Today, I contemplate all those who have helped me. To my beloved father who awaits me in Heaven. To my Mother Renee who has always been there for me, and who continues to give me advice. Others who have believed in me: my son, husband, and little daughter. Professionally and personally, my years at Stanford University School of Medicine were by far the best professional years of my life. Here, I loved going to work every day as an anesthesiology doctor in training (residency). I was treated as a person with a brilliant brain (albeit up for question by some), in sharp contrast to over-rigors I suffered at LAC-USC Medical Center. Here, several Attendings believed in me while my peers seemed over concerned with my life.
As I begin another route, another path to physical wholeness, I must pause and thank Dr. Nabil Rashad, Dr. Thanga, Dr. Steve Haddy, and Dr. Vladimir Zelman. You helped me take my assigned ICU cases into the ORs, making me cemented in caring for the critically ill. Thank you for all the ICU patients I had to take into the ORs...the old lady with a stroke, the young man who is now paraplegic from inflicted gunshot wounds. I had to analyze their iv lines, central lines, arterial lines, and take the patient off the ventilator. I had to squeeze the AmbuBag over and over again after trachestomy after tracheostomy after tracheostomy. Perhaps my peers were trying to make my life difficult; this I felt was true.
A single parent through medical school, internship, residency, and Critical Care Fellowship, I eagerly sponged up my guts to make it through, one day at a time. Not many people know this of me, but I left a full scholarship spot in medical school, trading it for a better chance for my son to live better. What a compliment it is, to have our children give us new perspectives in life.
My child was crying every night I was a single parent in medical school. My decision was easy. I wanted it all. A family, a profession, and success in spite of obstacles. Thank you to an elder medical student who took me by the hand, and off we drug ourselves to the Dean of the School of Medicine. She helped me acquire a letter of recommendation and official transcripts of my classes already taken. Sealed, stamped, and ready to carry. I left Oklahoma the next day.
Off from Tulsa, Oklahoma we got into my red 3-cylinder Chevy Sprint, together with a few clothes and many medical school books. I left an entire 2-bedroom apartment full of furniture and all my personal effects: antique photos, canopy bed, towels, everything. Thank you to the unforgettable Medical School wives, who helped box up my apartment up and put things in storage. Thank you to the best buddy truck driver who not only picked up my boxes, but also brought them to me in California. And sent me my first dozen roses, for my graduation from USC Medical School. I had always joked that I received more roses from my patients, than from men. As a single parent, I was too busy putting whatever leftover energy of the day that I had, back into my child. Sure, I failed at many things. Sure, I made mistakes that I am sorry for. And sure, I learned a lot. And helped the sick. I saw the door to Heaven, so this confirms that my past life must be okay with God, that He forgives me for my sins of comission or omission, such that I will be ready to go to Him when my Time is again at hand.
Thank you to the nurse midwife that talked me into going into Anesthesiology. God was watching out for me when I was accepted to the only programs I selected: USC Anesthesiology Residency, a transfer to Stanford University School of Medicine for completion of Anesthesiology first, and then acceptance into their prestigious position as one of the Critical Care Fellows. Had I known that Stanford Anesthesiology and Critical Care would be, in reflection, the best professional years of my life, one would think that I would have enjoyed it more, taken more chances, accepted more dances.
But I remembered that my father used to always tell me, "I just LOVE going to work every day! I can't believe that I actually get paid to do what I enjoy! I can't wait to get to work every morning!" Stanford Anesthesiology program, thank you for teaching me innumerable lessons. Believe me, I loved going to work every day, and the Hospital and its ICU were my home shelter of love and acceptance. I was so well trained that any Attending Physician had to go through me or another Critical Care Fellow to admit a patient to the ICU, and my Attending Anesthesiologists would always back me up, even if that really mad Attending decided to raise the bar a little harder and go tell my Attending his/her problem with me. Thank you, Drs. Rosenthal, Pearle, Mihm, and Feeley. To Jocelyn, Maria, and the nurse that got killed on the Life Flight helicopter in bad weather: you all helped me retain my sense of peer friendships and unconditional love. You kept me going on, from day to day.
