A Dress Shopping Extravaganza!

We went shopping for a wedding dress yesterday. The goal was to hit up several shops and mainly just get an idea for what I liked and would want, not to buy one. We only ended up going to Alysse's and David's before we were hungry and tired and I got a migraine, but we met our goals. And yes, I picked one, but I'm saving it for the end!

We started off at Alysse's, and the party included me, Kyle, Tianna, and Josh (Kyle's roommate who's going into fashion design and is basically our wedding consultant), as well as Kyle's sister Mollie for part of it. (Kyle's sisters were horrified that he was going along, but as most of you know, I detest shopping, and I needed him there to keep me sane. Plus, I wanted his input, which he mostly refused to give, saying he wanted me to get the dress I wanted, not the one he wanted. Still, I was glad he was there.) This was the first dress:We all really liked the general cut and shape of the thing, but it seemed a bit simplistic.

This next dress is one that Josh decided I needed to try on. Tianna told him I would hate it, but he said I needed to try it anyway. The consultant working with me made it very clear that this was Josh's pick:As you can see, the thing was ridiculous. But it was fun to try on, anyway. :D

This next dress was the second-favorite from Alysse's. It's just very pretty:I loved the wrapping and the beadwork—nothing ostentatious, but very elegant.

Somewhere in here, a veil got put on me, and it was very weird. (Sorry, no pics from Alysse's with a veil, but most of the ones from David's have them.) I guess that before that, it just felt like shopping for an unusually beautiful dress. As soon as I saw myself in a veil, though, it really hit me that this was for a wedding dress. I actually hadn't necessarily been planning on wearing a veil, but I think I'll have to now. The effect was amazing.

I know you can't really see the front of this dress in this pic, but what I really loved about it was the back anyway—check out all those buttons! Snazzy:
Okay, this dress was the favorite from Alysse's. (I don't think the picture does it justice.) Still quite simple, but really beautiful:
So so far, this was the dress to beat. With that in mind, we headed over to David's, stopping first to drop Josh off at home. Mollie had already left, so it was now just T, Kyle, and me. One of the first questions I got asked at David's was if I was gonna want sleeves (unlike Alysse's, David's is a national chain that doesn't cater to us weird modesty fanatics). Fortunately, they realize where they're located and make appropriate provisions. They had cute little bolero jackets to try on, and she explained that it's a very common alteration for them to take one of those, fit it, and make it match the dress (replicating beadwork, etc.) so it looks nice. I've never been a big fan of the bolero, but I can see how it could very easily work very well with some of these dresses.

This was the first dress I tried on there, and it was very pretty:Some of the beadwork seemed at bit much, though, and I just wasn't sold.

And now we go out of order, so I can save the best for last. On this next picture, you can't see the front, which was really quite pretty. But, again, the really awesome part was the back:
After we'd tried on a few dresses, I asked my consultant if she could bring me something "big and floofy." Not for serious, mind you, just because I wanted to try one on. And boy, did she come through for me:T couldn't even take a picture for at least 3 minutes because she was laughing so hard. Kyle about died. And you can't tell in this picture, but there are even rhinestones on the skirt! The silly thing even had a train. Seriously, she came into the dressing room with her arms just overflowing in tulle. It basically took up the entire dressing room. That ridiculous skirt just kept going and going... It was a great stress reliever, though. We all laughed ourselves silly.

And now, what we've all been waiting for, the dress I actually chose:I didn't think I would like it, because of the colors: it's ivory, with a champagne overlay. I never really pictured what my wedding dress would look like before, but I had always figured it would be white, y'know? But the longer I stood in this dress, the more I loved it. It's just so dang gorgeous! And there are so many things I loved about it: the way the ribbon came together in the front, the beadwork, even the color contrast. And I think the jacket works great with it, even before the alterations that will make it even better.

When we finished shopping, I was really torn between the favorite from Alysse's and the one from David's. I thought the one from David's was prettier and more elegant, but it was also not white. And it required that I wear a floofy slip, which I had really been hoping to avoid (though it is the smallest of the floofy slips). Once I adjusted to the idea of a non-white dress, however, I realized I was really leaning toward the one from David's. So I called them back today, paid for it, and set up an appointment for my fitting. That's tomorrow, and we'll sort out exactly how to do the jacket (or, possibly, sleeves) then. In the meantime, I'm very pleased. Even if it doesn't look exactly how I had expected my dress to look, it makes me feel elegant and beautiful, which is exactly what I was looking for. :D

Call for addresses!

Before I can send out announcements, I need addresses! So if you haven't already, would you pretty pretty please go here and enter your mailing address for me? Thanks so much!

VIII: Pardon me if I get a bit teary-eyed and sappy...

Well, I've been out of the hospital for 8 weeks, and this is it: the final post in my Fun and Games with Almost Dying saga. And I think it's only fitting that it be a big thank you! I found myself, quite unexpectedly, in a situation that both scared and incapacitated me (to a degree I wouldn't have thought possible), and my friends and family came through for me.

Special thanks go to:

• Kyle, for staying with me through this entire mess, from my first trip to Urgent Care to my recurring followup visits. This whole thing would've been a lot scarier without you by my side.
• Tianna and BJ, for being there when I needed you. I knew I could depend on you to not only show up at the hospital but to help with everything from contacting my parents to bringing me my toothbrush, not to mention telling me endless (and repeated) stories, just so I could hear your voices. You're the best friends I could ask for.
• Mom, for taking care of me. It must've been as if I was a little girl again, dependent on you to cook my food and help me get dressed. I don't know what I would've done without you. Even aside from the physical help you rendered, it was just good to have you here. I needed my mother, and you came for me.
  

But many more people deserve thanks than just those four. I was overwhelmed by how many people were concerned about me. Thanks to all of you for the many prayers, fasts, visits, flowers, contributions, and cards. And to my work people, especially thank you for your patience! It was wonderful to know that everyone would support me not only in the crisis itself but also in a rather drawn-out recovery.

