I keep getting requests for the link to what happened to me, so I figured I’d take this blogging opportunity to repost it. Sorry for those of you who have already seen it. And thanks again for all the love and support that continues to stream my way!!
Cassie/Tina
For me, November 17, 2010 started out pretty much like a normal day. I had no way of knowing that it would end my life as I knew it for quite a whileā¦
I woke up early and went to a chiropractor appointment, stopping by Office Max on the way home to print out several copies of a handout for the talk I was doing that evening at a book signing at a local Borders. The day unfolded just like any other as I gathered my bookmarks, āsigned by the authorā stickers and other items Iād need for the signing.
I ate a light meal on the way out the door and hugged and kissed my son and husband goodbye, smiling as they wished me luck at the signing. As is my habit, that night I left early and programmed the address into the GPS in my car.
I arrived about 45 minutes early, parking in the parking garage across from the entrance to the Borders Waterfront. I armed my car alarm, noted where Iād parked and walked across the street with my ābook signingā bag slung over my shoulder. I quickly stopped at the front counter to ask for Jackie, the manager, to let her know Iād arrived for the signing.
Within minutes Jackie was there, guiding me over to meet the other author who was signing that night. She introduced us, asked me what she could get me to drink and then left us to chat.
I asked the other author about her book, she asked about mine and I enjoyed the easy conversation that usually arises between two people who love the craft of writing.
Let me say now that at this point, I felt absolutely fine. No headache, only that sense of anticipation deep in my gut that I always feel before I speak or do a signing ā that anticipation of meeting readers and putting my work āout there.ā
Iām not sure how much time passed, probably no more than ten minutes before Jackie returned with an iced chai and set it next to me. I took a few sips and then sucked in a deep breath as the first wave of pain hit in my right temple and fanned out across my skull. Confused, I glanced to my right convinced that someone had come up beside me and had started to chisel and hammer into my right temple.
I heard Jackie speaking to someone else ā an employee? Another customer was sick ā possibly having a stroke? She called 911 and I let the soft hum of voices wash over me as another wave of pain speared through me and my stomach began to roil. I sat down hard in the nearest chair, and even the thought of taking another sip of chai made my stomach buck. I swallowed hard to keep from throwing up onto the floor in front of me.
My skin turned suddenly clammy and I sucked in deep breaths in between the waves of pain that seemed as if someone was drilling into my skull from the inside out.
When Jackie finished her conversation and hung up the phone, she turned and I motioned to get her attention.
āIām sorry, something is wrong. Iām feeling like Iām going to throw up and Iāve got a horrible pain in my head ā worse than any migraine Iāve ever had. Something is very wrong, but Iām not sure what. I need to call my husband to come and get me.ā
I remember her answering, soothing words and soft questions. She handed me a trashcan, and my stomach immediately responded.
I grabbed my cell and hit speed dial for my husband. He answered and I told him I needed him to come and get me. I filled him in, quickly telling him where Iād parked so he could find my car, and that I wasnāt sure what was wrong, but whatever this was it was my new āhighā on my personal pain scale and that something was very wrong. He told me to hang in there that he was on his way and everything was going to be fine. I hung up and looked up to find Jackie studying me critically. I remember her telling me I was pale and sweaty and asking if she should call 911.
At first I recoiled at the idea. It has been drilled into me that you only called 911 in an emergency. Was this an emergency? I wasnāt sure, and I was in too much pain to think straight. Luckily she took it out of my hands. She called telling the operator she had called a few minutes ago, but now had an author who was in great pain, clammy, and had just gone pale. She mentioned that I had a history of migraines, but that this pain was off the charts and I let the words wash over me as the next wave of pain hit nearly sending me off the chair and to my knees. I reached out for the trash can again as my stomach bucked in protest and I threw up again, the convulsions of my stomach making the head pain that much worse.
Time spun out having little meaning for me beyond the space in between times I threw up and waves of pain. I was dimly aware of the arrival of the EMTās, and softly answered their questions about any medications I was takingānoneāand that yes Iād had migraines in the past and had a prescription of Immitrex at home from my family doctor, but that Iād never visited a neurologist for them.
I have flashes of memory where they swung my feet up onto a stretcher, and then of being carried. Then I was in a vehicle and it was moving. I swallowed hard against another wave of nausea, calling out to the driver to warn them, but the waves passed quickly, unfortunately followed by another hard wave of pain in my head. I know I moaned and clutched the right side of my head, rocking back and forth lightly to comfort myself.
