The Beginning of my Journey

When your told that your daughter isn’t going to make it and your just prolonging her pain, what do you do? Are you suppose to just give up on her after three days, or do you become her biggest advocate? ┬áThe night that my team pulled my mother aside to explain to her that the hospital had run out of resources and couldn’t do anything else for me was the night she fired all of them. She spent the next ten hours on the phone calling anyone and everyone she knew to find someone who would me take me as their patient. Eventually she found an adult cardiologist who was willing to try and save my life. He explained that he couldn’t promise anything and that he didn’t know if he could but he was going to try his hardest. The next step was figuring out how to safely get me to him. That evening I was supposed to be air lifted to the hospital but due to severe weather the helicopter was grounded so we had to go with plan B. My cardiologist put a team together to go pick me up by ambulance. My mother was told that there was only a 50% chance of me making it alive to the hospital.

I arrived safely to the hospital and the new few weeks were really touch and go. He tried me on several different medications and discussed what surgery would be the best option for me. Finally he decided to do an IABP in hopes that it would help take some pressure off my heart so it wouldn’t have to work. A week had went by and I still wasn’t getting any better. The doctor was starting to become very concerned and didn’t know how much longer i would make it. I was added onto the list to receive a heart transplant and he had also made arrangements to put a pace maker in. The day before I was suppose to have surgery for a peace maker, I ended waking up.

When I woke up I wasn’t able to speak and I didn’t know where I was. I had thought that I had been at home laying in bed. I had been unconscious for three weeks at this point.

 

Forever in recovery…

It’s been eight years since the night that almost ended it all. Eight years seems like a life time ago yet I can still feel it as if it were just yesterday. The images from that night play so vividly in my head and it’s playing on repeat. It was the night that the drugs and alcohol proved to me that they may not be such a great friend after all. I had never considered myself to be a drug addict and even after I overdosed that night I still didn’t believe I had a problem. I was just a young teenager who would take anything to be able to escape her reality. However, the rest of the world disagreed with me especially my doctors and the state. Honestly anyone who was right in their mind would of thought that I was a troubled teenager with a serious addiction. Then again maybe it was just a cry for help and I was seeking out attention?

Eight years ago my best friend came over to celebrate my birthday with me which was just three days after my 16 birthday. My mind wasn’t in a good place and all I wanted to do was to be able to escape reality. We started off the night with smoking a few joints and doing some shots. I also took a mixture of pills and continued to drink but I still felt sober and felt like I hadn’t done anything. For the next hour or so I continued to drink and by the time the hour was over I had drank a whole bottle of tequila by myself. I was very used to mixing uppers with downers and back then it was one of my favorite ways to feel. However, something went wrong that night and I began to feel very hot and like I had just been set on fire. My body started to tingle and I kept feeling like I was slipping in and out of reality. Then it became very difficult to breath and it felt like an elephant was crushing my chest. Before I knew it I was in the bathroom floor throwing up and screaming out in pain begging for someone to help me. Eventually my mother heard my screams and came to the bathroom and started shouting asking what my problem was. I just kept begging her to help me and told her I thought I was dying. It got to the point where the pain was so unbearable that i didn’t care about making sure i wasn’t on my back while throwing up. I started to aspirate on my own vomit and turn purple. My mother had to dig the vomit out and clear my air way. By the time the ambulance had arrived I had a heart attack and was unresponsive. They quickly rushed me out of the house and sat in my driveway working on me for about thirty minutes or so before leaving. While in the ambulance I ended up having a second heart attack. By the time I had reached the ER my heart was only working at 5% and I was having a hard time breathing on my own. The doctor told my mother that they would have to intubate me or they were going to lose me. I remember screaming as loud as I possibly could to my mother to let her know I would hate her for the rest of my life and would never forgive her. That statement really shook her up and she took a moment to gather herself and signed her life away (in other words the hospital wouldn’t be held liable if i died). Later that night I began to wake up and tried to pull the tube out so they had to put me in a drug induced coma. Three days later the doctors had given up on me and told my mother the humane thing to do would be to say good bye and let me be at peace. The doctors said I was getting worse and the only reason I was still alive was because of the eight machines I was hooked up to.

To be continued…..