‘… and then, I nearly died!’
Those words just about sum up my summer to the point that I almost feel like apologising that I didn’t die … Drama, somehow, becomes melodrama when the worst doesn’t happen, no?
It is a good thing, mostly, to not die, I suspect, tho’ lying here, confined for a few more months to my now-at-home hospital bed, I am still having a melodramatic moment or two as the four walls of my bedroom create a yet more claustrophobic world for me to exist in than I have been used to – jeez, at least I had the whole house before plus weekend trips out.
No longer. I am bed-bound – have been for the past few months, will be for the next few and then? Hopefully, back to my ‘normal’ with a few adjustments.
It is only for the short term. One day at a time. Deep breaths. Stay calm.
These are the words I repeat to myself when rising panic at this narrow existence threatens to overcome me.
I focus on perspective – things could be worse and more permanent.
In relative terms (to many others), I remain ‘lucky’ but, on a very personal basis, this has been a crap year to date and shows all signs of carrying on that way to the year end and even beyond.
With the myriad of major and minor health issues that I have, it would be too tedious to describe in detail the sequence of events that led me to this point but suffice to say that almost two decades of neurological ill-health, side effects of medication and major physical paralysis have wrought havoc on my body making me increasingly vulnerable to viral attacks and impossible to treat for many other medical issues.
On a positive note, my formerly robust constitution, when given half a chance, does it’s best to kick the ass of any random alien infection as long as it’s on a one at a time basis. Sadly, this year, has been one of multiple infections, culminating in a nightmare few weeks in July:
- December/January: I had a debilitating chest virus, taking 3-4 weeks to recover.
- April/May: I developed a violent reaction to some skin cancer treatment and another 3-4 weeks of ill health.
- June: I was confined to my bedroom for three weeks due to mechanical breakdowns.
- July: I suffered two bouts of food poisoning; cellulitis from an insect bite; violent sickness in response to antibiotics; massive internal bleeding from extreme blood thinning causing a haemoglobin crash; my fast developing neurological relapse became exacerbated by summer weather and, finally, unable to move at all, I experienced the horrors of my first ever pressure sore – grade 4 (the worst it could be) – on my butt.
‘… and then, I nearly died!’ … About three times …
Enough already. I held up my hands in defeat.
Call me an ambulance. I’m done.
The medics did their stuff and I spent six weeks in hospital, getting better after intra-venous antibiotics, several units of blood, steroids, a stabilisation of my blood levels and, all that time, lying on an air mattress with a vacuum pump and catheter attached (the pump, to suck gunk out of the pressure sore; the catheter, to minimise the need for hoisting me).
It has been hell in so many ways. I guess I will be writing more about some aspects of this soon because that’s what I do – write and let all the angst flow away.
At least, as I mentioned, I am home now, still on an air mattress due to the pressure sore – my last outstanding problem – which is somewhat healing but taking ages – as all the medics said it would. With pump and catheter still attached, it seems I shall be bed-bound until both can be removed – likely for the rest of the year.
Patience, I am told. This is, sadly, not my strong suit but I am doing my best (tho’ D keeps saying ‘try harder!’).
So, Annus Melodramatis … I am continuing to live it. Go, me.