Crossroads

I woke this morning at 5 30.  Half an hour before the first alarm goes off the one I usually ignore unless I have things I need to do before dragging myself to work.  Naturally as soon as my eyes opened that first time, my brain jumped to my tasks for the day.  Dealing with the hospitals and possibly finding out it's too late and it's all been turned over to collection.  And that was it, no chance for more sleep.  As I sit and type right now, my stomach is threatening to crawl out of my throat.  I hate this so much, I think I might actually be sick before the day is out.  Emotional, stressed, wondering why the fuck am I still here?  Wouldn't it have been better if I'd died?  No bills to worry about.  Except then I'd miss Bug.  He'd miss me.  Well actually I probably wouldn't miss him because I remember coming back and I didn't miss anyone, I wasn't sad, there was a feeling of utter peace.  But he'd miss me and I wouldn't get to finish raising him.  I wouldn't get to share his life.  So yeah, better I'm still here.  And it's only money right?

I read a quote somewhere, probably Pinterest, that said the more terrified you are of the action you must take the more it proves you have to take that step.  No growth without struggle.  I'm all about the struggle before the growth when it comes to personal development.  I should think of money as personal development then I wouldn't be so afraid of it.  I'd welcome the challenge.  But it's more than just money this time.  It's remembering what happened.  I don't want to remember, I don't want to remember the moment when I couldn't breathe, watching my cousin freak out calling for help because I couldn't breathe, looking across the bed out into the reception area, seeing the doctor staring at me blankly, wondering what all the fuss was about.  I will forever remember that blank look on his face before they all finally came rushing in to help me.  I should have smiled and said see, told you fuckers I was really sick.  Not just overweight.

Second class citizen.  Marginalized because I look like the sort of person who enjoys being in the hospital?  God I wish I knew what they had been thinking.  Did they feel ashamed after my code?  Did they realize they'd maybe missed something by making assumptions?  Did they even give it a second thought or did they all sit around drinking beer at the end of their shift (I live in the sticks, I think even the doctors out here drink Bud) congratulating themselves on saving my life?  A life that two days before had come in trying to tell them there was something very wrong with me.  Two days before they could have found the problem and gotten it fixed up and I'd never have returned and died in their ER.  Do they think of that?  Because I do, all the damn time I think about the doctors on the first trip to the ER.  I remember them giving me fluids and something to help me sleep and take away the pain.  I remember telling the nurse who came by to see how I was doing that my throat still hurt, she calmly told me it wouldn't take away every pain.  Seriously?  I come in because my throat hurts and you give me something for the pain but it doesn't take care of the pain I came in for?  Well pink socks that is just awful, why didn't you question it then?  Because they are doctors and I just thought it would take some time to get better, they know how to take care of a person, right?  My mom says I shouldn't be so upset by all that happened, because they saved my life.  Sure they did.  But I can't help but wonder if it wouldn't have gotten to that point if they had just listened and investigated further on my first trip to the ER.  Been less concerned with assumptions about weight and actually done their jobs.  Again pink socks, if it was so bad, why did you return to that same hospital a second time?  Because they are the closest ER and as it happens on my second visit I was dying.  When I walked through the door I was dying, when I waited for them to try to read the letter I'd written on my Mac, I was dying.  As I listened to the dumb receptionist comment about my not having a regular doctor, I was dying.  Every second I was there, it was closer to the snip of my thread.  Until finally time ran out, that awful raspy wheezing sound that filled the room was me, sucking breath until my throat closed.  Then the sound stopped.  I remember the room going black, I thought they had given me something to relax me.  It was only weeks later when I was told that nope that was me dying.  Yeah no one, not even my cousin wanted to tell me that my heart stopped.

I have thought about this off and on since it happened.  Why wouldn't my cousin tell me that?  Wouldn't she want to know every gory detail of her experience, if I could provide that for her?  Maybe not, but I wanted to know.  I still do.  There are so many things that happened that I don't know.  I remember them cutting off my clothes, I remember the life giving suction nozzle that I kept ramming down my own throat, I could have caused permanent damage but I didn't care I just needed to breathe.   I wonder at what point they finally saw the massive abscess and figured out it was Epiglottitis?

Well the second alarm has now gone off, twice so that means I can't hide any longer, I've got to get up and get ready for school, and calling these places to try to get this all taken care of.  I wonder if my spazziness is maybe Post traumatic stress disorder?  Not that it matters, right?