Dad passed away quickly. I hung out at mom’s with the family for a while. A week after the funeral I settled back at home. It was time to move on. It was six months since my discharge from the hospital and I was feeling good. I thought that it was time for me to apply for a job. I was driving my car again and my legs served me well except for managing stairs but as long as the stairs had a railing I could ascend and descend them albeit slowly. Most buildings had elevators so I wasn’t worried about stairs.
It was a Sunday night and after updating my resume I found a job on the internet and submitted my resume for that job online. As soon as I got confirmation that the resume was received by a return email I lied down on the couch. I love falling asleep on the couch watching T.V. I have the television on constantly for the noise. I hate the complete quiet.
I had fallen asleep but was awakened by my urgency to go to the bathroom. I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. I felt weak and barely could manage the stairs. When I arrived at the bathroom I had difficulty removing my clothing. I didn’t have the strength to remove my lower extremity clothing and I ended up wetting my pants. Because they were wet I left them on the bathroom floor. I decided to go back to bed without any clothing on so I didn’t have so much trouble next time I had to get to the bathroom.
I tucked myself under the blankets on the couch and again drifted to sleep with Morgan curled up at my feet and Mindy curled up beside the couch. I began dreaming. I dreamed I was somewhere that had a living room just like mine. I was looking at bookshelves and noticed they were exactly like my book selves. I saw the ornamental letters on the self that spelled “REACH” , just like what I had on my self. The plant beside the ornamental letters was exactly the same as mine. I wondered where I was but I knew I wasn’t at home or I was dreaming that I was at home. Either way, I was not awake and consciously aware of being in my living room.
Still dreaming I was being suffocated by a black blob. I began punching back at it but it was a fight. It kept coming at me covering my face and I kept punching at it. I punched at it relentlessly. Finally it stopped fighting with me.
I was awoken by Diana in my living room shouting at me,
“Autumn, wake up” she said shaking me. She later told me she had difficulty arousing me and thought I might be dead.
I opened my eyes, saw Diana and said,
“Water.”
‘What?” Diana asked wanting clarification.
“Get me some water.” I said.
Diana got me a glass of water and handed it to me. I reached for it but before Diana surrendered the full weight of the glass of water to me my arm dropped. I did not have the strength to sustain my arm reach. Diana grabbed my arm and raised it,
“Keep your arm up” she demanded.
But I could not keep my arm up and it dropped again like a wet noodle.
“Straw.” I said. Diana found a straw, put it in the glass of water and held it up to my mouth.
While I was sucking of the straw, both of my dogs battled to get their tongues in the glass of water lapping their tongues frantically. Diana got a bowl of water and put it on the floor for them then got a fresh glass of water for me with the straw. I turned my head enough to get access to the straw and sucked the glass dry.
“Thanks.” I said.
“What is wrong with you?” Diana asked frantically.
“Dunno.” I whispered.
“I don’t know what to do with you.” she said exasperatingly.
I said nothing. I thought nothing. I closed my eyes. Getting no direction from me she called Mom. I heard her say,
“Should I call the ambulance?””
When her phone call with mom was done she told me she was calling the ambulance.
“No.” I said. I remembered that I had no clothing on and the couch felt wet beneath me. I didn’t want the paramedics here as I would be embarrassed. I didn’t have much insight about my condition and I just wanted to stay put and sleep. I didn’t know that it was now Saturday and I had been unconscious for seven days. No wonder my dogs were thirsty.
Diana called the ambulance and soon the firemen arrived. They always accompany an ambulance call. I remember one of them asking Diana,
“What does she have going on here?”
My place was starting to resemble a hoard but it had not yet reached the layered point. My rooms were functional and the doorways were accessible. Mostly there was a lot of empty sparkling water bottles around.
Diana replied, “oh, its just her”
The next thing I remember I was in the ambulance and it was cold. It seems like I laid in the ambulance for a very long time as it remained at my place. The paramedics left the back of the ambulance open and it was -10 degrees Fahrenheit outside. I could see my breath and I only had a sheet covering my unclothed body. I was so cold I was shaking. The only thing said during that time in the ambulance was one of the medics asking the other if he smelled urine.
Finally the medics closed the back doors and we slowly went to the emergency department at the hospital. It seemed like we were travelling slower than the speed limit and the ambulance stopped at every red light.
“No sirens.” I thought. “How disappointing.”
Over time I went in and out of consciousness. The next thing I knew my stretcher was parked beside many others in the emergency department. The paramedics took a couple of chairs and sat at the end of my stretcher. They began socializing with the other paramedics while they all guarded their hauls which they brought into the emergency department.
