The Lucky Ones

Hey y'all -

So here's what happened last weekend:

Saturday morning, I got hit by a sudden headache that qualified as The Worst Pain I Have Ever Experienced. I threw up. I cried. I scared the hell out of my husband. I figured, "This must be one of those migraines I'm always hearing people complain about." I laid down on the couch with my head on a bag of frozen lima beans, with a second bag of corn on my forehead. Sufferin' succotash.*

Your dad took Laney to a swimming party, and Hagen stayed home to cheer me up. Sorta.

By noon, I could keep water down. By 5pm, I could eat, so I sent your dad to get tacos because everyone I talked to advised me to start with Saltines and nobody likes Saltines.

Around 10pm, my head still hurt so your dad and I discussed whether or not I should go to the hospital. Your dad's argument that a 14-hour headache isn't normal and "Grandma Sue won't mind coming over to sleep on the couch while we run to the ER" prevailed. (My counter-argument was something like an eye roll followed by a shrug and a "But it's so faaaaarr...") But I started thinking about that actress Natasha Richardson who said she felt fine after falling down skiing and then keeled over dead hours later. So we go.

SATURDAY

10:15p, I walk into the ER and describe my headache, figuring I'll be laughed out of the hospital. Instead, the nurse takes my vitals and calls for the doc. Next door, I hear a supremely large, loud, drunk dude emptying the contents of his stomach. I think, "Thank God I'm not THAT guy."

The more I talk to the doc, the more concerned he becomes, and at 11:30p, I have a CT scan.



SUNDAY

12:15a, I find out the scan reveals blood on my brain. I'm bleeding from somewhere inside my head, but they don't know where. Could be an aneurism. Could be dangerous. Could be "life-threatening." Depending on the results of the angiogram they're sending me off to, they might have to do a craniotomy. I start crying. I try not to think about you kids, because every time I do, I become hysterical.

I remember the drunk guy from earlier who was trying to win the Olympic gold medal in Puking, and now wish I could trade places with that guy.

2:00am. Angiogram. Totally unpleasant. If you ever get a chance, pass.

4:00am. They still don't know where the bleeding is coming from, and I'm admitted to the Neuro ward. I send your dad home so he can be there for you guys when you wake up and make you breakfast and explain that mom doesn't feel good.

1:00pm. My new neurologist comes by in a Hawaiian shirt and says that they don't see an aneurism on the scan, but there's no way of knowing without doing another scan. Since you have to wait 24 hours between scans, I'll be spending the night in the hospital.

2:00pm - A few friends come to visit. One brings me lottery tickets, because I'm obviously on a lucky streak.

I can just about see our house from my hospital room window. My headache has mostly subsided. But since no one wants me dropping dead on Spruce Street, I'm stuck here in the hospital where I am largely ignored by the nurses because I'm the only person on the floor who knows what year it is. Also, I am unique on the floor because I can walk on my own. This seems to come as a continual surprise to the staff; every time the nurses see me, it's like we're at a faith healing tent revival and Benny Hinn has just helped me to hop up out of my wheelchair on live television.

4:00pm -You guys come to visit. I don't want you to be scared about your mom being stuck in this room with this IV lead in her arm, so I make chicken puppets out of rubber gloves and then Laney and I pretend to be chicken supermodels.

I give Laney a handful of dollars and quarters and tell her we can ride the elevator and buy something from every vending machine we see. This combines all of Laney's favorite activities: exploring, shopping, elevators and snacks. Her day is made. Hagen spots a sculpture of the Virgin Mary with a snake between her feet (it's a Catholic hospital) and yells, "'Look, Mom! Is da Snake Princess!" My apologies to all our Catholic relatives; we'll try to do better with our iconography.

View from my hospital room.

6:00pm - You guys leave, and I'm alone in my little beige room. For YEARS now, whenever your dad would ask me what I wanted for a gift-giving occasion - particularly Mother's Day - I would say, "I just want to be left alone for 24 hours in a dark air-conditioned room where I can watch as much TV as I want in complete silence." It occurs to me now that I shoulda been more specific.

MONDAY

4:00am - A nurse shows up to take my blood pressure.

5:00am - A tech shows up to take my blood.

7:00am - I have another CT / Angiogram. I'm still not a fan of this procedure. "We're going to pump a bunch of dye into your veins and it's going to hurt like hell and you're going to experience an extreme burning sensation but whatever you do, DON'T MOVE OR WE'LL HAVE TO START OVER." I feel like I am in a bad reality show challenge, but with, you know, actual stakes.

9:00am - Neurologist visits. And here's the thing: they still don't know what happened, but they're fairly sure there's no aneurism. They think I had a weak vein and it gave out and bled and now it's going to clot and heal on its own. Not a great place to be, but probably a best-case scenario if you're going to be bleeding inside your head. I don't have to have surgery. I can go home.
_____

So obviously I'm happy and feel fortunate and blessed and am so so glad to be back home with you guys.

My boss asked me how I felt, and I replied, "I feel like anyone would who'd probably just spent thousands of dollars to find out they're going to be okay: A mix of relieved and overwhelmed and grateful with just a dash of 'I could've stayed at the Four Seasons in Bali for that kind of money.'"

But mostly I feel lucky.

Stay tuned for lottery ticket results.

Love,
Mom

* If you get this joke, it's probably the reason we're friends.