Iām not sure how much time passed, only marked by large waves of pain and stomach clenching bouts of nausea. But then, finally, I realized weād stopped moving and I was no longer in the ambulance. My husbandās deep voice sounded beside me and my tight muscles relaxed as I drank in the comfort that welcome sound brought. He was here! He would make sure I was all right. The fear that had begun to set in receded enough for me to think again, Then I remember only snippets ā faces, lights, the sharp sting of needles in my arms, the cold touch of fingers encased in gloves against the skin of my face. Impressions, sounds, smellsā¦
Then the pain returned, consuming me. My husband tried to calm me and kept telling me to be still. I realize now that they were trying to do a Cat Scan, but that I wouldnāt hold still. I begged him to make the pain stop. He told me if I held still, they could figure out what was wrong and make the pain stop. Irritated, I replied that if they made the pain stop that I could hold still. I heard his quick huff of breath that told me my snippy comment was no more than he expected me to say and he murmured soothing nonsense words to me telling me that the pain would be gone soon. His deep voice soothed me like little else could, but it didnāt stop the pain and I began lightly rocking to sooth myself again, ignoring the repeated requests to hold still. I may have flipped him off, I donāt remember, but it seems like something I wouldāve done at that point so I wouldnāt be surprised.
Here my memory skips forward and I either heard someone say it or I realized that Iām coming out of surgery. I have a moment of panic since Iām not sure what type of surgery I had or had even needed, but I hear my husbandās voice in the next room and the panic recedes. He wouldnāt have let them operate if it wasnāt needed. Then there are a montage of faces leaning over me, people asking me questions or demanding I respond in some way, and lights overhead as Iām moved from one place to another.
I keep expecting paināafter all, surgery means pain, right? But from the sluggishness of my thoughts and the slow response of my body to my mental commands I realize there are still some heavy drugs in my system from the surgery. My first reaction is relief that there is no more pain to bear, and then disorientation as I struggle to fill memories into the great blank block of time left behind in my personal timeline from the surgery and the drugs.
Suddenly my husband is next to me holding my hand. I squeeze his hand in mine, drinking in the comfort that provides and basking in his familiar scent as I battle back fear over what had happened. I try to speak to ask him what happened, but my throat hurts as if Iād yelled too much, and I swallow hard against the discomfort.
He lays a calming hand on my cheek and tells me to relax, that it is all over.
I open my eyes and look up into his face. His expression holds relief, not fear, which calms my own growing panic. He leans close and quickly explains what happened using words that flow past me like AVM, brain bleed and others that didnāt really register at the time. He made sure to tell me that it isnāt congenital so I donāt have to worry about my son having it. He said it is like a birth defect and that 1% of the population has it. He mentions brain surgery and I study his face, expecting him to crack a smile at any moment and tell me heās kidding.
There was no way Iād just had brain surgeryā¦was there?
Then I was movingāpossibly in a wheel chair or even just in a rolling hospital bed? Lights flash by overhead and the scenery changes on either side of me. Iām out of a hallway and in some type of foyer. I glance to the right where there are three figures who seem out of place in a hospital. All three are dressed in black jeans and denim shirts and have large, round skeletal heads that remind me of bone tumbleweeds.
I have a quick thought of ādamn, those are some really good drugs theyāre giving me, ā before one of the figures winked at me. I looked closer look and realized they had elongated canines ā i.e. vampire teeth. The spurt of unease that had started to slip through me dissolved as I realized I recognized these figures.
The first was my brother who had passed away in 2001. The second was my stepmother who Iād lost just the previous year, and the third was my grandfather who had passed away back in 1989. None of these three would ever harm me, no matter if they now possessed vampire teeth or not.
Thin logic, but hey, the drugs still pumped through my system and my slow moving brain didnāt cry foul at my thin logic, so I went with it J
When I become aware again, I was in a hospital room on a hospital bed. As if summoned by my eyes fluttering open, my door opened and a nurse entered.
Our gazes met and she flashed me an encouraging smile. āHow are you feeling?ā
I take a moment to evaluate before answering. āSo hot, so thirsty. And I have to get up and go pee.ā I winced as only a raspy whisper emerged from my sore throat. I tried to clear my throat and winced against the sudden flash of discomfort.