“I have to go to the bathroom.” I said to anyone who would listen
I heard one of the medics telling a nurse that I had to use the washroom. The nurse told them that she could not attend to that at that moment. They reported this to me and told me I had to wait. I knew I couldn’t.
“I can’t.” I said.
The medic then returned to the nurse and she told them they could take me on my stretcher into the utility room and use the bedpan. So that is what they did. It was difficult to get the bedpan under me because I was no help. I was like a rag doll and couldn’t lift my hips.
Finally after strong arming me they got the bedpan in place under my butt. They told me I could “go now” but they remained with me, one of each side of the stretcher. I tried but I couldn’t. I asked them to leave but they said they couldn’t so I tried again. I just couldn’t with two strange men standing on guard on each side of me. After some while it was determined that I couldn’t produce results so they took the bedpan from under me and wheeled me back to my place in the stretcher line up.
I was still thirsty so I asked for water. I got a foam cup filled with water. I barely could manage to get it to my mouth and when I did it spilled down my face and onto my pillow. There was still some left in the cup and I didn’t know what to do with it. I saw a garbage can beside my stretcher but I didn’t have the strength to toss it. I said as loud as I could to the medics at the foot of my stretcher,
“excuse me.” but they didn’t hear me.
Again I said “excuse me.”
This time I got the attention of one of a medic who was conversing with the ones that brought me there. She looked at me and while remaining at the foot of my stretcher asked me what I was wanting.
I lifted my half full foam cup and hoped that she could understand what I wanted. She did and simply pointed to the garbage can and then turned her attention back to the group of visiting medics. Without the strength to toss the cup much less get any ’s attention again, I gave in to hanging on to the cup as long as I could as I drifted back to unconsciousness.
Diana arrived and aroused me.
“What’s happening? she asked.
“dunno” was all I could get out.
“why is your sheet wet? Diana asked
I tried to tell her. “They…They.” was all I could manage to say. I couldn’t complete my sentence but it didn’t matter because I forgot what I was trying to say.
“Did dad die yet? I asked. I was remembering that he was sick but not his death.
She looked at me bewildered and told me that he had.
“Oh yeah.” I said.
Still having to relieve my bladder I told Diana that I needed to ‘go’.
She told the medics who informed her that they tried but that I couldn’t “go” and that I would have to wait. Diana then told me that she had errands to run for Mom and she had to go but that she would be back. As she was leaving one of medics pivoted on his seat remaining on his chair (my sister stood while the medics remained seated visiting) and told me that he was going on his break but when he came back then he and the other medic who brought me to the hospital would help me again to relieve my bladder. I nodded and went back to sleep.
I was awake when the medic returned from his break. He said a few words to his partner, then his partner went on his break. Finally, the second medic came back from his break and they both resumed visiting with other medics. I got his attention and then reminded him that he promised to help me with the bed pan again.
“Don’t you remember, we took you and you wouldn’t go.”
“I know but I need to now.” I said pleading.
“We are off our shift now so you’ll have to wait.” he said.
I had no energy to reason with him. I barely was able to say what I had and I fell back asleep.
The next time I woke up I was in a different place. Diana was there when I opened my eyes and I asked her,
“Did Dad die yet?” I didn’t remember asking her just hours before.
“Yes,” she said.
“Oh yeah, “ I replied. “I have to go to the bathroom” I said trying to say everything I needed to before I drifted off again.
Diana went to get a nurse to help. The nurse returned with Diana and she told be that I now had a catheter in my bladder so it may feel like I need to go but I didn’t. I nodded that I understood. Looking around I noticed I had an I.V. and a blood transfusion running into my arms; then I noticed oxygen tube wrapped around my ear and prongs in my nostrils. I didn’t remember them inserting the catheter or either needles for the I.V. and the blood. I looked at Diana and asked,
“Did Dad die yet?”
“Yes.” she said and this time she seemed exasperated. “I’m going, you’re not making any sense and I have a lot to do when I get home.” and she turned and left.
As she left I raised my head off the bed an shouted her name to come back but she kept going. My head dropped back onto the bed and I fell back to sleep or whatever state of consciousness it is called, a stupor or delirium. It was a state where I was not aroused by the insertion of needles or a catheter. It was a state where I could think but had poor memory, I knew what I wanted to say but could only get a couple of words vocalized before I couldn’t remember what I was saying. It was a state where I would go in and out of consciousness but not under my control.
