It's my (re)birthday!

 One year ago, I was VERY sick. I knew I was sick, but didn't know how sick I was.

I posted that from my hospital room the day after I had been admitted. I had COVID in mid-January 2022. I started to feel better, then got nausea and vomiting that would not stop for a week. In the middle of that, I had a nurse come to my house and give me some IV fluids which made me feel a little better but really delayed me from going to the hospital.

I really kept thinking I would feel better because I always recovered. It was a late night attempt to get water that made me realize I was definitely not getting better. I remember feeling my chest tighten so much that it made my shoulders roll in. I was trying to stay focused on the task (because I was just so SO thirsty) and leaning on the wall for support. I remember trying to take deep breaths and I couldn't. Then, I was on the floor. I told myself to hang on until 8:00 because I wanted my doctor to be at the hospital. I also knew I couldn't drive in that condition.

I was exhausted. I was dehydrated. I wanted food but knew I couldn't keep it down. I should have gone to the doctor earlier but I just didn't think I'd get worse. I did not want an ambulance ride. I did not want to bother anyone by asking for a ride. I told my doctor that and he told me to take Uber. I passed out when the driver came to the door at my request because I was afraid I could not walk down the sidewalk to the car and would not be seen and might freeze to death on the sidewalk because she wouldn't see me. This was how my brain was functioning at the time: survival with a side of reasonableness.

I had no idea I landed face first on my doorstep. Paramedics showed up, loaded me into the ambulance and that's when I started to recognize that I was really sick but that I was also going to be okay. I was never scared. Not when they said I was too cold. Not when the ER team took me for X-rays of my head (just superficial damage) or my heart. Not when the cardiologist came to tell me my heart was recovering from what I later learned had been a heart attack. Not when the kidney doctor came to tell me that my kidneys were starting to slowly recover but it was going to take time to see if I was going to fully bounce back. Not when the nurses looked scared when I said I wanted to get up and walk to the restroom and said I would not use a walker (I didn't and managed to drag my hospital accessories with me). 

My first hint at my condition came from the night nurse who agreed to place my IV in a place that allowed me to function. When I asked why people kept saying they were so surprised at how I was doing, she said when she read my chart before she came in that most people who are that sick don't recover within a day. It's usually weeks before they're able to get out of bed. 

When I returned home four days later and finally had a real shower, my pjs and my own bed, I had to build the courage to look at my diagnosis. I had a heart attack, acute kidney failure and severe dehydration. My long-term diagnosis: high blood pressure that might go away in time and the chance that I will get kidney disease decades from now. I also get to have a kidney doctor for life. I like her. She always tells me I'm young. 

As I had my follow up visits, I asked each doctor the same question. How am I still here? Each doctor told me because I was otherwise strong. That the heart and kidneys are the last organs to fight. That I got help when they almost lost the ability to keep me going. That had I ignored that last sign, I would not have made it.

I was lucky. I promised that I would never again make my body have to fight like that for me. I promised to fight to get those parts better than they were. I had no idea how hard that would be. 

I have a hard time running because my heart beats a little too fast and I feel like I can't get a breath. So I walk at a pace I call "salty mall walker." I add incline to make it spicy. I flirt with increasing the speed. When my legs say, "let's go!" and my heart responds with, "not so fast!" I listen to my heart. I try not to be frustrated that I can't do the things I used to. I tell myself that a year ago I was in a hospital bed. Recovery takes time. I'm lucky I have that. I also had random fatigue and pain that would pop up when I least expected it. I tried not to complain about it. I accepted that it was something I would just have to get through.

I was just starting to feel almost normal when COVID came back and sent me into panic mode the week before Christmas. I cried to the doctor that I was so scared I would repeat that January experience. I was prescribed Paxlovid. I waited to see if I'd get rebound COVID. Instead, I got the flu. Then, I recovered.

I've also had to struggle with other people's ideas of what I should be doing. Whether that be other health remedies or even changing my routine. Even when people have good intentions, I either stay silent or say, "okay." My journey is my own. Trust that if there is something that can make these lingering symptoms go away, I am trying it.

So here I am. Thankful that I get to move. Thankful for the support that I've received from people who care. Thankful for that kidney doctor who takes the time to guide me through this journey. We're in it forever. I never thought this would be part of my story. I believe tough times can make or break you but that it's up to you to choose which. I feel stronger each day. I have less pain and fatigue. I approach this new life as the opportunity to try and not be afraid to fail. That's why today is my (re)birthday. I get to reflect on the last year, its struggles and successes. I get to set new goals and seek new opportunities. I get to remember that I almost wasn't here. 

Because I am lucky.