As I said, it's been two months since I came home, and I'm largely recovered. I still get tired easily, and from what I understand, that'll take several more months to get back to normal. And of course I still have many scars, but I'm back to doing just about everything I was doing before this whole fiasco. I no longer worry about "what if I never get better?" or anything like that. How could I? It turns out that my Heavenly Father has filled my life with people that love me, to a degree that I never understood or appreciated before. I could never repay all that I have been given, but I would not be doing as well as I am now without your support, and I offer my heartfelt thanks to you all.

[giggle & grin]

Yesterday started in typical Jess-has-an-exciting-day fashion: I woke up with a migraine. And don't you worry; I had it all day. It didn't go away until this morning. So I worked from home and did a lot of laying on the couch. Kyle came over with a beautiful bouquet of flowers Because It's Spring:We hung out for a bit, and then he made dinner. This was to celebrate My First Big Night Out Since Almost Dying: the symphony! Some of you may recall that Kyle had originally gotten tickets for us to see the Utah Symphony play Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" in January. Those plans were ruined, as I was having my second surgery at that time. But he got them moved to Friday, which was an "Evening At the Pops." So I'd been looking forward to this date for months. Anyway, we had a very tasty dinner and got changed so we could go.

We were running a wee bit late, but we would've been fine. EXCEPT...I realized around about Pleasant Grove that we didn't have the tickets. I gasped and turned to Kyle with my hands over my mouth, which he immediately recognized as the international sign for "I'm a colossal idiot." "The tickets!" he said and promptly exited the highway so we could turn around and head back toward Provo. I managed to get BJ on the phone, and he agreed to pick them up and meet us near the highway. By the time we got them and were back on our way, it was 8:00 pm and the symphony was starting without us. We made good time, though (despite the very nice Highway Patrolman who only motioned at us to slow down instead of pulling us over (thanks, officer!)) and arrived at Abravanel Hall at 8:30. They were just about to go to intermission, so we waited about three minutes until the usher could seat us. We only missed the first three numbers, so it worked out alright. Anyway, she showed us to our seats, but we decided to chill by the wall until people got where they were going (intermission had just started). While we waited, Elder Oaks and his wife came and stood by Kyle. They were, of course, swarmed by people who wanted to meet him, which we didn't feel the need to do. But my favorite was the guy who asked if he was David O. McKay. "No," he said, "I'm Dallin Oaks." It was very funny.

We eventually sat down and the program started again. There were several jazz and swing numbers whose titles I didn't recognize but whose tunes I knew. They played a couple of Beatles songs (yes, Tyler: Beatles!) and finished up with a medley of baby-boomer songs like "YMCA" and "Puff the Magic Dragon," which we got to sing along with. All in all, it was a very fun show.

When we left the hall, Kyle led me out the wrong door. Those of you who know me well know that the fact that I noticed this is nothing short of bizarre. But I did! He said it was to avoid the crowds in the lobby. But once we got outside, he continued to lead me in the wrong direction. I decided to just go with it. Across the street, there was a horse-drawn carriage waiting. Kyle said, "I think this is our ride," and we climbed in. We rode up to Memory Grove Park, which is northeast of Temple Square (just east of the capitol building). At the top of the park, the driver asked if we wanted to get out and walk around a bit. Kyle said sure, we'd meet him back at the bottom of the park.

We crossed the bridge over the creek running down the park and followed the path through a bunch of war memorials. Up on the side of the hill, overlooking the rest of the park, was a memorial called the Meditation Chapel. Standing in front of it, Kyle got down on one knee, pulled out a ring, and asked me to marry him. "Absolutely!"
We finished our walk and climbed back in the carriage for the ride back to the car. When we got there, Kyle asked if I wanted to call my parents. "No," I said, "it's 11 pm here, so it's midnight there. They're in bed." For the record, this seems to have been a poor choice. I got yelled at for so long today because I didn't call them immediately. I waited fourteen hours to call them (Kyle had a presentation to give this morning, so I didn't get to call them until 1:00 pm). By all accounts, I am a thoughtless, callous woman with no consideration for the parents of an only daughter. Kyle, however, they approve. He may rank higher with them right now than I do.

Point is: I'm engaged! And very happy about it. And Kyle seems happy, so that's good, too. :D

Friday the 13th

I didn't even realize until after I got home on Friday and Kyle pointed it out to me that it was Friday the 13th, but that explained a lot. The day was basically dreadful.

• Jeri had me change the IP address on my computer in Orem, which I did from home via remote access. Of course, as soon as that change took place, it kicked me off the connection, thereby making it impossible for me to restart the silly thing. Jeri told me a method to "restart a computer remotely," but it later came to light that you had to be on the computer you were restarting. I fail to see how this is "remotely," and I ended up calling Elder Hendrix and getting him to go out and restart the silly thing for me.
• My computer started doing this really lame thing where it works for anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour and then freezes and dies. It requires a hard reboot, so this is all very difficult to do from home. Fortunately, I was planning on going in to the office anyway, so that made it slightly easier to deal with. Of course, I kept losing my work and having to restart processes that got interrupted by the crashing.
• Dawn called me in to look at something on one of the missionaries' computers. I just want to say now that I am NOT qualified to do tech support. Sadly, we don't have any tech support, so I end up doing quite a lot of it. But I maintain that it's not completely my fault if things go awry, as they did this time. In trying to create a shortcut to a file on this computer, Dawn had accidentally dragged an entire folder. Now, this should have just created a shortcut to the folder, but things were very wonky. The folder and all its files were showing up in the taskbar in a way that I had never seen before. But given what had been done, it still should have been a shortcut, so I took the plunge and deleted it. Of course, by the powers of whatever gods were trying to torment me, it wasn't a shortcut, and I deleted the folder. (The best we can figure is that the folder actually moved to that comp instead of either creating a shortcut or just copying.) We still haven't figured out what happened, but by the time I was done with it, that folder and all its hundreds of spreadsheets were gone. I called Jeri, but there was no recovering it, as it was not in the computer's recycle bin or in the server's. If this doesn't make sense to you, you're in good company. But it's true. (About here is where I started in with a full-blown migraine, by the way.) Fortunately, Jeri does daily backups of this folder, so the only things that were really lost were work from Friday. And since I was the only one in that folder, it didn't take too long to recreate what I needed. (Actually, the luckiest thing that happened all day was that my computer crashed while I had a massive spreadsheet open, so when I re-opened Excel, it recovered it and I was able to save a copy instead of recreating it, which would have taken a long time.)

