It's been almost a year since my unfortunate fall happened but everything from that fateful day is still vivid to me. We've heard of people who had near-death experiences and all of them have one thing in common --- their entire life flashed before them like a montage scene from a movie.
There are days when I get these little flashes of memories from the time when the pandemic hit to the time when life took a different turn for me.
I have documented my struggles in my journals as well as in my social media accounts but there are certain events that only I know such as the five days Dan and I spent in the hospital. Despite the fear and uncertainty, I truly believe those five challenging days brought us closer to each other. We had no one else to count on because the authorities had imposed strict Covid protocols.
Under normal circumstances, we would have had someone to run errands for us, buy our meals, and look after my needs pre and post-surgery. In hindsight, it was perhaps destined that we would face such an ordeal by ourselves. It was meant to be just the two of us.
I can't recall a time from my childhood (and even up to adulthood) when I had been confined in a hospital for days. My health woes in the past were not hospital-worthy. So, my leg injury allowed me to get my first taste of hospital confinement, and I was not thrilled, to say the least.
Dan made all the crucial decisions for me because clearly, I could not possibly exercise good judgment as I had to endure the unbearable pain of the two broken bones on my right leg. Now I know what they are called --- the tibia (the larger bone) and fibula (the smaller one). He was asked to reserve a hospital room after my initial treatment at the ER. Then, he requested Dr. A, an orthopedic surgeon he knew from way back to take my case.
I was chained to my hospital bed for the entire duration of my confinement. I can only lie on my back because moving from side to side caused so much pain. I did everything on the bed --- wash my face, brush my teeth, take meals, video chat, and everything else I did as a routine. It was disheartening to realize that I can't be me for God knows when.
THE NURSES
There were three regular nurses who kept a close eye on me. The late-night shift was Daisy, the morning shift was May, and the afternoon shift was Ems.
The nurses would come to my room unannounced to check my vital signs, administer medicines via IV, and replenish my dextrose supply. All of them went the extra mile by asking if I was in pain or if I was experiencing any discomfort.
I remember constantly clicking on the nurses' button every time I felt a throbbing pain in my injured leg. My pain threshold has always been low. But surprisingly, when I broke my leg, I did not pass out from extreme pain. It must have been the adrenaline rushing through my body. I did not understand what Dan meant by: PAIN IS GOOD. When does something that hurts like hell become good? It took me months to finally understand the wisdom behind those words.
Nurse Daisy was the "chill one." She did her tasks with ease and efficiency. She was the embodiment of calmness in the midst of a storm. From what I know, nurses on duty are in charge of the patients on a specific hospital floor. Definitely, I wasn't Nurse Daisy's only patient. Her actions though gave me the impression that she was only looking after me. She was always available when I'd click the button. She had answers to my numerous questions. She came on time to administer meds via IV. Her composure was one I can only hope I possess.
Nurse May was the foil to Nurse Daisy if they were literary characters. She was easily agitated, and often overwhelmed by the daunting tasks of the day. I never took it against her because for certain, she had other concerns in her life that must have been weighing her down. We all had struggles to deal with during this pandemic. She was no exception.
Nurse Ems was Miss Chatty and she addressed me as "Be." She didn't mind opening up to me about her family life. I wonder if she was the same to her other patients. I listened to her anecdotes about her young daughter who was in fourth grade in a private school in the city. Her husband works at a telecom company, and they got married after college. Being chatty was perhaps her way of de-stressing from work --- to not make work feel like work.
I have nothing but overwhelming admiration and gratitude for nurses for what they do. It takes a lot of compassion to be able to care for a patient and purposely put his/her welfare ahead of your own. Their commitment to their work and mission is proof that real heroes do not wear capes. Most of the time, they wear scrubs.
THE O.R.
I was scheduled for the Open Reduction Internal Fixation (ORIF) at 6 PM on November 30, 2020. I was asked not to take any meals beyond 11 AM that day which meant I would be lying on the table famished.
It was my first time to go under the knife so I did not have a single idea of what to expect. Everything was new, unfamiliar, and unknown. Will I ever wake up from the surgery? Will my leg hurt? Will my recovery take forever? How many months of rehab will I endure?
I remember not being able to take a short nap because of anxiety. I gave myself a pep talk --- that everything will turn out well and I'd be back on my feet in no time. Behind that feigned courage, I knew I was starting to fall apart. My heart was racing, my hands were sweaty, my spirit was in shambles. It was one of those moments when one wants to quit or surrender but even that is not an option. So what do you do? Pray to the Higher Power to keep you strong in mind, body, and spirit. That's exactly what I did.
I was wheeled into the OR with a small rosary in my hand. It felt like a scene from a medical drama. When the OR doors opened, it signaled that I was completely on my own. Dan won't be there with me as the surgery team cut through my skin. I will be alone with a group of masked medical workers who will perform a miracle on my broken bones.
I remember being placed by the side of the door because the OR assigned to me was still occupied. That was how it felt like to queue for one's life. I was no longer an individual with an identity and a life. I was simply a human body.
I waited for half an hour. I heard chatter from the OR --- doctors, nurses, pharmacists, assistants, etc. going about their usual OR routine. Then, someone stood next to my gurney and introduced himself as the anesthesiologist. He briefly explained that the drug will be administered through my spine. I asked him if I'd feel any pain and discomfort. He replied that I would have been sedated by then.
A man was wheeled out from the OR and it dawned on me that I was next. Soon after, two attendants moved my gurney forward and I started saying my prayers, desperately imploring God to keep me safe during the procedure and that my surgery team will do the best they could to keep me alive.
The first thing I noticed was the cold temperature in the OR. I was not thrilled at all. My low tolerance for pain is directly proportional to my aversion to cold temperatures. I did not have anything underneath my lab gown, which made it even worse.
There were 3-4 masked individuals when I came in. One was preparing the instruments to be used, another was staring at my X-ray under the light, and the others were adjusting the overhead lights. Someone asked how I sustained my injury, another asked where I am from, and after I replied, he said he knew a certain doctor from my hometown.
I was prepped for surgery by a nurse. I lay on my back with arms outstretched. I called it the "Crucifixion pose." I still had my rosary tucked inside my hand, the only source of comfort during those frightening hours. Someone standing close to me said that the sedative was about to be administered. I remember seeing from my limited vision that someone had a syringe in hand and she pushed it into a tube attached to me. I completely blacked out. It felt like being put into a deep sleep.
The moment I opened my eyes, there were only a few left in the OR. Some were preparing to leave. Then I heard a faint voice from the background who said to me that the surgery was over. I was certain it was my ortho surgeon, Dr. A. Time on the clock was 8:30 PM. I saw the rosary dangling on my left wrist.
The next thing I knew, I was wheeled into a room with a patient who like me, was cut open on the operating table. I was shivering violently. Was it the room or was it an after-effect of the surgery performed on me? The chills lasted for 30 minutes.
I felt so weak that I couldn't lift a finger or move my head. Everything was a blur. My entire body was numb. Was it all a dream or was it actually real? I was half-asleep, half-awake. It felt like slipping between two worlds.
I felt a sense of relief that finally the worst is over but looking ahead, I knew it would be a long road to recovery. My mind nearly exploded with all these worrying thoughts. I knew for certain that my life will dramatically change. The old me would have to take a back seat in the meantime. The new me will take over.
Change is constant in life. When it comes, embrace it, accept it, and grow with it.
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