Almost 3 years after the car accident, my iv PICC line is churning at 29 cc/hr. At the newest hospitalization 2 weeks ago (I think the total is now 25 hospitalizations since the car accident), for 5 days Dr. Cannom was able to save my PICC line as Neurologist Dr Verapamil (not his real name, but I believe the drug gave me back the lacking cerebral perfusion pressure to allow tiny, single-file, red blood cells to carry oxygen and nutrients to the master computer center of the body, the human midbrain) made a new diagnosis: that of Basilar-type migraine. It is only the beginning of this miracle of cerebral perfusion.
Walk with me and see what I can do. If I can do things, you can also strive to do them. Do not take, "No" for an answer. Make things happen in your own life, as I have. Be the miracle. Feel your body shivering as you get up out of bed and trust in the Lord, knowing that you should have died 5 times in the last 3 years.
Whereas before, I could not get out of bed without taking iv ondansetron, now I can get up slowly and carefully balance on my cane. I can walk! Whereas before, I would have to wait an hour for the iv ondansetron to take effect, now I can brush my teeth when I first wake up in the morning. From being bedridden to being in a wheelchair, to walking with a cane, the Lord has indeed given me the miracle of a walking life.
I can not end this entry without thanking my husband for sticking with me. The words I have to say to him? They are too personal to list here, and he already knows the joy I have in being a family together. I also thank all of my caregivers for their love and patience with me. Even though food disappears out of the refrigerator, toilet paper is missing in bulks of 10 at a time, and a set-aside-to-do-the-dishes ring disappears. It is hard to find a consciencious, caring, actively working caregiver to feed the sick, change the sheets, and help me walk from place to place.
I probably have not been the best patient in the world, but understand that I fought for myself whenever I thought it was necessary, and I used every bit of my medical training to keep myself alive. With God's Blessings, I go now to take my usual 3-4 or 5 hour nap of the day. I envision my brain as it heals itself unto this deep sleep.
If God permits, I will awaken to the sound of the birds outside my window seat, and my eyes will open to watch the baby hummingbirds flitter outside the leaded glass window. For now, that is all that I ask. Once I wake up, I will give thanks to God for another morning, for another evening. I give thanks simultaneously as my orbital muscles contract so that my eyelids go from a closed, to an opened status. I will ask Him for my assignment for the day, and I will carry out my day for Him, with Him, and in Our Lord Jesus Christ.
Whatever lies before me now, you will be able to live through with me as I attempt to share my blessings and my Faith in God. As I am now tired, I will start tomorrow to carry you with me as I walk in my shoes of thunder. Never a dull moment.
You will start out tomorrow by carrying my 5 lb CADD pump for me. I'll tell you the rules of the game in the morning. In the meantime, may I leave you with this parting thought: there are many of you that are not able to keep up with a medical diagnosis, or a special or rare abnormality that the doctors have never seen nor read about, perhaps because it is rare. You can still question the doctor's plan regarding your body, you can make your own deviations with your doctor's consent so that your health care is tailor-made, and you do have some control over your life, your shoes, your clothing, and your money. In the meantime, I'm putting in another bag of iv fluid, and another 9 Volt battery. I will listen to the hum, drum and drip, drop 30 times a minute, as D5NS courses from my left antecubital area into my right superior vena cava. I will listen to it all day and all night, 24/7.
My advice for the day (check with your doctor first): Be the Best Person You Can Be.
Just one day at a time. Take a long shower. Start afresh and walk through life with me. Say one prayer for me. Say one for someone else you know. Prayer really does work. This is not a cliche. I should have been dead by now. The least you can do is to pray for your children, every day. God will protect them and save them from harm.
God wants to use my life for your inspiration, for your nightly peace, and for your future inspiration.
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