I'm pretty sure Dawn thought I was more upset with her than I actually was because I get...not mean, but terse, I guess...when I'm in pain. And I was in a lot and trying to solve a huge problem of my own making at the same time. So even though I truly didn't blame her (how could I, when the only thing we know for sure is that I'm the one who deleted the folder?), there wasn't a lot of smiling going on.

I was so glad to get home, vent to Kyle, and relax. Fortunately, the rest of my day wasn't as cursed; I probably would have gone stark raving mad if it had been.

Tianna, you should be really grateful you didn't work on Friday, as you would have definitely gotten dragged into the madness.

All Better

I had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Gibb for my sore throat scheduled for Wednesday, but he only wanted to see me if I was still doing poorly. Since I started feeling better as soon as the antibiotics kicked in on Thursday (the day after I saw him), I canceled it. But I was still nervous that as soon as I finished those I'd get worse again. BUT...

...I've now been off of the antibiotics for over 24 hours, and I still feel great. Fabulous! I'm officially not worried about this anymore. :D

VIIb: My Version of the Story, Week 2

Monday 1/19

I think this was the day they started trying to get me to sit up in a chair. Actually, first, they wanted me to get up and walk a bit. I only made it as far as the chair beside the bed, though. I was, however, able to sit there long enough to eat some meals. But I didn’t do any actual walking until I was out of ICU. The first time, I was still attached to a bunch of drains and tubes, so they had to load up a wheelchair with all sorts of things, including an oxygen tank. I then pushed that around while Kyle pushed the IV pole, I think. After a couple of days, though, I was down to few enough tubes that everything could be attached to the IV pole, allowing me to stand upright and push that, rather than hunching over to reach the wheelchair, which was nice. At first I could only manage one circuit around the nurse’s station, but I eventually got up to three.

Tuesday 1/20

I got moved out of ICU today, and it was also the only day I had a nurse I really disliked. Fortunately, she was the ICU nurse, so I only had to deal with her for a few hours, but she really bugged both me and Mom. She’d come in to check my dressings and not have any idea where the incisions were, stuff like that. I really don’t think she’d even looked at my chart, which doesn’t really inspire a lot of confidence. But like I said, I got moved to a room on the 5^th floor that morning.

Unlike the ICU room, these rooms were tiny, and there was really only room for one visitor at a time (there was one comfy chair beside the bed). But with folding chairs from the hallway, we fit in more. Most of the time, Mom and Kyle were both there, and the comfy chair seemed to go to whoever was reading aloud at the time, though Kyle got it more often as he got sick. When T and BJ came to visit, though, it got really crowded. And if Michael was there, or when five or six girls from the RS came to visit, it was like clowns in a car. But I loved having people there—it was great to see and talk to people, even though I got really tired very quickly. And I had tons of flowers without really anywhere to put them. By this time, actually, my first set of flowers had mostly died, but I got more, especially after the second surgery, and they lived throughout my stay. We finally stashed most of them on a high shelf and on the bedside table, but they were pretty well crammed up there.

Wednesday 1/21

Today they removed the drains from my neck, as well as one of the chest tubes. Dr. Gibb came in and took the drains out, first snipping all the stitches (which was very uncomfortable, but not too painful). One of the drains just went straight through the front part of my neck, sticking out on both sides, and everyone agreed it looked really odd until he took it out (my neck had been all bandaged up, so it hadn’t been visible before). Then the nurse took out the chest tube, and that was really weird. She had me take some deep breaths, in, out, and then in and hold while she pulled it out. I never got used to the feeling of having great huge lengths of tube pulled out of me. It’s truly bizarre, and I don’t think I can describe it well, just because you don’t normally feel such things moving around on your insides. Which is as it should be.

Friday 1/23

Today, they took out the rest of my tubes, as well as taking me off the morphine. I’d been taking periodic doses of Darvocet, and I didn’t particularly like it; it made me a bit nauseous and feverish, but not as much as the other things we’d tried. So when it came time to lose the morphine, that’s what we switched to. They were these not-humongous-but-not-tiny-either bright pink pills, and I had the hardest time swallowing them. (I couldn’t figure out why, as I’m a real veteran at swallowing handfuls of pills at a time, but I later realized that my throat just wasn’t up for swallowing much. I shouldn’t have been surprised; I didn’t even have the lung capacity to drink out of a straw, but I sometimes forgot what an ordeal my body had been through.) For the most part, the pain that drove my need for pills was in my back, at that thoracotomy incision. They weren’t kidding when they said that would be painful and take a long time to heal.

Because my hematocrit was low, Dr. McCann said I may need a blood transfusion. But they didn’t want to do that, obviously, so they had me start taking iron supplements and folic acid, which were supposed to help my body build more red blood cells. Fortunately, they worked, and I didn’t ever need a transfusion.

The other really exciting thing was that I finally got to take a shower, now that I no longer had any tubes in me. I’d been having “baths” of a sort all along, of course (really, just getting wiped down with hot soapy washcloths), but my hair was absolutely disgusting by this point and I was thrilled that I was finally gonna get to wash it. They put some large pieces of plastic over my PICC line hookup and the bandages over the chest tube holes and I was good to go! I’d expected it to be somewhat difficult and awkward, as my mobility was drastically reduced (and I was right). I was shocked at how weak I was, though. I spent almost the whole time sitting on the stool in the shower, but I was completely worn out and shaky afterward. I got out and collapsed into a chair while Mom helped me get a gown on and brushed my hair. She dried it as best she could with a towel, and I stumbled into bed. It would actually be another couple of weeks before this got any easier.