āYou had a ventilator tube down your throat for quite a while, honey, so your vocal chords are swollen and irritated. Keep trying and your voice will get better.
āAnd you have a catheter in, so go ahead and pee when you feel you need to.ā
A quick moment of concentration centered around the discomfort of the catheter confirmed her words.
Damn, but I hated catheters! When Iād been admitted to the hospital for emergency gall bladder surgery just after my son was born, Iād left the hospital with a string of urinary track infections because of catheters. I wasnāt a fan.
My other discomfort came back reminding me how badly I wanted a drink. āThirsty, so thirsty.ā
āWe need to clear you for ice chips or thin liquids, honey. Can you cough for me and clear your throat? If the liquid goes down the wrong way and you arenāt able to get it out, it will sit in your lungs and give you pneumonia. You donāt want that do you?ā
āI bit back the sarcastic comment that sprang to mind. āIs there anyone who would answer yes to this question?ā But I obediently cough and clear my throat, ignoring the pain as she praises my efforts.
She set a cup in front of me and told me to only take a small sip.
āWhat is it? I push out in a painful, raspy whisper.
āWater.ā
She helps me sit up and I look down at the cup. A feathery web of something shiny sits just on top of the liquid. āWhatās that?ā I point at the water and touch a fingertip to the clear froth floating on top.
āItās thickened water, honey. If it goes down the wrong way, itās easier for you to clear out thickened liquids.ā
I wasnāt convinced, but I was still thirsty so I reached out until I was able to close my fingers around the small plastic cup. I lifted the cup to my lips and took a small sip. Cool water hit my dry tongue an instant before a glob of a slimy substance triggered my gag reflex. I coughed and the nurse scolded me to be careful about swallowing, but I hadnāt swallowed anything yet. I concentrated and moved the tiny sip of water back toward my throat. I tried to swallow, but my throat responded slowly as if it had forgotten how to do this. I winced as pain shot down my throat and the sip of water went down the wrong way.
I coughed until it cleared as the nurse patted me on the back and encouraged me to continue to clear my throat to get all of the water out.
I cleared my throat again, the vibration of my vocal chords awkward and uncomfortable.
āGood, very good. Hereās a little ice.ā
I opened my mouth and she slipped a spoon with some ice chips on it between my lips.
āDonāt chew, just let it melt on your tongue.ā
The next thing I remember is sitting up. Iām not sure where in the hospital I was, but I was no longer in my room, and a different nurse sat to my left. I smelled food so we may have been in the dining room where the patients gathered to eat and socialize. I turned to face the nurse, glad to note the absence of any pain. āWhatās the date today?ā
There was a slight pause before she answered, āDecember 14th, honey.ā
My pulse quickened. Iād lost a few weeks? āItās my birthday today.ā
A male voice to my right said, āNo, itās not. Youāre just not remembering right because of all the meds and surgeries.
āIt is my birthday,ā I insisted to the man who I now realize was one of the aides.
āCheck her wrist band,ā came the voice of the nurse.
The man lifted my wrist and the gentle bite and slide of the plastic strips against my skin told me he was searching for the information.
āSheās right. It is her birthday.ā
I bit back a scathing comment at his condescending tone.
āDo you remember how old you are today, honey?ā This from the nurse.
The answer popped immediately into my mind and I winced even as I confirmed with my gut that it was correct. When had I gotten this old?? āIām forty-two today.ā
I waited for them to tell me I was wrong or recheck my wristband again, but nothing happened.
āHappy birthday, they finally said in near unison.ā
āNot exactly how Iād planned to spend my birthday, I plan to fire my travel agent.ā
I winced as some of my pent up snark escaped. After all, it wasnāt their fault I was here.
They both laughed, and relief slid through me that I hadnāt offended them with my sarcasm.
The nurse lightly touched my arm and I turned to look at her. āDo you remember your name?ā
āTina Marie Gerowā
āWho is the President?ā
āObama,ā I answered without thinking.
āDo you know where you are?ā
āScottsdale Healthcare Osborn,ā I remembered my husband saying. I suddenly wondered where he was, and resisted the urge to interrupt and ask.
āDo you know what kind of a place this is?ā
āA hospital.ā
āDo you know why youāre here? Do you remember what happened?ā
āI was at a book signing, I began, and then told her what I remembered as she smiled and nodded.
