Dying is Not An Option/Installment -10-
I was in the Mayo Hospital for four days following my knee replacement surgery. My recovery was going fine. My blood tests were off their presurgical marks, with the red cells spiking. “Fairly normal,” the doctor said, “considering the blood loss during surgery.” The OS had decided not to transfuse me with fresh blood, and allow my body to fight back from the losses naturally. I don’t know anything about leukemia and fighting back after a knee replacement, but it sounded like a great idea to me. No need to feed the leukemia cells fresh blood! (Another one for me, stupid leukemia.)
I went home on Tuesday, and my first physical therapy was to be Friday at the Wellness Center in Prescott. I was feeling good. Even chipper. Nothing seemed to be standing in the way of recovery. Yes! I was a self-assured, happy camper, and set off for my new adventure, limping, but walking, head and shoulders held high, following slowly behind my walker, happily visiting the local PT therapist for the first time. I met with my assigned therapist and liked him immediately. I went through the basic stretches, (nothing more exerting than I’d experienced while in the hospital from the OT and PT people.) After the PT, I was chatting with some of the other patients in the waiting room, when my husband returned from shopping. I began the slow trek out to the car, with Danny running ahead to open the door for me, when I began to lose consciousness. The world began to tilt, spin, and wave into blackness. The whole thought process going on within my brain was . . . “make it to the safety of the car. Don’t fall!” I barely made it into my car’s front seat when I passed out completely. When I awoke, my husband seemed to be shouting at me from within a long tunnel. “Do I call 911?” he was yelling. It took awhile to answer, but I found myself gasping, “NO! I’m OK.”
I was literally drenched in sweat from head to toe and gasping for air, trying to slow down my heart rate. My first thoughts upon passing completely out had been – blood clot, crap, I’m dead, then . . . I’d heard a small, firm, assuring voice within my mind and it soothingly whispered . . . “NO! You’re not dying. It’s not your time yet.” I felt peaceful and calm, and completely believed the voice and its assurances, while giving in to the darkness surrounding me at the time. For those of you who’ve heard these whispers from within your mind in times of pain and crisis, you know what I’m talking about. It’s akin to an instant recognition of a spirit-filled voice within, one that’s assuring and caring, surrounding your mind with the “rightness” and clarity of whispered knowingness.
When I came into a conscious awareness of sorts, I poured cold water onto some clean paper napkins and began sopping off the dripping sweat from my face and arms. The fuzziness began to dissipate. Once I felt fully aware of my surroundings, I asked Danny to go through a drive-through restaurant and get me a drink with sugar in it. I felt like my blood sugar might be low. I was shivering and cold. After the drink, I felt somewhat better, and asked to be taken home, NOT to the hospital as he was insisting. Getting out of the car at home, the waves hit me again, and I barely made it to the sofa, where I lost consciousness again. This time I knew I was going to be OK. I trusted the voice.
I called the Mayo upon recovery, and after eliminating all the symptoms for clots and other major developments, they told me I’d just ran out of gas and to rest for a few days. The fainting spells lasted for two more days, then I felt my body begin to fight back against the stress and blood loss from surgery. I was beginning to stabilize.
Would I have the knee replacement surgery again? Yes! It was a risk my oncologist and I were willing to take, and it was the right one. I’m walking without a lot of pain and feeling so much better than before surgery. I recommend it for any person suffering with acute arthritic pain and bone on bone stress. It’s a miracle what the medical profession can do today with the new drugs and replacements. Imagine what the future will hold with stem cell and other cutting edge developments? I can’t even begin to imagine trying to undergo chemo and other treatments in my future, with the pain and fight split between two separate areas of my body. The knee replacement was the right thing to do . . . for me . . . on both a spiritual and emotional level.
I returned to the Mayo and had the hundred or so staples removed from my knee a week after the fainting spells. The blood results showed that my blood cells had returned to pre-surgery levels. My body had indeed fought back. Maybe my oncologist is a psychic doc? How did he know I would be OK? I’ll have to ask him someday.
More Later . . .