Saturday 1/24

This was a horrible day, and it actually started Friday night. I didn’t have bad morphine withdrawals or anything, but now that Darvocet was my only pain med, I was taking lots more of it and it made me really sick. I was feverish feeling (though I didn’t have an actual temperature) and nauseous, and it just got worse as time went on. I woke up several times in the night (not unusual—I never slept well in the hospital), but this time from horrible nightmares and in a cold sweat. Seriously, my sheets and gown were soaked, and that’s just miserable. I also had this horrible-tasting phlegm in the back of my throat that wouldn’t go away, so I was constantly spitting into kleenexes, trying to get it out of my throat. Finally, around 4 am, I rolled over and hit a button on my remote, turning the TV on. Unfortunately, the only way to turn the TV off was to click through all the channels until you got to “off.” Realizing this, I figured I’d see if there was anything good on (this was the first and last time I’d had the TV on during my entire stay) to get my mind off the nightmares. I found a movie on Lifetime, but it didn’t really help: it was about this woman and her friend who were on trial for killing the first woman’s abusive husband. After a half hour or so, I decided to look for something a bit better and found Angel. This wasn’t exactly happy, either; I mean, it is about vampires and demons and such. But at least it was a lot less real-life. After a couple episodes of that, Charmed came on, which was much better and familiar to boot (T and I used to watch this silly show all the time). I eventually went back to sleep around 7 for a bit.

I was awakened a bit after 8 for breakfast, but I just left it on the tray. I was too tired and too nauseous to eat anything. Eventually, though (around 9 or so, I think), I decided I should eat. I took one bite of my scrambled eggs (the only thing that looked remotely appetizing) and promptly threw it up. And kept throwing up, despite not actually having anything in my stomach anymore. I paged for a nurse so I could get something for the nausea and also asked to talk to a doctor. I was so scared! We’d been talking about me going home in a few days, and here I was, feverish and vomiting. Worst of all, my throat was hurting and felt swollen, and that terrified me. Finally, the doctor came in. He reassured me that my blood work was clean and didn’t indicate any remaining or recurring infection. I was just fine. “But my throat hurts and is swollen!” I said. I think he got frustrated at this point. “Of course it is! We scraped your esophagus raw from your throat to your stomach! You were gonna die!” He encouraged me to be patient while my body recovered; it had, after all, been through a lot. I actually still remind myself of his words when I get frustrated with the pace of my recovery.

I’d called Mom soon after I threw up to see if she was going to be there soon. (I considered calling Kyle, but he’d been feeling not well the last few days, and I knew he needed his sleep.) Mom said she’d be there as soon as she could, and she got there shortly after I saw the doctor. I was given a dose of Phenergan for the nausea and spent much of the day sleeping on and off and generally being miserable. I stopped taking the Darvocet, and once it worked out of my system, I started to feel much better. I still wasn’t up for anything, though, and opted out of doing my breathing when the respiratory therapists came in or going walking.

We now had a tough time figuring out what to do about my pain, especially given the bad reactions I’d had to both Percocet and Lortab earlier. We found that Toradol (the dr. said it’s basically a massive dose of Motrin) did a decent job of reducing the pain to where it wasn’t so bad. The unfortunate part was that it wore off before I was able to have another dose, so when I got really desperate, they gave me supplemental morphine.

Kyle was also miserable. I think he got there around 10 or 11, but just sat down by the foot of my bed and laid his head down. He’d been feeling slightly off for a few days (mostly just really tired), but his throat was getting more and more sore and he was feeling really sick. He stayed for about 20 minutes before giving in and going back home for a few hours to get some more sleep. (Several days after I went home, he went to the doctor and was told he had mono.)

Sunday 1/25

Today I finished up with my antibiotics and they took out that PICC line, which left me completely unconnected to any sort of machinery for the first time in almost two weeks. They also removed the last of my bandages, so I was clear of those, too. I’d been on three different antibiotics (they just rotated them on the IV) ever since I got there, and it turns out that they were contributing a fair amount to my general feelings of “not good.” This had actually been suspected for quite some time, but there was no way they were gonna take me off them. The point is that I started feeling even better than I had been, which was nice. And when Kyle helped me walk around the nursing station, I didn’t even have to push an IV pole! It was wonderful.

In our discussions with the doctors about me going home on Monday or Tuesday, Mom convinced me to try the Lortab again. We were fresh out of options for pain control once I left the hospital, but I was still going to need something more than just ibuprofen. In hopes that my original bad reactions had been a factor of all the other drugs I was on/had recently taken, I decided to give it another shot. It worked great—no hallucinations or fever or anything! This had been a major concern for my going home, but now it was taken care of.

Monday 1/26

I was well and truly terrified at the idea of going home, and I was still uneasy when Dr. McCann came in this morning and told me that my white count had stayed down, even after we stopped the antibiotics, and I was free to go home if I wanted. He also gave me the option of staying another day if I felt like that was necessary. I was torn and didn’t know what to do, so I asked him what he would do in my place. His instant response was that he’d go home, where it would be much more comfortable and no nurses to harass him with their constant vitals-checking. I decided to be brave and take the plunge, and they got started on my discharge paperwork. I texted Kyle (and T and Michael) that it was the day for going home (he hadn’t arrived at the hospital yet) and he came up to help.

Before I left, though, I had bunches of questions for Dr. McCann. For most of my stay in the hospital, I was too out of it/tired/in pain to really care what was being done to me. Doctors and nurses came in and said “we need to do this” or “take this medicine” and I said “okay.” I didn’t have the energy to even wonder why, let alone ask questions. This is very out of character for me, though, and when I started feeling better, I wanted to know more, so I asked Dr. McCann all kinds of questions. He said they finally identified the bacteria as fusobacterium, though they still had no idea how any of this started. (The best I can figure out is that my original sore throat was probably just a normal, viral sore throat, like the dr. at Urgent Care said, but then my throat got irritated or something, allowing the bacteria in to cause problems.) He said that he had only given me a 50% chance of living (Dr. Gibb had earlier said 75%). In his entire career, he’d seen three similar cases. One patient was young and had survived. The other two were older (he didn’t say how much older) and hadn’t made it, so he mostly attributes my survival to my youth. By this point, I’d heard from a few people that I had been very close to death, but I didn’t understand how exactly that would have happened, so he explained. With an infection as large as I had, they had actually been waiting for it to get into my bloodstream (that’s why all the rush when I first arrived at the hospital). With it progressed as far as it had, they just expected it to happen. But it didn’t, fortunately, because that means I would have gotten septic, which tends to kill off your organs and then you.

