This is my story of healing — of the miracle God worked in my life. My reason for writing it out here and sharing it rather than keeping it in a private journal is in hopes of someone who may be going through a similar situation to know they aren’t alone. I also believe I am a living testimony to God’s healing power, and I want to share my story of healing so He can get all the glory. This story proves that prayer is powerful. That He does indeed hear us when we call out, and He cares. Because this story is long, I’ve split it up into multiple blog posts. Be sure to start from the beginning to have full understanding of what all happened.
The Second Breathing Test
On Jan. 26, my sixth day in the hospital, my white blood cell count dropped to 7.7, which is in the normal range. My fever broke as well. But my hemoglobin had dropped to 7.5, and normal should be around 12. They completely took me off sedation to start the breathing test. Remember how I stopped breastfeeding a week or two before this? My body decided to get my first period since being pregnant during this test! (Insert whatever emoji means “You’ve got to be kidding me!”)
While you are on the ventilator, they have to suction you out (I’m sure there is some much more technical name), but it’s where they suction out all the fluid in your trachea. Just think about how you can’t swallow so the salvia runs down your trachea instead of being swallowed into your esophagus. They would do this multiple times a day. Right before the breathing test was to begin, I thought it would help me breath better if they suctioned me out first. I didn’t realize that every other time they had suctioned me out I had been sedated. This time I was not. And I very much regretted having them suction me out. It was horrifying. Of all the things I don’t remember, I wish this was one of them. I would have flashbacks of this moment for weeks.
The breathing test is supposed to last 30 minutes, but after the half hour I was still in the gray area so they made me continue for another 30 minutes.
Travis sat next to me the whole time. Weeks later I asked him to describe the breathing test to me to see if what I remembered lined up with reality. I was for sure that I had been sitting in a chair during the test. He told me they had positioned my bed into a sitting position because it’s easier to breath that way. I had wanted worship music playing, and he turned my birthing playlist on for me. The song that I felt had really gotten me through the test was “The More I Seek You” by Kari Jobe. He later told me that I motioned for him to put that song on repeat instead of listening to the whole playlist. I hadn’t realized I had done that.
I remember how much the ventilator hurt and wishing I could use my teeth to pull it out. I was able to move it a little somehow and I remember feeling afraid that I was cheating and they wouldn’t let me pass. But I also didn’t know how I would pass with that thing jabbing me in the throat. I tried to close my eyes, and when I did I just felt like I was spinning. So I would just spin around and around and focus on the song, trying to take deep normal breaths and stay calm. I kept picturing myself curled up in God’s hands, safe and peaceful.
At 9:15 a.m., I passed the test. They took the ventilator out, which thankfully I do not remember.
Off the Vent
Once I was off the ventilator, I met my nurse. I thought I was meeting her for the first time, but it turned out she had been my nurse for days. It was really confusing. She was brushing my hair, and I was not happy about it. But I still couldn’t talk, and I was still trying to grasp what all was going on. I had a lot of family there in the waiting room and they wanted to see me. As the nurse was brushing my hair, I started to feel like I was about to be paraded in front of everyone — like, “Look, here’s the girl who got off the vent!” I was scared. I did not feel happy or relieved like I knew they would all feel. I was also very scared that my daughters were there. I did not want them to see me like that, and I was not emotionally ready to see them either. I was very relieved when Travis told me the girls were not there. I asked that my family come in groups of two to see me and not stay long.
The weird thing about coming off the ventilator is how happy it should be, and yet I felt very depressed. I have since learned this feeling is very normal and is usually due to the medications and trauma of it all. Post-traumatic anxiety and PTSD are both common in patients surviving sepsis and ventilators.
That evening, I was able to whisper. They switched me to a clear diet, but I was scared to take anything other than water. With the help of my father-in-law I was able to use a walker and go to the bathroom and back — about 30 feet. I remember that night in the ICU pretty well. I remember all of my family members saying goodbye as they either left for their own homes or left to come stay at my house as they had been doing the whole time. I remember using this tiny stick vacuum thing (again don’t know the technical term) to suck out the stuff that I kept coughing up. They kept telling me it was good to cough and good to get all that stuff out.
That night, I had uncontrollable diarrhea. The nurse kept coming in all night to change out my bed and clean me up. She was really good at rolling me back and forth and cleaning everything while I stayed in the bed. The diarrhea is something that would last almost my entire stay in the hospital.
Goodbye ICU
My last night in the ICU I had texted my mom and asked her to bring me my favorite throw blanket from home — its a really soft cream colored blanket we had gotten as a wedding gift. She brought it early the next morning. As soon as I touched it, I cried. I can’t explain how good it was to feel something familiar, something like home. It bought me so much comfort.
