I Don't Want To Die. Pt:2

The second time I ceased to live was two years later.

Now, I must admit, I was really looking forward to this surgery. Honestly. For several reasons:
1: No more hospital visits.
2: Cool scar! A very very very cool scar.
3: Free trip to Edmonton (Hey, it was a vacation from Yellowknife)
4: Only kid in my ENTIRE school that would have had open heart surgery. I was going to be, like, the coolest thing going.
5: If this surgery was a success, I would not need to get a pacemaker.

My mother and I departed the plane and headed to The Ronald McDonald House. After checking into our room I ran down to the rec. room.

Oh
My
God!
They
Have
A
NINTENDO!!!!!!!

The next day we went to the University of Alberta Hospital. This is when I checked in there and met Dr. Penkoskie; a tall woman with long, curly, red hair. That is all I remember about her. That… and she saved my life.

I woke up bright and early on November 29, 1989 (17 years from yesterday). The anaesthesiologist came in to give me a cherry flavoured anaesthetic and asked me to count backwards from 10. “10… 9… 8…7… I don’t think it’s working I don’t feel sleepy. What if I…ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz”

I feel groggy. There’s something in my nose and I can’t move to find out what it is. Back to sleep…
Awake again. Still groggy. Still not able to move, but I can vaguely see a lot of red hair. More sleep…
Awake. Hey, is that mom? I try saying, ‘Mom, you look worried’ but no words come out. I’ll just sleep a little longer…
Awake. I really have to pee. Now able to talk, I tell the nurse. She explains to me how a catheter works (a long tube stuck up your pee hole into you bladder). I’m not sure if I just fell back asleep, or fainted.

After a few days (I assume, but I’m really not sure) in the ICU, I was sent back to paediatrics. Mom presented me with all my homework and letters from all my classmates. A few days back at Ronald McDonald House (Nintendo! Nintendo! Nintendo!) and then we were on our way home… thankfully, with no memory of what had actually happened.

During my sleep on the operating table, once the surgery was complete and they were checking vitals (or something like that), my heart decided it wanted the break and stopped. Once again, I flat-lined. No heartbeat, no breathing, nothing. I was dead… again. “PADDLES! CLEAR!” Nothing.

“Clear!” Nothing.
“CLEAR!” Again… nothing.

Apparently, this went on long enough to be scary. Apparently, this went on for longer that what can be considered ‘usual’ after a surgery. Apparently, Dr. Penkoskie feared she was going to lose me… as scared as all the other doctors and nurses in the room.

Just about the time that I would become a lost cause, a noise echoed in the room.

Beep…

Beep…

Beep…

I was back.

That Christmas, I was given a Nintendo.

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Two years later, while watching some show on out of body experiences, Mom asked me if I saw “The White Light”.

“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve never been dead.”

That was when she told me I had died… twice. I heard the stories directly from my mother’s calm voice. That woman has a knack for making you feel calm when she tells you stuff like that. She told me in such a way that I did not freak out or get all weird. I just thought, “Neat!”

That night I thought more about it. I thought about drifting in and out of consciousness in the I.C.U. and seeing my mother. She did look worried, and two years later I knew why. She had just heard that I had almost died. Her youngest and most frail little boy almost left her.

Another memory from my grogginess that day; that was the first time I had ever seen my mother cry.

I Don't Wan't To Die. Pt:1

I don’t wanna die!

I don’t wanna die!

I don’t want to die!

Every now and then, I get overcome with this sudden sense of mortality. When we are young, we believe we are immortal; we partake in risky behaviour, we smoke, we jump off cliffs into the lake below, we hitchhike. And why not? We’re got our whole lives to look forward to… what could possibly go wrong now?

Life can go wrong.

We can walk across the street without looking both ways. We can step on a rusted nail. We can get strange diseases. We could have an allergic reaction to medication when the doctors were not aware of said allergy. We could flat-line during a routine open heart surgery. The last two on this list has happened to me.

From 1987 – 1989, I had Wolfe Parkinson White Syndrome. A condition that, while usually only affecting older men, graced me with it’s presence for the bulk of my Elementary school days. WPW is a heart condition that, basically, creates an irregular heart rate… mine often reaching 350 beats per minute.

Before the first anniversary of my first hospital visit, I had become a regular. Every two weeks or so, I would have an ‘episode’ and head to the emergency room to get it all fixed. Very nonchalant, I would excuse myself from my sleepover, my class, recess, and head to the hospital. The “Emerg” (slang for ‘Emergency’… for us in the know) nurses would fill out my paper work for me and call my mom down from the third floor (where she was a nurse). A bucket of ice water, an IV and possibly a few hours later, I would be on my way home… in most cases. I never thought it was weird that someone so young should be admitting themselves into “Emerg”. I did think it was odd of all the adults to be making such a fuss. I mean, really, we’ve been through this before. Several times. It’s beginning to become old hat.