āYou look like you have a question, honey.ā
āDo you know where my husband is?ā
She nodded and smiled again. āHe left for work about a half an hour ago. He said heād be back around four this afternoon.
Warmth spread through my chest and expanded. He was here and I missed him?ā Moisture filled my eyes and blurred my vision. I blinked to clear my vision and keep the tears from falling.
āHeās here every day, honey. Usually with your son and your Dad.ā
At the mention of my son, Darian, my tear ducts went into overdrive and a few tears escaped to slide down my cheeks. He was only sixteen. How scary it must have been for him to watch me go through all this. A huge unseen fist squeezed my heart and an overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around my son and reassure him that I was all right filled me.
It took a minute for me to register that sheād mentioned my Dad as well.
āMy Dad?ā More hot tears slid down my cheeks to fall against my arms and the aide pressed a wad of tissues into my hand.
āYes, your Dad.ā
āBut he lives in Ohio and this happened nearly a month ago.ā
The nurse smiled and nodded again. āItās great to have supportive parents. And youāve got an entire family of support.ā
The aide cleared his throat and I turned to look at him.
āDo you remember your profession?ā
I smiled as the answers came readily to mind. āIām an author, and a part time Starbucks barista.ā
The aideās expression turned dubious. āIs she hallucinating?ā
His gaze was on the nurse and not me so I didnāt bother to answer even though I chafed at his condescending tone. His fingers closed around my wrist.
I snorted. āThatās not going to be on there.ā
āShe really is an author,ā the nurse surprised me by saying. āWe went to her website and read some excerpts.ā She laughed. āTalk about steamy!ā
The aide laughed. āReally? Youāll have to show me when we get downstairs.ā
The aide tapped my hand and I turned to look at him.
āYouāre also a barista at Starbucks?ā
I nodded.
āOkay, how do you make a caramel macchiato?ā
āHot or cold, and what size?ā
āDoes it make a difference?ā
I nodded, irritated with both his questions and his still-condescending tone.
āHot, Venti.ā
I smiled as the familiar recipe came easily to me. After all, in my two years working at Starbucks, Iām sure Iād made thousands of them. āFour pumps of vanilla in the bottom of a Venti cup,ā I began.
āWait, donāt Venti hot drinks get five pumps of syrup?ā
āNormally, but for caramel macchiatos, each size gets one pump less.ā
He studied me critically and I pulled my wrist away before he could try to check the information on my wristband. However, I was pretty sure he was going to check my answer at the earliest opportunity.
āThen you steam the milk and pour it on top with some good foam to float the shots on. Two espresso shots go on top and then some drizzle of caramel sauce in a zig zag pattern.ā
āIt only gets two shots? I thought it got three.ā
āThatās in the Iced Venti.ā
He nodded without any disbelief or condescension in his expression this time.
I held out my arm. āYou want to check my wrist band?ā
He chuckled and shook his head.
Maybe there was hope for him yet.
Suddenly uncomfortable and very thirsty, I realized how dry and pasty my mouth was. I bit my tongue to try to create some saliva, but to no avail. āSo hot, so thirsty.ā
The nurse laid a gentle hand on my arm āWould you like to try some more water, honey?ā
At the thought of more slimy water inside my mouth I gagged and coughed. āThat stuff tastes like drinking someone elseās snot.ā
The aide laughed and the nurse clucked her tongue. āDo you remember what I told you about what would happen if it goes down wrong and stays in there?ā
I bit my tongue hard against a sarcastic retort, āYeah, pneumoniaā, I remembered. But wouldnāt I end up dying of dehydration first? I glanced down at my arms to confirm that there was no IV giving me liquids.
The next thing I remember, Iām lying in a darkened room, the weak light filtering in through the window enough to illuminate the clock face, but not enough for me to make out much else. From the lumpy mattress, the rock hard pillow and the stiff sheets, I assume Iām in a hospital bed, which makes sense if Iād recently had surgery.
My body aches telling me Iāve been lying in one position for too long. I roll to the right and am caught short as something yanks hard against my left wrist. Pain flares through my wrist and up my arm and I twist my wrist, surprised to find some type of cloth biting into my skin. I reach out with my right hand to explore what has me in its grip, but my right hand is caught short as well. Frustrated, I kick my feet, but the motions of both legs are stopped short as well.
Iām restrained? Disbelief spears through me. After all, Iāve spent my life as a rule follower, what could I have possibly done to warrant being tied hand and foot to a hospital bed?