That morning they moved me out of the ICU. It seemed so fast, and honestly I didn’t feel ready for it. As soon as I got to my new room, they wheeled me back out to drain the fluid from my lungs and remove my drain. I was very scared for these procedures. I asked them to explain what all was happening and to keep talking to me because I was scared. An IR team came in and they looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place them. They sure knew me though and kept saying how great I looked and happy they were to see me. They took the drain out, which is a very strange experience. I don’t really know how to explain it. Then, they did an ultrasound on my back to see exactly where the fluid on my lungs was so they would know where to put the needle. That’s when they told me there wasn’t enough fluid to do the procedure. I was happily shocked. I remember smiling as they wheeled me back to my room — thankful God took care of me and didn’t make me have to go through that.
My Hospital Angel
When I got back to my room, it suddenly occurred to me who that IR team was that looked familiar. The woman had been the one who listened to me when I had shortness of breath. She had ordered the chest x-ray. In my eyes, she is the one who saved my life (well, other than God of course). I didn’t know her name, so I began to call her my angel.
They next day, Jan. 28, one of my doctors was concerned about my liver. My surgeon was not concerned though, and said he didn’t see any reason to run tests on it. One of the things that really bothered us during this whole experience was having four different doctors who never seemed to communicate. We wish they had worked more as a team and communicated with one another better. The first doctor ran tests on my liver and they came back normal. When we told my surgeon he basically rolled his eyes and said he could have told us that.
That day I walked to my room door and back to my bed. I kept having pain where my liver is, so the doctor ordered an ultrasound on it to be safe. My nurse took my central line out that day, which was not a fun experience. Then, she had to place a new IV in my elbow. Again, not a fun experience. For whatever reason, people have the hardest time getting blood drawn or IVs in for me. She actually called in an ultrasound tech to put my IV in — they use an ultrasound machine to see exactly where to stick the needle. It was such a better experience. I wish they could do that all the time for me. Another not so fun experience (as if any of this was fun) was having to get shots in my belly every day. These shots were to keep me from getting blood clots, but they stung so bad!
On Jan. 29, I had my liver ultrasound. Of course, the ultrasound tech couldn’t tell me anything. When you get a CT scan or an ultrasound or any of those type of tests, they wheel you to the hallway and you lay there waiting. Then after the test, you wait in the hallway until one of the transporters comes to take you back to your room. As I was waiting after my ultrasound, I saw my angel. She stopped to talk to me. I was so glad to see her. I told her that I had recognized her before but couldn’t figure out how I knew her. I told her that I finally realized that she was the one who ordered the chest x-ray. I thanked her for saving my life as I began to cry. She said it was a perfect training opportunity for her to teach that you don’t just check and treat the drain, you check and treat the entire patient. She asked what I was doing down there and I told her about my ultrasound. She said she would go check on it for me. While she was in the room, the transporter came to wheel me away. As we were getting into the elevator, my angel came running through the hallway and said, “Tiffany, your liver is fine!” I was able to say thank you before the elevator doors closed. I was so thankful that she gave me that news because no one gave us the results all day.
It was that day that my hemoglobin levels dropped again. They began to consider a blood transfusion but were hesitant because it would suppress my immune system, and now more than ever I needed my immune system fully functioning to fight off the infection. I never ended up getting a transfusion.
Since I was beginning to get better, I was also beginning to feel restless. I was able to shower instead of having a sponge bath.
Travis got out all my notes from when I was on the ventilator and showed them to me, telling me stories of crazy or weird things I had done while sedated — like trying to text a friend and all of it being gibberish.
The hospital stay got to a point where there just wasn’t much to do. Visitors were great, but once they left and there were no tests … I began to feel trapped. I shared these feelings with Travis through tears. It wasn’t long before he had concocted a plan and borrowed a wheelchair from the nurse’s station. He got permission to take me for a little ride around the hospital. He even took me up to the rooftop garden for some very frigid fresh air. It felt so good.
Because I had my central line taken out of my neck, I was finally ready to FaceTime with Raylee. I didn’t want her to see me and wonder what was wrong with my neck, so we waited and waited. She had colored me a picture earlier that week and it had been brought to me. I sent her this photo to tell her thank you, but I made sure to cover my neck since I had a huge bandage where my central line had been.
My least favorite part of each day in the hospital was right before bedtime. Everyone would leave. Travis and I would be getting ready for bed, and I just dreaded it. I would feel so scared and down. No one sleeps well in a hospital because people are always coming in to check your vitals and draw your blood at 3 a.m., but I really couldn’t sleep well on top of all that because of my anxiety. My brain could not shut off. It needed to work through all of the trauma, and it was constantly worried about my health. I never wanted bedtime to come because I knew I wouldn’t be getting much sleep — even though my body desperately needed sleep to heal.
One night, Travis finally moved his makeshift bed right next to my hospital bed. Why hadn’t we thought of this sooner? He would stay up with me as long as I needed and let me talk things out if I needed to. He was my rock through all of this.
The next day would be a very important CT scan.