Anyway, we eventually got all my stuff and me wheeled downstairs. I rode home with Kyle b/c I think my car (which Mom had driven) is lower to the ground, so it’d be easier to get in and out of his. It was great to be outside and see stuff again, even if it was very-familiar Provo. But it snowed! Just for me! So that was also gorgeous. When we got home, I settled onto the couch while Mom and Kyle put stuff away and whatnot. I actually got out my computer for the first time in weeks (I’d had it at the hospital and used it for music, but nothing else) and chatted with some people. But that actually wore me out pretty quickly, and it was weird how my fingers had forgotten how to type. Even their strength was way down, and they got tired very quickly. So I wasn’t online long, just long enough to say “Hey y’all! I’m home! Be excited!”.

Mom went grocery shopping and picked up a bunch of stuff, and we quickly settled into a routine that involved me sleeping a lot on the couch, Mom cooking wonderfully delicious meals that tempted even my nonexistent appetite, and both her and Kyle continuing to read to me. Mom also bought me some nasty probiotics to help restore the good bacteria that had all been killed off by the antibiotics. (She actually attributes my increased appetite to this, but I’m not so sure.) All I know is that it was dreadful. It came in little bottles and was similar, in consistency, to runny yogurt. The smell was awful—like milk that had been left on the counter for a week or two. And it had chunks in it. Now, they sold fruit-flavored versions, but Mom knows I hate fruit, so she got the plain kind. And it was foul. I could only take one or two teeny swallows before I started gagging. The bottles were small, though, and I survived. Fortunately, Mom had a brainwave and added strawberry syrup to it the next day, which helped loads (she added lots). (I could now get half of it down before I gagged.) I still dreaded that stuff every day, though. At least I only had to take it for a week.

VIIa: My Version of the Story, Week 1

I know that I linked to T and Kyle's blogs to give you the info for my hospital stuff, but I've spent the last several weeks typing up my own recollections of what happened. Now, I've broken this into two posts, Week 1 and Week 2, but they're still gonna be forever long. Sorry. I tried to take out what I've already posted, but I may have missed some stuff. I promise not to be offended if you don't read all of it. Anyway, I thought some of you may want to read my version, so here it is!

Tuesday 1/6

I first got a sore throat on 1/3 (Sat.), and it quickly got very painful. Today I called Christopher and asked him what sort of things I should be looking out for; not having any insurance, I didn’t want to go to the doctor just to be told I was fine. He told me some things, but I didn’t seem to fit those descriptions, though he impressed upon me how the key to diagnosing anything like this is to actually see the patient, which he obviously couldn’t do from North Carolina. Plus, he said that 85% of sore throats are viral and hurt like the dickens but eventually go away on their own. And I felt fine other than the sore throat, so I wasn’t worried.

Tianna and I had appointments to get haircuts that evening after work, but I was starting to feel worse by then—my throat was killing me and I was exhausted, for some reason, to the point of tears—and it was snowing very hard outside, so Kyle volunteered to come chauffeur us. He picked us up and I just left my car there, intending to get it the next day. (This didn’t end up happening; I didn’t get back into the office until after I got out of the hospital. T and BJ went up sometime while I was in and retrieved it for me, though.) After haircuts, Kyle and I went over to his house to hang out. But I was quickly becoming very miserable, and it was getting difficult to swallow, so we decided I needed a trip to Urgent Care (in Orem).

We got there about 20 minutes before they closed and after doing paperwork and such were taken back to a room. The doctor came in and she swabbed my throat (ugh!) for a strep test, which came back negative. So she told us it was viral and she couldn’t do anything, though studies had shown that zinc cough drops helped decrease the length of infection, so to get some of those. We left there (and I felt silly for spending so much money to be told I was fine) and went to the store for cough drops, stopping on the way for a shake from McDonald’s to soothe my throat.

I spent the next week at home being miserable. Kyle came over every day and made me food (mostly jello and pudding)—I didn’t have the energy to cook or the desire to eat anything at all.

Monday 1/12

I woke up miserable and decided after not very long that it was time to return to Urgent Care. When Dr. Christianson came in to examine me and I explained everything to him, he looked down at me (I was laying down on the table, since that was the only way my neck was even remotely comfortable) and said, "This is...unusual." That was super comforting, let me tell you. He decided I needed a CT, so he sent us down to Orem Community Hospital. They also drew some blood, which was quite an ordeal since I have lousy veins anyway and was super-dehydrated. It required several sticks, which only served to increase my misery. I had managed to walk into the Urgent Care on my own power, but was unable to get back out again. I'd barely eaten anything at all over the past week, due to my sore throat, and I'd thrown up everything I'd eaten in the last 24 hours. So this is when Kyle started being a wheelchair chauffeur to and from the car, which continued throughout the day.

While we waited in the radiology waiting room at Orem Community, there was a mother and child there (the kid must've been around 10 years old). His deal? He couldn't stop coughing. At all. He just sat there, coughing and coughing and coughing. Not hard, but non-stop. His mom reassured us that he wasn't really sick and was certainly not contagious. He just couldn't stop coughing, and the doctors couldn't sort it out. Random, right? I hope he's stopped by now...