The next time I woke up, I woke up fighting. My wrists had been tied to the side rails on the stretcher. I am extremely claustrophobic and I woke up resisting the restraints. As I resisted the side rails clanged against their mounts. I can’t believe I allowed myself to be tied up at any level of consciousness. Thats probably why I woke up. My subconscious mind was troubled with me being tied up.
A nurse and a physician responded to the clanging of the side rails but they did not come to my side. They repositioned themselves behind the unit length desk so that they could see me. It was late and there was no other activity happening. From behind the desk the physician asked me what the problem was.
“Why am I tied up” I asked.
“you keep pulling your oxygen off” She shouted back at me. I was frustrated that I had to communicate with them 30 feet away from behind a desk while I was weak and had difficulty communicating at all. I then retreated back into my stupor.
I woke up again clanging the side-rails but this time the nurse came to my bedside.
“Why am I tied up?” I asked forgetting I had asked before.
“Your arm keeps falling off the stretcher triggering the I.V. alarm.” he said.
My butt hurt. “Please untie just one arm so I can shift my body weight off my butt.” I pleaded.
I received no assistance from the nurse to turn over I didn’t have the strength to turn on to my side so I tilted my butt and it felt so good to get the pressure off my backside. i wondered how long I was left lying on my back without being turned to make my butt so painful.
“ Does that feel better?” the nurse asked.
“Yes.” I said in relief. “Please don’t tie me up so I can shift around when I need to.” I pleaded.
“Okay.” he said. “keep your arm on the stretcher so you don’t set off the alarm.” With that being said he left and I drifted back to sleep.
Then I was awakened by my I.V. alarm and the nurse returned promptly. He took my hand and tied it up to the side rail again.
“See, I can’t trust you to keep your arm on the bed.” he said.
I was thirsty and I told him I was craving a chocolate frosty. Chocolate frostys are the best, just like the malts we used to buy at the mall years ago in a little paper cup with a wooden spoon to scoop up the soft ice cream consistency.
“I think you are hallucinating. I have never heard of such a thing.” he said while checking the I.V. and then he left. Whether a frosty exists or not, the point was I was thirsty but that message escaped the nurse. I was not offered any form of liquid to drink and I drifted back to sleep.
The next time I woke up there again I was still in the emergency department. There was little activity around the desk and only a few staff walking around. I appeared to be the activity level of a night shift. As I looked around I noticed I was no longer receiving blood and my oxygen prongs were gone. I felt more alert and was not tied up and I could now move around on the bed on my own.
Diana brought my mom in to visit. We talked for a while and I’m sure Diana was happy that I was lucid. Through our conversation, it was revealed to me that I had been in the emergency waiting area for about 14 hours before seeing any hospital staff, and that It was on Saturday. This was Tuesday.
“It felt like only yesterday that I came in by ambulance and that was Saturday?” I asked for clarification.
Diana confirmed that the day she found me was Saturday then added to further clarify what I had experienced, “We had been trying to reach you since and last Monday and couldn’t so finally I decided to go over to your place to check on you and found you unconscious on the couch.”
I was shocked to hear I had been in emergency over three full days as it felt like it was just overnight but more shocked to discover that my sister found me six days after the day I sent in my resume. It felt like Diana came to wake me up just the morning after that.
“What is wrong with me.” I asked
Diana replied, “I don’t know really. You know I don’t understand these things. Basically t’s something to do with your blood. You had none.”
“What? I asked knowing what she was saying was exaggerated but wanting to know the truth.
“The doctor said he had not seen blood levels as low as yours, which was almost non-life sustainable.” she answered.
“Why?” I asked thinking that there had to be more to my condition. Why was my blood so low I wondered.
“Where are my dogs?” I asked Diana.
“Oh” she said belabouring on the “O” sound, “they are in a very safe place.”
“Where, at Jean’s?” ( a neighbour from across the street from where I had lived) I asked. I don’t remember getting a decisive answer on this question or if I got one at all. If they were at Jean’s then they would be in a safe place and somehow the subject got changed without any trepidation on my part.
“They don’t treat me very well here.” I reported to Mom and Diana referring to the medical staff.
“Yeah, I noticed that.” Diana said in agreement.
“They tied me up.” I reported as my eyes stung from trying to hold back tears. “They said that I pulled on my oxygen prongs in my nose and that when my arm dropped off the bed the I.V. would alarm. Why couldn’t they have just slightly turned me on my side with a supporting pillow at my back and rest my arm on my side.” I thought out loud. “That would have solved the problem of getting me off my butt so it would not get so sore as well.” I said convinced that my approached would have been the preferred way of solving the problem. Tie a person up or use a pillow? I don’t know if there even a choice?
