How it All Feels

It's late, but I can't sleep and have been thinking of all of you. I read the blog from the beginning (which I have not done yet) and have become filled with emotions that I thought were gone.

As I read through this I felt so blessed and humbled by all the love and support; friends/teachers from high school, very cool. However, I realized that a part of this story is missing. As much as I post I haven't really told my story of being in the hospital.

So what was it like? How does it all feel? There is so much of the beginning that I have no recollection of (dialysis, bleeds, etc.) so I will start with the first thing I remember.

Even though my eyes were closed, I could always tell when someone special was close to me as I always felt warmth around my body. I could feel hands on my hands but never knew what was really going on. My first real memory of "coming to" was seeing my mom at the end of my bed smiling. Nick was, of course, by my side. I remember preparing for surgery and having my dad tell the doctors "she understands" as the doctors weren't so sure.

The ventilator was one of the hardest things I had to do. I was working so hard to fight for my life but this was a period of real doubt. I knew that my life was in serious question and the ability to push myself played a huge role. I have told my loved ones this, but there was a moment that I laid in my bed, so tired and frustrated, that I almost let go. It was so hard to breathe. I had to literally talk to myself and say, one more breath. During this time I had a very personal experience which lead me to understand that I could go to the other side but it wasn't my time. So, I chose to breath as hard as I could and pulled myself out of it.

Not being able to talk to the people that meant the most to me was so difficult. Nick tried so hard to figure out what I was saying ― as did everyone. I needed my husband so much but couldn't tell him.

Once this passed, it was time for surgery. I could see that my hands/feet were becoming necrotic but never considered the word "amputation". I remember thinking that there must be something else they could do but never felt scared ― only a sense of peace that it would be alright. The day of my surgery, April 25, 2007, I was in good spirits and just remember telling the nurses that it would all be okay ― and it was.

The most painful part was taking grafts from my thighs ― OUCH. The layer of skin is so close to nerves that the pain was just unbearable. However, this is where I learned the art of pain pills. :)

After surgery, Nick and I shared some really special moments and started talking about how we were going to do this. As with my parents and family, it was really hard seeing them watch me knowing how hard it was for them. My family was so solid and was good at getting me to fall asleep while mom and Martha would sneak in a Sprite. Not eating for weeks was a real downer.

It wasn't until I tried to use my hands or felt like walking, that I felt like an amputee. My mind was always in another place. Denial, maybe? Whatever the case, it kept a smile on my face.

I did have a day (or two) that I had a great deal of anger. I had so much done to me, so many scars, and absolutely NO control. I was trying to regain some sort of control and it was very hard.

Deep down in my heart I was talking to myself about rehabilitation. I knew that if I could get well enough to get to rehab I would be okay. I could get back into exercising and build up my strength. I had such great people around me that kept me going.

Fast forward to leaving rehab and coming home. I had been in a protected environment for so long that I was a little apprehensive. My first experience was going to McDonald's with my dad and I received a few looks. All I could think of was how it was making my dad feel. It's strange how you start to think of everyone but yourself.

Coming home was really scary ― for everyone. So much was unknown and I still had not mastered so many things. My entire life and how Nick and I used to do things had completely changed.

Do I get scared? Sure. Do I get sad, frustrated, or mad? Of course. But what I never give up on is the belief that we are all here for a purpose ― regardless of what we look like. I didn't plan on this but somewhere along my journey in this life a spiritual guide asked me to take a different path. All I can do at this point is embrace it and allow this path to guide me.

I don't ask "why me". I just ask for guidance through tomorrow and to give me the power to help others. Pay it forward ― I have days that I feel normal and days I feel challenged but it's never about "why". Too many special things have come into my life since March 23rd ― it's just the beginning.

Thank you all for giving me the memories and comments to reflect on. It means so much to me! Goodnight.

Love,
Jen