Hey. So I've had a proper introduction post ready for quite some time now but haven't gotten the chance and/or courage to begin posting. Something about new beginnings that frighten the living daylight out of people (me), I suppose. I'll absolutely post that up soon but I just wanted to sneak this entry in before that.
I've been in and out
of the hospital for the past week or so but don't worry it's not for myself.
I've had my fair share of medical issues so far and hopefully in five years
time when I'm revisiting this blog I'll be just fine (if you haven't gotten
your skin condition under control by then, goddamnit see someone in plastics!).
So I've been sitting
in the lounge area right outside the ICU at SDMC for the past couple of days. I
counted 12 chairs, arranged in a rectangular fashion, facing one another. It
was my first night there that I got acquainted with the seat that would be my companion
for the next few days.
My grandmother was
sent into the ER and then got immediately transferred to the high dependency
unit in the ICU. That night, the two doctors in charge of her care gathered the
immediate family and myself. We were packed into a cramped, bleak room with a
center table. We sat around it in a tight semi-circle and we got the prognosis.
It wasn't good. She was suffering from multiple organ failure. Her kidneys,
lungs and heart were giving way. So much so that she had to be intubated and
subsequently sedated. The doctors wanted our decision on pursuing aggressive
treatment options or to let nature take its course. They weren't saying it
outright, but it was pretty much written on their faces: "Sorry for your
loss."
They didn't require a
decision but they needed it nonetheless. It was at 2am that our debate began.
Opinions were voiced, voices were raised, words were said, tears shed. The
issue of being put on life support as opposed being let go peacefully was
discussed among other things. We finally came to a consensus to go forward with
whatever treatments that it would take, for the time being And it was a good
choice.
I am now sitting in
the general ward section of the building a week later. After a number of
re-intubations and blood pressure elevating drugs, my grandmother made a
miraculous recovery and got transferred out of the ICU.
Just thinking about
how we were talking about deathbeds to her current condition is amazing. Some
would thank god. Some would attribute the recovery to the fighting spirit, the
will to live.
Me? I'm not so sure
anymore.
----
On a completely
different but related note, I was cleaning out my cupboard the other day and I
happened upon an old envelope that I had gotten from my confirmation. Now,
anyone who knows me know that I am absolutely the total opposite of devout, oh
so very skeptical of religion. But in that envelope, was a star that had one of
the most ironic (perhaps even appropriate) words at that time.
It said "hope".
Coincidence or...?
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