Anyway, we got the CT done and then had to wait for results. The scan was sent back to Dr. Christianson, who I spoke to on the phone. (This was my last phone conversation of the day; I made other people do the talking from here on out.) Dr. Christianson said I had an infection, and he was gonna get an ENT to look at the scans. He wasn't sure if treatment would require antibiotics or surgery, which would put me in the hospital for a couple of days. This kinda freaked me out, and I was really pulling for the antibiotics-only route. While we waited for the phone call from the ENT, Kyle and I went out to the lobby (the guy was going to call Kyle's cell, and he didn't get much reception in radiology). It was freezing out there by the doors, and I just laid down on a couch. A very nice woman (possibly a tech? or mebbe custodial?) walked by and asked if I wanted a blanket. I said yes, and she brought me a warm blanket. I just thought this was cool because she had nothing to do with me; she just walked by and saw us there. Nice lady. Eventually, the receptionist from radiology came out looking for Kyle; the ENT (now revealed to be Dr. Gibb) had called her desk instead of Kyle's cell. So Kyle went back to talk to him while I waited (apparently, lots of people were under the impression that Kyle and I were married). When Kyle revealed to Dr. Gibb that he was not, in fact, my husband, Dr. Gibb wouldn't tell him anything other than that I needed surgery and to get me to Utah Valley Regional Medical Center. Kyle came back out to the lobby and said, "You get to continue your tour of Utah County's medical facilities at Utah Valley. You need surgery." I was rather upset by this, but definitely didn't have the energy to really fuss about it (well, I whined, but that's it).

On the way to Provo, I had Kyle call Tianna (actually, he called BJ, since he didn't have T's number) and ask her to contact my parents for me. She also stopped by the house and picked up a few things for me, like my phone and book.

When we got to UVRMC, we checked in at the ER. Although the waiting room was full, we only waited about 10 minutes (though it seemed much longer to me, since I felt so awful). Then they called us back to a room, which quickly filled up with techs and nurses and doctors. Then T and BJ arrived, and it got even more crowded. One doctor told me that it was very serious, but they were gonna get me into surgery and I was gonna be just fine. The anesthesiologist came in and told me what they were gonna do and all that jazz. Dr. Gibb (the ENT surgeon) came in to meet me. I asked him if I was gonna make it to the symphony Thurs. night (they were playing Vivaldi's "Four Seasons," and I'd been excited over this date for ages). He kinda shook his head like I was crazy and said definitely not. (Kyle and I had also planned a trip to Vegas with Josh for the next weekend, but that didn't happen either.) I gave him Dad and Christopher's phone numbers so he could fill them in. He also explained to me that this was a very serious, life-threatening situation. He did not say anything like the other dr. had, about me being just fine...but I held on to that assurance anyway.

I also remember him pushing on my neck, and it hurting a lot. I said “Owww!” and he just said "Does that hurt?" and kept going. I said "Yes...but you're just gonna keep on doing that, aren't you?" I just find it comforting that I somehow managed to keep my wry sense of humor. ;) Kyle pointed out that there was a whole team of doctors and nurses waiting for me outside the door (it was a small room, so they couldn't all fit, but they were huddled out there, just waiting to do their thing). At the same time, there were two techs trying to draw more blood for cultures, one from each arm. Of course, they were having quite a time trying to get any blood. They ended up using veins in my hands, but even then, they could only get it from one hand, and they needed two vials. Once they were all ready for me in surgery, the anesthesiologist (or Dr. Gibb?) tried to take me in, but the one tech was still trying to draw blood. The doc asked what it was for, and when he was told, said "Never mind that. We can get it once she's unconscious." This was seriously the best news I'd heard all day!

I remember being wheeled out of the room, and then I was out in the hallway with a nurse talking to me as we went. I believe we went straight to the OR without stopping in Prep. They put an IV in (more sticking me!) and put me out, which, I'll be honest, I'd really been looking forward to. The next thing I remember is waking up in Recovery, scared to death. I didn't know where I was or what was happening, and I was terrified. There was nobody there I knew. Fortunately, the nurses explained where I was; I think I fell back asleep again after that.

I was put in ICU for the night, and T, BJ, and Kyle were all there with me. Kyle brought the most gorgeous bouquet of roses and white lilies I've ever seen, but I wasn't allowed to keep them in ICU with me. I barely remember this, but T says that when Kyle walked into my ICU room with the flowers, my heart rate went up by 10, though they were never sure if it was the flowers or the guy holding them. I was completely parched, but the nurse wouldn't let me have anything to drink, saying that the anesthesia would make me sick if I had any water. I kept begging for ice, though, and she finally let me have a bite. After that, I was given these little pink sponges on sticks that had soaked in water; they must have held about 1/8 tsp of water—they weren't good for much except very briefly wetting your mouth. The nurse left for a little bit, and she warned T, BJ, and Kyle that I would ask for ice, but I was NOT allowed. I convinced them to let me have some anyway. (Let's be honest; they have a hard time telling me no under normal circumstances, and after what I'd just been through...well, they were putty in my hands. ;) ) And really, they owed me—they kept bossing me around. One of my vitals on the monitors was my respiration, and it frequently set off alarms saying I wasn't breathing. Really, I was, but too shallowly, I guess? So they kept telling me to breathe deeply, which got really frustrating.

Tuesday 1/13

I was moved out of ICU to a normal room on the 5th floor (T arrived at the hospital just in time to help carry stuff, the lucky duck). They started trying to give me oral painkillers instead of the morphine (I wasn't on a continuous drip, but they gave it to me through an IV). First was Percocet, which made me feel feverish, though I didn't get a temperature, and also made me hallucinate whenever I closed my eyes. I was miserable, so they gave me some Benadryl and crossed that off the list. Next we tried Lortab, with the same effects. More Benadryl and we gave up for a little bit (but continued with the morphine).

Wednesday 1/14

This is as good a day as any for this little note:

I got real sick of nurse/tech chitchat real fast. I’m not one for small talk under any circumstances, but especially not when I’m miserable. But everyone wanted to know where I was from, what I was doing out here (was I going to school? working? where at?) and such. And every dang time I stood up, it was “you’re really tall!” Thanks, folks. This is really the time to point out my biggest insecurity in life (ok, not “in life,” but definitely about my body). And, if possible, this should happen every couple of hours. Fabulous.