After a brief pause while I was reflecting on why they might not be treating me well I remembered about the electronic medical record,
“They know I am a hoarder and alcoholic because those diagnosis are on my electronic medical record which they would have accessed and would pull those diagnosis forward to their documentation. Maybe they think I was drunk when I came in. It would have looked like it. Did anyone ask you if I was drinking?’ I asked Diana.
“No, Diana said, “But it is possible that your speculation is right.”
We continued to talk about the nurses cavalier approach at best towards, me when a nurse entered my cubical with a tall milkshake type of container.
“You need to drink this. You are having a test tomorrow morning and you need to drink all of this.” he said. He raised the head of the bed, checked my I.V. then left. The milkshake container was full of a milky looking liquid,
“It doesn’t look like frosty.” I said
Diana laughed because she too loved the frosty and knew exactly the sarcasm behind my comment because it was served in exactly the same milk-shaped type of container. While laughing she stood up and took the interruption by the nurse as a good opportunity to leave. With my Mom in tow, they said their goodbyes and promised to return soon.
I started to drink out of the large cup. The liquid tasted like bitter chalk but that wasn’t the worse problem I was having with the drink Immediately after I swallowed I felt severe pain located at the same place where I suffer heartburn, but this was not heartburn. It was shearing insufferable pain. Every time I swallowed it felt like I was swallowing razor blades. I put the container on the bedside table thinking that I would tell the nurse the next time he came back that I could not drink it.
So when the nurse came back I told him about the pain and that I couldn’t drink the liquid he brought me.
“You have too.” he said. If you don’t drink it I’ll have to put down a feeding tube and get it down that way”
I didn’t know what a feeding tube would feel like in my esophagus. It might feel worse than liquid.
“Okay, I’ll try getting it down.” I said and then I had a thought.
“Maybe if you could give me something to kill the pain?” I asked.
“I’ll have to get an order from the physician.” he said.
“Okay, try to get it.” I said.. “Tell him swallowing the liquid is very painful.”
A while later the nurse answered the phone at the desk. I heard him say,
“She says she experiences pain when she swallows. Okay. Okay.”
Shortly after that he came and administered pain medication in my I.V. and encouraged me to finish drinking the liquid. He returned to the desk and I overheard him say,
“I don’t know how these people get drugs prescribed so easily.”
“These people?” I thought.
“I’d like him to experience the pain I was having.” I thought to myself. I also wondered what kind of person he was referring to me to be. Do these diagnoses of hoarding and alcohol abuse effect the way the medics and nurses have been treating me? Did the medics think I was a urine smelly drunk when they picked me up because I am a hoarder and an alcoholic? Did the nurses think I was drunk? Did they think my condition and my suffering was a result of drinking alcohol?
In fairness to the paramedics and the nurses who accessed my electronic medical record and saw that I was a hoarder and abused alcohol, they didn’t know that I had not had any alcoholic drink in over a year and was gaining insight into hoarding and fighting to over come it. The paramedics were witness to a collection of empty bottles in my living room but may not have noticed that none of them were liquor bottles. They may have allowed me to wait 14 hours to see medical staff while I was dying because they thought that I was just drunk. In fairness to them, they wouldn’t have known because they did not ask my sister or myself if I was still drinking.
In fairness to the paramedics an the nurses and physicians, they may be thinking of images of homes of hoarders, the worse of which are shown on a couple television shows which showcase the illogical thinking of the hoarders towards letting go of their things, and thinking that my current condition was deserving of myself. In fairness to them, back then hoarding was not commonly know as a psychiatric obsessive compulsive disorder. They didn’t know that I was working hard to gain insight into my hoarding tendencies and making progress in my battle with this psychiatric disorder because they didn’t ask my sister or myself. I might have been just a smelly drunk from a dirty house to them.
But once I was finally seen and test results revealed that I had a deadly low blood count it would have been a good medical conclusion that it was that which caused delirium and stupor which appears like a drunk. They would have known that I could not think, speak or move because I didn't have the blood count to deliver oxygen to the cells in my brain and my body.
They didn’t seem sympathetic of my pain when I drank that awful bitter chalky liquid, being aware of the test results that revealed that my esophagus was covered with cold sore like lesions that caused pain every time liquid passed over them as I swallowed.
I thought about how hurt and helpless I felt because of the hospital staffs treatment of me. I wondered someone who treats another unkindly, is as “bad” as a person who hoards? Is the entitlement that someone gives themselves to judge another to be unworthy to be treated with kindness and respect causing emotional pain just as bad in the scheme of things as hoarding?
