul black matter (hematemesis). They told me later I was flailing around, maybe convulsing or seizing, with my eyes wide open but my pupils not right. I certainly wasn’t seeing anything. I remember their stroking me, kissing me, telling me they loved me.
The EMTs and fire truck arrived in minutes. The kids say that the first guys in backed away, until the woman in charge came in and told them it wasn’t trauma (did they think I’d been shot?). Because of the position of our door, deck, and steps, getting a stretcher in wasn’t an option, so they had to haul me out to a gurney placed on the sidewalk. I remember being rolled into a blanket or something. And that’s it, for a while.
Although they worked on me outside, I remember nothing til I was loaded into the ambulance. My guess is I’d lost consciousness, but they started oxygen as soon as they got me out the door so by the time I was in the ambulance I was aware of talk about my blood pressure, getting needles in both arms, hearing the sirens when after 15 minutes or so I was stabilized and we got moving, and I have a few visual memories of the Head EMT and inside the vehicle. I think at some point I must have been between stages 3 and 4 of hypovolemic shock.
In the ER I soon was given two transfusions; later I was to receive two more. I remember the Head EMT telling the nurses they had a very anxious husband pacing in the waiting room who need to be allowed back as soon as possible. Then she was gone.
I became alert enough to be interested in the trauma room. There are posters on the walls telling RN 1, RN 2, RN 3 — up to 6 or 7, I think, exactly what to do and even where to stand relative to the patient’s bed. Someone cut my housedress off, just like on TV ER shows. I complained about the pain the large IV needles were causing me, about being thirsty, about needing to get the blood out of my hair. That was really gross. Even though I couldn’t move my arms I could feel that blood was stuck in my hair, and when I looked at my pillowcase, it was totally red. Not a priority, however.
I ended up having a spurting gastric ulcer repaired via endoscopy, and was home less than 48 hours after the ordeal began.
And what was going on while I was in the ER? Son was cleaning blood off the carpet and Daughter was cleaning everything else in sight.
When I came home, my collie was waiting on the deck in the 102° heat, somehow knowing I was on my way. My bed was made with fresh linens, and Daughter had imposed order on the clutter of the bedside table. She spent a good hour getting all remains of adhesive off my badly bruised arms.
Ever since I got out of the hospital and home with my family, I’ve been uncharacteristically cheerful, bouncing off the walls buoyant.