Thursday 1/15

I'm still a bit fuzzy on the timeline for this day, but this is what I've got from talking it out with Tianna and Kyle. Breakfast in the hospital came at 8 am, but mine was interrupted by a nurse saying I wasn't allowed to eat any more b/c I needed a CT scan and the contrast would make me sick if I had any food in me. Of course, I'd already eaten some, so we had to wait a few hours anyway. I'd had a chest x-ray the morning before, but this was the first (and only) CT I had in the hospital. I was taken down to the scan right around noon (Kyle had just arrived, after finishing class, so he went down with me while T went to the cafeteria for lunch). I was hoping to get lunch when I got done, but they said no, not until they had the results. The next thing I heard, I needed to go back to surgery! I don't remember actually being told; I can't remember who told me. But I remember the terrifying sinking feeling I got. The infection had spread to the right side of my neck and into my chest. And so, for the second time in three days, I was headed back for emergency surgery. I also remember that right after I got this news, Michael dropped in to visit. "How are you?" he asked. "Fine," I said. "I have to go back to surgery." I was terrified, though I was trying to downplay it.

Tianna, Kyle, and Michael were all there until I went in (BJ may have shown up just as I was going down; I'm not sure) around 4:15 pm. I was just scared. Not that I would die or anything; just b/c this was a second surgery to fix something I thought was already taken care of. Nobody had told me that my white count was still high (they'd been drawing my blood and checking it for various things ever since I got in), or that my chest x-ray was unsatisfactory, or anything. I thought the CT scan was just normal procedure, not checking to see if I was really getting worse again. So to me, the second surgery came completely out of the blue.

When we finally got going, I was wheeled into Prep., where there were already a few other patients waiting. I remember one guy in particular who looked like he was having some kind of shoulder surgery done, who was laughing and joking with his nurses and doctors. I couldn't understand how he could do that; I was barely talking at all, I was so scared. At least with the first surgery, I was rushed straight into the OR. This time, I had to wait while they got stuff set up, I guess. And again, they wouldn't let me have any water, and I hadn't eaten or drunk anything since my interrupted breakfast. I convinced them to get me going on those pink sponges, though, which was at least better than nothing. A nurse gave me another IV, I think. The anesthesiologist came in and explained what they were gonna do (they have to do this, but it's really quite perfunctory, along the lines of "we're gonna go back into the left side of your neck as well as into the right side and clean it all out, and we're gonna do the same thing in your chest"). Finally it was time to go, and I was wheeled out of Prep and into the OR. Before they gave me the anesthesia (I still don't know why), they put in a central line. This was excruciating. I felt like a bolt was being screwed into my collarbone, and I just kept wondering to myself why this couldn't have waited until I was unconscious. (From what I understand, the thing was inserted and situated right underneath the collarbone (but not actually in it, of course :) )). Finally, they knocked me out. Again, I had been really looking forward to this part (mostly, this time, once they started that wretched central line).

The surgery took 6 hours. Initially, they told us 2 hours. Out in the waiting room, T, BJ, and Kyle were, well, waiting. After 2 hours, Kyle called the number to check my status, and they told him it would be another 2 hours. After 2 more hours, he called and was told the same thing. Finally, though, the surgeons were done with me. (Dr. Gibb was joined this time by a thoracic surgeon, Dr. McCann.)

This next part comes from what T, BJ, and Kyle have told me: they finally got into my ICU room to see me around midnight. They tried to talk to me and do all the things I'd been requesting over the last few days (I've decided that when you're in pain and sick, there are very few things more comforting than the sound of your loved ones' voices, even if it's just nonsense, so I was constantly asking them to "tell me stories"), but I was clearly in extreme pain. They pointed out to my nurse how I was grimacing in pain around the breathing tube, and she explained the situation a bit. Normally, this kind of surgery meant an epidural, but they couldn't give me one because of the risk of further infection. So instead, they had me on the highest possible doses of morphine and sedatives. The more they talked to me, however, the more alert I was, which meant that I was in more pain. The best thing they could do for me, she said, was to leave. So they did, after only 10 or 15 minutes.

Friday 1/16

I have very few recollections of that Friday, which, from what I hear, is a very good thing. I remember flashes of utter misery, but that's about it. Apparently, although the dose of sedatives had been reduced enough that I was alert, I still wasn’t exactly coherent. I kept asking where I was and when I was going to surgery (not realizing that I’d already been). I don’t remember Mom arriving at all, though she obviously did. Wait—mebbe I do? I have an image in my head of her walking in the door, though I suppose that could just as easily have been any time in the next several days. Still, I wanna say that was when she arrived.

Apparently I was constantly wanting to sit up (no idea why). I’d developed a habit over the last week of putting my hand behind my head to lift it when I needed to, since my neck was no longer working for this simple task, so whenever they saw me put my hand up, they rushed to tell me I couldn’t sit up.

Most of what I remember is attached to some strong emotion. Like asking for Kyle: I asked for him all the time (please remember that my short-term memory was only good for about 3 minutes, and then I forgot everything), but I only actually remember asking for him and having him not be there. (Guests get kicked out of ICU for a couple of hours every day so nurses and doctors can make their rounds and such, and I remember vividly being told that he was there, but waiting outside. Several times, b/c, like I said, I kept forgetting stuff. Kyle actually stayed overnight Friday night; he says that whenever I woke up, I wanted someone there, so he stayed.)

I remember my extreme frustration with not being able to talk b/c of the tube down my throat. I had paper to write on, but T, BJ, and Kyle kept telling me to re-write things, which drove me crazy. (Apparently, I would start out alright, but get tired halfway through a word and start writing in teeny weeny print, or just stop moving the pen so that everything was written on top of itself. This is actually true; they saved the papers, and my scribblings are largely illegible. They looked fine to me at the time, though, and I couldn’t understand why everyone was being so troublesome.) I also tried to use sign language, but since I was the only one there who knew it, that didn’t work so well. I remember trying to teach them some individual signs, and Kyle says that whenever I got bored I would try to teach him the alphabet. They got pretty good at recognizing my fingerspelling of “morphine,” though my fingerspelling had problems similar to my handwriting: I didn’t usually extend my fingers all the way, which made it difficult for them to identify what I was signing.