Not that one time. A common medication used in treating irregular heartbeats is Verapamil; a medication I had taken in pill form for some time. On one of my first visits, they decided to hook up a bag of the stuff to my IV. I remember that, but nothing else. Apparently, within seconds of it reaching my system, I bolted upright and projectile vomited. Flopping back down into a convulsion or two, I let my eyes roll and continued vomiting. This is about the time my heart stopped. I was dying.

“Clear!”
“Nothing!
“Again… CLEAR!”
“Nothing”

My heart had stopped and was not starting again. I was not breathing. Nothing that was supposed to be happening was actually happening. The whole time, Mom was there. She was a nurse, she knew what was going on, but could not do anything. He baby was dying right in from of her, and she could do nothing.

“CLEAR!”
“Got it…. Heart rate returning to normal.”

A while later I woke up.

“Mom, my heart is feeling fine again, but I don’t feel well. Can we go home now?”

Little guy: Pt. 1

I was in Edmonton just over a week ago, for one of my best friends weddings. More post’s about that later… and yes Fat Girl, I will be posting about your sisters wedding too, but for now I wanted to tell you an adorable story about this Little Guy.

He and I have a special bond. And I’m not just talking about how irresistibly cute we both are. No, I refer to the fact that we have both spent a good deal of time in hospital. Me for my heart, eventually leading to open heart surgery at age 11; Little Guy for his confused digestive system.

I’m not sure exactly what the problem is, and I don’t know his mom well enough to get into details, but basically, he has had a series of problems with his stomach and digestive system, resulting in a whole lot of irregular goings on. I was first informed of this the day I arrived in Edmonton.

Little Guy’s Mom called to say that she was taking him to the hospital. His screaming in the background let us all know that he was in a good deal of pain. “Mommy, let’s go. It hurts real bad.” He was released the next afternoon, and par for the course, his mother had adorable stories of the previous night.

Apparently, when he was told he would be staying at least over night, Little Guy looked at the doctor and said, “That’s fine, but I have to be out by Saturday when my Auntie and Uncle get married.” (Note: He was going to be The Junior Groomsman, and his sole duty, in lieu of flower girls, was to hand out fully stemmed red roses to the female guests) The doctor gently told him that that should be fine, but he couldn’t guarantee anything. “But I have to go to the wedding. Uncle needs me to be there so that he looks good.” The doctor reassured him that it was a possibility. “Oh, you just don’t understand! Mom, tell him… I HAVE to be there. I don’t mind if I have to take my pole and medicine bag (read: IV Pole) if I have to.” So cute.

The innocence of children is quite remarkable, isn’t it? His mother and doctor are in such a state of concern and constant worry about him, but he has no idea. To him, constantly going to the hospital is all a part of life, as it was for me when I was a kid. Those of us lucky enough to live through childhood traumas often look back and remember great times spent at hospitals, having wheelchair races, making candles in the Paediatrics Ward. Visitors dressed in clown costumes. I never understood what my mom and the doctors were talking about; and quite frankly, I never thought it was interesting enough to ask. I just had a heart rate of 350bpm and the surgeons were going to fix that. 'Nuff said.

Little Guy was released the next day, as promised, and was the highlight of the wedding… well second only to the FAG-tastic hairstyles coiffured by yours truly.

My five days in Edmonton were filled with a great deal of martini’s and wine. They were also filled with a good deal of wonderful stories and memories, but my time spent with Little Guy brought more tears to my eyes than the wedding itself.

Take care of yourself, Little Guy. Hope to see you again soon.

Attention all Torontonians!

Sorry 'bout the short notice, but this will be a good show.

Everyone else (and GTAers that can't make it) check out Leela's MySpace
and you can listen to a few tracks and get free downloads.

Earth and Her.

A Woman after my own heart.

A great post of a great blog… She could do to post a bit more regularly, but then… who am I to judge?

(Ann, Ruth, Callooh) I’m glad to know that… in some small-off-centered-Kevin-Bacon-kind-of-way, I am part of your family.

An Email Fom My Sister.

Hi, how are you?

Well I just wanted to let you know what your nephew (the little one) did tonight. He decided it would be fun to stick a fork through, yeah that's right, THROUGH his nose. Not a joke. This is true. He tripped and the fork went through his nose and out the nostril. Two of the fork prongs pierced through the skin. I tripped out and took him to the hospital, with the fork still in his nose. They had to give him a needle to make him numb, and then they pulled it out. How gross, I know. It didn't bleed though. He's lucky it missed the eye, sinuses and brain. He has two little holes on the top of his nose.

The doctor took a picture of it and is going to email it to me. Hopefully he's faster than me and I can send it to you. Little monsters.

Okay, anyways bye now.

From ..... Me

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How does one respond to that?