FanStory.com - I Survived by davisr (Rhonda)

FanStory.com
"I Survived"

Prologue
I Survived!

By davisr (Rhonda)

Greetings survivors,

There are many of you in FanStoria with amazing stories of survival. I would love to hear them. I have several to share as well. Here is a summary of my first.

~~~~~~~~

No one ever wants to hear they need a colonoscopy. I certainly didn't. I'd heard horror stories, but my doctor assured me it was a simple procedure.

She was right, the whole thing went off without a hitch. I woke up rested and refreshed. That was the end of my euphoria for two years.

I had a 9-inch tumor in my colon that required immediate attention. I met with a GI* doctor that was sweet as could be, but hid some pretty grim news beneath his smile. I would have to meet with a surgeon.

The surgeon, who I swear was 12-years-old, declared I needed surgery to remove it as soon as possible.

I met with a cancer doctor next, who got me set up with a post-op meeting in case I needed chemotherapy. He didn't look 12, but was a bit on the young side. Is it just me, or do all doctors these days look like children?

I digress...

All set, they got me in for surgery ahead of many others as the need was urgent. Lucky me. If you remember from earlier posts, I have an unusual aversion to surgery. Some might call it phobia. I called it sensibility.

Anyway, the day arrived earlier than I was ready. They took me into surgery right away, no unusual wait. The tumor was excised using fancy robotics, and was found to be benign. It was still classified as colorectal cancer as it was the same cell, but it hadn't flipped to the nasty stage. After a few days, they sent me home to recover. All good, painful, but good.

People sent me flowers, others came to visit, and just about everyone I knew called or came by. Nice survival story, right? But it didn't end there. It had only just begun.

I have shared this tale with a few, but never really in full. Even the memory sends me into fits of PTSD. 5-years later, I'm ready to talk, due in part, to the many people on here who have shared their own experiences of overcoming adversity.

~~~~~~~~~~~

My intestines refused to knit back together. After a few days at home, they tore open at the surgical site and spilled unthinkable things inside my body cavity.

This it did three times, resulting in rampant infections that required further procedures and surgeries. In the end, I had 8 major surgeries, including a complete gutting, and countless minor ones. My abdomen looks like I've been in a knife fight and lost. I didn't, friends, I won. By the Grace of God, I won.

During the seven weeks I spent in the hospital, people dropped away. I was no longer getting phone calls, cards or visits. People were exhausted and worried. They had their own lives to get on with, and I understood.

I walked the halls of the hospital hour after wretched hour, which was recommended. I dreamed of being anywhere besides where I was. I often pretended to be walking along a beach or in my garden.

In the end, I no longer stressed about surgery. There were times I longed just to be given chips of ice to chew on. I lost 60 pounds, and lots of body parts. I even lost my mother. I went to the hospital to be with her after the last surgery and slept beside her as I was too weak for anything else.

~~~~~~~

To the point of this chapter:

During a procedure to place a third infection drain, I was very weak and my blood pressure so low, they couldn't use anethesia stonger than novocaine, which no longer worked on me. An Irish nurse with a lovely accent, sat with me as I waited. He was kind and never left my side.

Behind me, on the floor of the hospital I had been staying on, I had groups of nurses and doctors openly praying. Was it protocol? I doubt it, but it was most welcomed.

The Irish nurse, Peter, in his delightful way, talked with me, joked with me and finally, encouraged me to touch the hem of the Savior's garment for healing. I closed my eyes and pictured the story of the woman who was suffering from years of bleeding. In that moment, I was her. I reached out and touched. And then, it was time.

The Radiologist and his helpers, braced themselves for another round of my extremely loud protestations. They never came as I felt no pain. I remembered every second of it, though, which I always did, inspite of their proclamations that I wouldn't... but no pain.

Coincidence? Not a chance. I'd been through too much for something that simple to come to my aid.

Here I stand a survivor. Am I the same as I was before? Nope. I never will be, because I know what it means to suffer. I, also, learned what it means to touch the hem of the Savior's garment!

Tag! You're it. Please share your personal survior story, whatever form it comes in.

Author Notes The first image was found on google, and reminded me of how I felt in my time of trouble.
The second image was AI from Izea

What is your story? It can be about a health issue, weather related, accidents, personal loss. Join with us to support and encourage each other.

*GI- Gastro Intestinal

On another note, I never saw Peter again, and no one seemed to know who I was talking about when I mentioned him. Angel or nurse? Who really knows?

BTW, Phoebus and Diantha will be back later in the week.

Chapter 1
A Long Time Gone

By davisr (Rhonda)

The following true story is one that I've told before, but that was years, decades ago, so if you're familiar with my tale of, "whoa!" My apologies:

A spur-of-the-moment decision, seemingly inconsequential at the time, can change the whole trajectory of your life, not to mention your life itself. Faced with two options I chose to go up to the main office of my credit union to cash my paycheck from The post office where I worked as a letter carrier. Had I chose to go to the closer satellite branch office, I wouldn't have been on the highway where I was hit head on by a woman in a hurry to get where she was going, failing to notice the Ford Ranger pickup truck in the oncoming lane, and turned left into my lane.

They tell me I was airlifted to a hospital in the big city, but I have no memory of it. Ironically, I don't enjoy flying and get extremely apprehensive, preferring to drive, true, it is dangerous, but at least I controlled my own fate. Ha!

They tell me I was in a coma for 13 days, but to tell you the truth, waking up to my new situation made me wish I'd just have gotten the dying over with. At least I wouldn't know I was dead. What I did know was I was messed up. I couldn't walk, or talk, afflictions which still are affecting me 24 years later, come October 30th. On that day in 1998, my life was changed forever, some positive, but most negative. I remember being told by the doctor in charge of head injury patients that most of the healing takes place within the first two years. Two years! I couldn't wait that long. I was a bit nieve of my reality, two years is nothing. It's almost twenty four years and I'm still messed up.

Years ago I was told by a doctor, who undoubtedly figured I needed some tough love, that I was going to have to accept that I've gotten back all there was to get back. But I won't accept that, refuse to accept that, I still notice minute changes toward a full recovery, and yes, I admit that that is highly unlikely to happen, it's my goal.

What a long, strange trip it's been. That's the understatement of all understatements. I won't get into the hours of physical therapy, the frustration of being trapped in a body that doesn't respond to the orders I give it, and all the time that's gone by, time I'll never get back. Ironically, I can see my life direction clearly now, the things that will make me happy. Can't do much to make them a reality, but...

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