āYou pulled out your feeding tube and slapped a nurse.ā
I startle at my husbandās voice. I hadnāt realized he was in the room, or that Iād asked my question out loud. āI did what?ā
āTo be fair, she was pestering you trying to get a response. After the surgeries, they turned off your sedation every two hours to get you to respond to stimuli. During one of those sessions, you pulled out your feeding tube and slapped a nurse who was bugging you. They learned quickly after that to just reduce the sedation, not turn it off.ā
āThat would do it,ā I murmured to myself as I gently pulled against the restraints, irritation at being punished for something I didnāt even remember doing burning through me. I understood their reasoning, but I didnāt have to like it.
I mustāve dozed off then because when I woke up, my husband was gone, my left wrist throbbed from the run in with the restraints, my bladder screamed that it was overly full and a searing headache galloped over the top and right side of my head. I groped around until my hand closed over the remote for the nurseās call button. I pressed the button and then set the remote away from me, wriggling to try to find a more comfortable position to lie in with the limitation of the restraints. I glanced up at the clock surprised to realize more than an hour had passed since Iād last looked.
I tried to relax and close my eyes, but the pain in my wrist and my head and the discomfort of my too full bladder made it nearly impossible. I know they said I had a catheter in, but it obviously wasnāt relieving the pressure. Or Iād gotten another āfunā hospital urinary tract infection that made me feel like I had to constantly go. L
My head throbbed and I glanced up at the clock, surprised to see that forty minutes had passed since Iād pressed the nurseās call button. I grabbed the remote and pressed the call button several more times wondering if my repeated efforts were just as useless here as they were on an elevator button. I let my eyes slip closed as the throbbing in my head went into overdrive and radiated down my right jaw. I tried to reach up to touch my face, but was stopped short by the restraint.
Frustration and helplessness burned through me and I tried to call out, but only a weak, raspy sound emerged.
Nearly ten full minutes later, fifty minutes after Iād first hit the nurseās call button, someone finally came to check on me. She was a different nurse than I remembered seeing before and listened to me with a quiet compassion that I appreciated, and I made sure to tell her so before she left. She returned a while later with some meds for my headache and my wrist pain and loosened the restraints, although we were both surprised to find the one on my right wrist totally off. I didnāt remember wriggling out of it, but she told me with a quiet laugh that I probably had. She said the nurses on the floor called me Houdini because I had a knack for wriggling out of well-tied restraints. She also told me she would have my urine tested for a UTI, which might be the cause of my discomfort.
I thanked her for her help and for listening to me. After so many people speaking to me as if I were a small child over the past several days? Weeks? This one woman treating me as if I were a person, and an intelligent adult made all the difference and I made sure she knew how much I appreciated it. She apologized for the long wait to get someone to respond and promised sheād check on me in an hour or so after she did her āchartingā, which I assumed was the nurse version of paperwork ā after all, every job had their own version of paperwork, I knew hers was no different.
The pain receded until I was finally able to sleep and the loosened restraints gave me just enough room to get comfortable in my small environment. When I woke, the nice nurse from the night before was back, smiling down at me and asking if I was ready for something to drink.
My parched mouth confirmed I definitely was and she and I went through the throat clearing and coughing drill until she was satisfied I could get any liquid out that went down the wrong way. Thankfully she brought me a cold Sprite poured over ice, blissfully unthickened, and she helped me sit up and then sip it through a straw.
The cold liquid felt divine going down my abused throat and I vowed to ask for Sprite with extra ice the next time I was thirsty.
āAre you hungry?ā Weāve got you on a pureed diet, but some things arenāt so bad that way.ā She brought me the menu and I glanced over the offerings doubtfully. French toast and eggs caught my eye. Those might not be too bad, especially with syrup and butter.
She smiled seeming to agree with me. āIāll put in the order for you. Breakfast should be up in about twenty minutes. Iāll check back in on you soon.
I glanced up to find my husband standing in the doorway. The nurse filled him in on what had happened with the restraints, the pending test for the UTI, the okay for thin liquids and the pureed food before she left.
I filled him in on the feelings of helplessness and the long wait or a nurse to respond, also filling in how wonderful the nurse who had just left had been to me both last night and this morning. He was concerned about the long wait time and understood my frustration, but said that he really liked that nurse too. She had always been really great when heād spoken to her as well. He said sheād mentioned that I would be moving to a real room soon and had asked him if heād like to come up and spend the night with me sometime. They could bring in a sleeper bed for him.
