I wanted to post my own experience of what I've been through in the past two years, in hopes it may help someone else with stuff they're going through right now.
Right about this time, two years ago (May 10, 1999), I started having the most awful cramps and back pains. I left work, somehow drove myself home in agony, and sort of wallowed around, pacing from room to room, throwing up, etc. When my wife came home, I begged her to take me to the hospital. It was our second anniversary, by the way...heck of a way to spend it! I got to the emergency room, and was diagnosed with a case of acute pancreatitis of unknown cause. Pancreatitis is an inflammation of the pancreas (the gland that produces insulin). It's usually brought on by an onset of gallstones, but during my stay at the hospital, no gallstones could be found. At the time, I weighed close to 300 lbs. I was told to go on a low-fat diet and lose weight, among other things, and that I needed to have my gallbladder removed for good measure. Well, at the time, I had no insurance, and was in debt to the hospital for $6000 (I've almost got that paid off now). After I got well (I was in the hospital for a week), I intentionally lost 75 pounds over the next year. I had some flare-ups, but I never had the gallbladder removed, because I was fearful that, although I now had insurance, that it was a pre-existing condition. Wrong move.
Nearly a year to the date (May 8, 2000), I had a major flare-up. Actually, looking back, I was dying by inches, as several people at my work told me that my color was off. I could barely check e-mail, and only had strength to pull myself up to get to work and then collapse at home. Well, once again, I went to the emergency room. I was vomiting pure bile just about every 60 minutes like clockwork. Well, they got me in there FAST. Come to find out, I was the color of a manila folder, I was so jaundiced. My liver had almost quit functioning, and my kidneys were starting to fail.
They started running tests on me, and found out that my gallbladder was filled with gallstones. Worse though, I had developed a rare condition known as thrombotic thrombocytopenic purpura/hemolytic uremic syndrome, known in short as TTP-HUS. This condition causes a clumping of the platelets in the bloodstream, which clusters rip apart red blood cells trying to pass. I had fewer than 10,000 platelets in my blood count (300,000 is normal, and anything less than 100,000 can be deadly). I had to be transported to the ICU of another hospital (ironically, late in the evening of May 10th, 2000...my third anniversary and 1 year to the date that I had originally started having problems). The reason they did this was so I could obtain plasma-pheresis treatments, which is similar to kidney dialysis, but with blood plasma instead. Basically, my blood had to be removed, rinsed through a machine, the plasma removed and replaced, and pumped back into me. It's the only known treatment for TTP-HUS, and it's success rate for someone as far gone as I was was only 30%.
During the first treatment, my lungs began to fill with fluid because my capillaries around them were so ravaged that they began leaking plasma. I was suctioned for awhile, then eventually they had to place me on a respirator. My heart was catheterized to keep it monitored, and I was given some form of amnesiac drug so that I would not suffer through this ordeal (for which, I must forever thank those who treated me, for I don't think I could have survived it).
Whenever I became lucid, however, I insisted on writing questions on paper for them to answer, asking about my condition, communicating with my family. Everyone was amazed that I clung to lucidity as much as I did, and more so that I was able to remain relatively cheerful and have a sense of humor. Basically, I was being kept alive on three machines, was still semi-conscious, and was joking with the staff! At one point I described myself as being like Edward Scissorhands.
I was far from well off. I fought with death...I mean, literally FOUGHT with it. I touched the face of Death several times during my stay in ICU. I had hallucinations that I was being ritually entombed. The shape of that particular ICU was like an Egyptian tomb, with sepultures off of a main chamber, and I believed that I had been placed in one for embalming, but that no one had come for me. As restrained as I was, I was certain that I was to be mummified, and that I was still conscious. And onward I fought. I spoke to my soul; my over-being so to speak. I was instructed on how to exit; how to recharge myself in the Light, so to speak, and what I needed to do if I wanted to leave this world easily. It is knowledge that I still possess, and guard within myself, because I do now know the secret to the death-process. I know how to traverse that gate, and I also know that now is not the time to do that. In short, in battling Death, I became a death-master. I was given the knowledge of how to help others cross over with ease.
People were praying for me that I didn't even know. The little janitor lady, Maristela, in the ICU, placed my name on her church's prayer list that Sunday that I was in there (I think it was the 14th of May at the time). The next day, I started rallying. There she was, this little lady, a janitoress, "forsaken of time and the gods" as many would put it, who had enough compassion on a total stranger that she asked for healing for me. I fully believe in the power of prayer, and although I may never see her again, I will stand up and call her blessed one day when it is my time to do so.
The long and short of it (and this is WAY long, much longer than I thought), is that after five days lying in ICU and six treatments, I recovered well enough that I was able to be uncatheterized, taken off the respirator, and was able to eat again. In another week and after a total of nine plasma pheresis treatments, I was able to go home. I had emerged from the tomb, and was in the sunlight again.
Not many people get to go through what I went through. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy (and I don't really have any enemies, I'm glad to say.) Let me also say now that three months later, in August, when my bloodwork had stabilized well enough, I had my gallbladder removed in an uneventful, overnight surgery. I no longer have to worry about my health. Last Friday, I had my last follow-up with my doctor. He gave me a clean bill of health and told me I never had to come back, unless I had any more problems. The ordeal that had started this week, two years ago, was finally over.
The reason I say all this? Being a death-master has given me a greater appreciation and love for life than ever. I can never look at anything again the same way as I did before. Even the smallest things I marvel at, and take joy in. My soul came in to me in a way it never had before, and I treasure and value each day I have now.
What I learned? Don't sweat the small stuff. I've seen the worst, and even it wasn't all that bad. Treasure what you have. Love each day, and love each other like you really mean it. Everyone is connected. And, most important...Life is so much more important than death. Concern yourself with Life, and let death take care of itself.
For all its worth...that's my story. It may not be much, but I'm here to tell it, and that's the most important thing to me. That...and I'm thankful to have met all of you, even in an online capacity. You have enriched my life, and I hope that I may have done so for you in part.
Hugs,