I remember asking for morphine a lot. And I remember looking down and seeing the nurse reach over to the button laying right next to my hand to click it for me. It took me a very long time to realize that I could do this myself; my brain just wasn’t working.

I remember being woken up in the middle of the night so that the nurses could help me roll “onto my side,” which really just meant that my weight got shifted and a pillow got put under my hip and shoulder. I wasn’t really on my side, just kind of at an angle.

I remember fussing with the stockings on my feet. They were open-toed and went up to my knees, and they were underneath these compression sleeve thingies that filled up with air to keep me from getting blood clots in my legs. But the stockings hung over my toes, and I wanted my toes uncovered, so I kept trying to get people to pull them up a little bit.

I don’t remember having Tales of Beedle the Bard and Artemis Fowl read to me. In their entirety. Repeatedly.

Saturday 1/17

My nurse in the ICU that day, Tecia, was especially bouncy and cheery. She announced right off that it was gonna be a great day, I was looking very good, and we were gonna get rid of those tubes down my throat. For which I was very grateful, but it was definitely not a fun process. First, to check to see if I was ready, they deflated the balloon-thingy near my lungs and then made me try and talk around the tube. This was very painful, but I managed it. Then they switched everything back on, and I wrote on my paper "DON'T MAKE ME DO THAT AGAIN." I just knew, somehow, that they were gonna have another doctor come in, and he would want to see this proof for himself. And I was right! Another doctor came in and tried to make me do it again. The tech or nurse or whoever was already there laughed and held up my paper. They let me off without repeating that particular torture. Of course, getting the tubes out was bad, too. In case you’re wondering, yes, the extubation process is basically exactly like they show it on TV. They have you cough while they pull the tube out, which seemed, somehow, to be as long as I was tall. Seriously, it just kept coming. And though coughing wasn’t easy by any means, it was fairly simple to sustain for the duration of the procedure—you just had to get it started. All in all, it’s a very weird feeling.

Sunday 1/18

Tecia was my nurse again today, the only time during my stay that I had a nurse two days in a row, and the only ICU nurse to be repeated at all. Wait…I think I had the same nurse Friday night and Saturday night, but since I don’t remember much from Friday night, it’s hard to be sure. She’s the sort of person who I could see really annoying me in any other situation, with all her cheery bounciness. But at this time, it was exactly what I needed. I felt just dreadful, but her happiness was very encouraging. :D

This afternoon, some people came by from the hospital branch (who knew there was an entire branch dedicated to just the hospital?) with the sacrament. There was the branch president and his wife and two of their adult kids. By this point, I had my “Soothing” playlist playing nonstop from my laptop (it was very relaxing, especially when I woke up in the night in pain or something), and none of us thought to pause it before we got started. Awesomely enough, just after they had started blessing the bread, a beautiful violin rendition of “Ave Maria” came on. It was fabulous, and I had to try really hard to not laugh. Afterward, we realized that I probably shouldn’t have taken the bread, since I still wasn’t allowed solid foods. Oops?

You may not think it's possible...

...but it is. I ruined Hamburger Helper. Yes, I have reached new heights of cooking awesomeness. (Kyle, this is what happens when I cook on my own!) Turns out, when they say to simmer for 10 minutes stirring frequently, they don't mean that you should go into the other room and get distracted for 10 minutes, returning to stir just in time for it to be done. That's a bad plan. So that you don't have to do this experiment yourself, I'll tell you what happens: large portions get stuck to the bottom of the pan. Even burned. In many cases, there is a disproportionate amount of pasta stuck to the pan, resulting in a meal containing lots of hamburger. Yes, fortunately, it was mostly salvageable. We were just careful to not scrape anything off the bottom. And there wasn't enough for any leftovers.

Probably still not dying?

Late last night, just as I was getting ready for bed, I got a sore throat and was instantly terrified. But I thought I'd try to forestall any true panicking until the morning, at least. Y'know...mebbe it'd just go away on its own, right? Well, it didn't. I got up this morning and it hurt really badly and was also quite swollen (on the right side). So I called Dr. Gibb's office (I actually wanted to call Dr. McCann, since he's the one who first told me to call if I got sick or anything, and he's way closer and more convenient, but Kyle persuaded me to call the actual throat doctor...), and his nurse called me back a few minutes later. (I was actually embarrasingly choked-up when I was first talking to the nurse, but I was really scared. By the time she called back, I'd gotten a bit better control of myself.) Anyway, Dr. Gibb wanted me to come see him at 2 pm, so I did.

Now, Kyle was supposed to be spending all day on campus, studying for and then taking a test, but the moment I said my throat hurt, he came over here instead. I was very grateful for this; he has a very soothing effect on me. But I still feel bad. Why are these things never convenient?

Anyway, we drove down to Dr. Gibb's office in Payson. He looked in my throat and said I definitely have some acute tonsilitis going on, but he didn't see any abscess threat (phew!). They did a strep test, which came back negative. (Basically, I got the same diagnosis as I got the first time I went to Urgent Care: it's not strep. This leads me to the following conclusion, based on all that came after that: I'm probably not dying. But it's possible.) He gave me some antibiotics because, as we all know now, there are other bacteria it could be. And if it's not another bacteria, it will at least be preventative.

Personally, I'm betting on it being that mono Kyle had a while back, especially since we didn't know it was mono for so long. But Dr. Gibb said a mono test isn't effective until a week or so into it, so it would be useless to do one right now. I have to go back in a week if I'm not better, so I expect he'll order one then (if I have to go back).

So for now, I'm taking my antibiotics, and ibuprofen for the swelling (it's really painful to swallow, but the ibuprofen helps that a lot) and just hoping that this will all go away soon. As Kyle pointed out this morning, it just wouldn't be fair for this to be anything serious. And since life is always fair, I am now completely unconcerned...