Soon after receiving my pain medication I was transferred to a nursing unit from the emergency department. My awful drink came with me and I managed to get it down small sip by sip. I was on the nursing unit a week and even after many multiple tests the physician could not determine what had caused my serious physical condition.
While I was on the unit I got a telephone call on my cell phone from Michelle, the owner of the kennels where I take my dogs when I am away. She was frantic and historically told me that my dogs were at the ASPCA.
“How do you know that?” I asked
“Somehow they made a connection to my kennels through their tatoo identification numbers and they called me to find out how to reach you.”. You have to call them or they will be euthanizing them.” she said frantically.
“Okay, I’ll do that right now.
So immediately I called the local ASPCA and told them as soon as I was out of the hospital I would pick them up. They were satisfied with that and promised to care for them until I could get there. After a week on the nursing unit I had regained my physical strength and was discharged home. I immediately went to pick up my dogs.
I was so happy to see them. I thought about what Diana said about them being in a safe place. She took them to the ASPCA. I guess being caged for 10 days was keeping them safe from harm but if they had been there longer they would have ceased to exist. One thing about my sister, she gets things done in the most expedient way but perhaps not completely thought through. I on the other hand think things through thoroughly and sometimes don’t complete a task because I cant decide how I want to do it.
If my dogs had been adopted from the ASPCA I would not have seen them again or if Michelle had not called me they would have been gone which would have devastated me. Diana was convinced that taking care of my home would be easier for me without them around and that is why she did what she did. Later when I told Michelle how my dogs got to the ASPCA she was livid; her anger directed at my sister. I wasn’t angry with her because I understood why she had done it
When I got them home we all curled up on the couch and as I looked around my living room my dreams of seeing the familiar bookshelf came back to me. Then I realized that the black blob I was fighting with was my black labrador trying to wake me up. I teared up when I thought about them being unattended and alone for the 7 days that I was unconscious. They had nothing to eat or drink. Ever since then every time I cough my black lab gets right in my face to make sure I am okay. Apparently when I was unconscious I aspirated saliva and cough when this happened. When my labrador gets in my face now after I cough I have to pet her and in a calming voice assure her that I am okay.
Waiting for my return home was a letter in my mailbox from the ASPCA with pictures of my dogs in their cages with caption saying “are these your dogs?” . They were cowering and looked frightened. After I saw this picture of them I immediately gave them a hug. They both wagged their tails and looked happy.
Upon catching up with all my emails I discovered an email from someone who was following up on the job opportunity that I had applied for prior to slipping into unconsciousness. I was asked to attend a job interview and I did. I got the job.
Getting the job was great. I was starting to feel empowered however I had to take many sick days. For a year following my hospitalization I continued to haemorrhage and was sent by my family physician to the hospital several times where I received a total of twelve units of blood. At the same time I suffered debilitating severe stomach pain when on a few occasions I took sleeping medication to put myself out to escape it. I was constantly short of breath and could not eat more than a couple of tablespoons of food at a time. I was referred to a gastrointestinal specialist who saw me but did not follow through with any medical tests.
Finally after begging my physician to get to the bottom of what was causing the pain and he referred me to a different gastrointestinal specialist who reacted promptly and discovered that I had a severe hernia where my stomach had almost completely migrated above my diaphragm and was in my chest cavity. That certainly explained my shortness of breath and inability to eat more than a couple of tablespoon portion of food at a time that I had been experiencing. That physician was not able to locate the bleed but he figured that the bleed was a result of my repositioned stomach.
Within a month I had surgery to reposition my stomach. Once that happened the pain ceased and I did not need any further blood transfusions. Furthermore, I could eat spicy foods without having to take any more anti-acid medication. Finally, I was experiencing physical peace.
Eventually it was determined by an astute hematologist that my nerve damage and low blood count was a result of a very rare virus. I was thankful that she had the perseverance to follow through until she isolated the virus. This particular virus attacks nerves and the bone marrow that produces blood. So while I was bleeding from my stomach, my body was unable to manufacture blood.
My family physician, on a follow-up post surgery visit told me that I was now physically healthy. My reaction to this news was unexpected. Although I felt relieved, this news changed my perspective of who I was. I had been a sick person for years and now I was healthy. I had to come up with a different perception of myself. A perception in which I was able to become active, within the bounds of what the impairment in my legs would allow me. It turned out that becoming active wasn’t easy because being unhealthy was not the only reason I had become inactive. I had to over come my episodes of depression and the guilt of being a hoarder before I could become active and engaged confidently in the world around me.