Excitement curled inside my chest at the idea and I asked him if he was thinking about it. He said he was considering it on a night when my Dad and Darian didnāt need him at home.
He did come up and spend a night and it was wonderful. I could reach out and hold his hand, although I know he spent an uncomfortable night on that horrible chair/bed on the floor beside my bed. I missed my own bed and my own pillow and my aching muscles agreed. My husband promised weād both go get massages when we got home, and to hang in there.
I was soon transferred to a regular room where the days became a blur of meals, meds and visitors and I began rehab therapy sessionsāphysical, occupational and speech. I liked all three of my therapists. They were compassionate, made me feel listened to and like a person and not just another patient, and encouraged me toward my goal of āgetting back home to my guys.ā They always treated me like an intelligent adult and were never condescending or belittling.
A few weeks later one of the therapists asked if Iād like to move to the rehab floor full time where Iād have three hours of therapy a day.
I had already seen the improvements that therapy had brought and knew that the increase in therapy sessions would help me get better than much faster so I gave a quick affirmative and outlined my reasoning which earned a smile and a nod from Simon, my occupational therapist.
The move to the rehab floor was more a change of scenery than anything, but it also brought some unexpected freedoms. They removed the Foley catheter, but I still had to ring for a nurse to help me get up and use the bedside commode or go to the actual bathroom. After a week or so, they cleared my husband to be able to help me up to use the restroom and also to wheel or āwalkā me around the floor with my walker after meals. We could also now have patio privileges, which included heading down to the cafeteria as a family if we liked. These new freedoms along with finding more nurses and aides who actually treated me like a person, and my increased mobility from therapy did wonders for my morale and each of the three therapists told me how quickly I was improving at each session. I was excited by the quick progress and whenever I was asked what my goals were, I was reiterate that I wanted to āget home to my guys.ā I had several visitors over the next few weeks, writer friends, family and other friends, as well as a few phone callsāall of which raised my morale and my commitment to get better and back to my previous self.
One day my occupational therapist came to get me just after breakfast and as we did often in his sessions, we reviewed my goalāto get home to my guysāand he said he thought I was ready, and asked me how I felt about going home.
This was everything Iād been working for, so I was excited by the prospect. My husband worked during the day, but my Dad was still in town and came to visit daily. Heās retired and willing to stay with us for as long as I need him, so I wouldnāt be alone. My son is home in the evenings after school and very willing to help also.
Simon told me heād talk to the doctors and other therapists and see what they thought and get back to me.
I thanked him, but was afraid to get my hopes and have them dashed if it didnāt happen, so instead I tried to take a nap.
Just after lunch I glanced toward the doorway to find my good friend and fellow writer Cheyenne McCray smiling in at me. She came inside and we visited for quite a while before Simon walked past my door again and said, āHow about Thursday to go home? We could do the family meeting on Wednesday with the family training right after that?ā
āThursday is great for me,ā I called out as excitement and anticipation curled inside my gut. I asked Cheyenne if Iād heard him correctly. She confirmed I had and I grabbed the phone to call my husband who sounded just as excited as I felt.
Just like any other highly anticipated event, Thursday took forever to arrive, but it eventually did.
My wonderful husband took me to Olive Garden for my first ārealā food outside of the hospital and even though nothing had tasted quite right since the surgery ā Olive Garden lasagna was amazing!
Iāve been home for two weeks now, and Iām doing Outpatient therapy a few times a week. Iām off the walker and onto a cane and Iām getting stronger every day. Iāve lost a little peripheral vision on the left side, but donāt really have any other functional gaps other than that. Iām very blessed and Iām thankful every day. Looking back is still jarring. I missed Thanksgiving, my birthday, my husbandās birthday, Christmas, and New Years, and I often miss my āold selfā and my āold abilitiesā, but Iām determined to get back there and continue to work hard in therapy.
I took back boxes of signed books to the ICU nurses an the rehab nurses for being so great to me and will definitely go back and visit from time to time.
Iām so thankful for those men and women who were patient with me, compassionate and helped me on the road to recovery. Portia, Christine, Kristin, Matt, Lisa, Manuel and many more. They made a very scary and horrible situation better and Iāll always be grateful to them.