09 March 2012
I’m not quite sure what I wish to say or how I’m going to
say it. I guess I’ll just let my fingers type and my mind wander. Let’s see
where this goes.
On my way home from work tonight, I started thinking
about tomorrow. Specifically tomorrow, three years ago.
During the 24 hours that made up March 10, 2009, I
experienced a far greater range of emotions than any one person should be
allowed to suffer: breathless, exhaustion, pain, despair, sleepy, ache, numb, blessed,
scared, strength, realization, shock, starved, relief, awed, fear, thankful,
sorry, amazed, angry, inspired, humbled.
I’m still not quite sure how to classify that day. I
really think that I had hit rock bottom a few months previous. Losing my job
and, subsequently, my house provided a spectacular view from what I thought was
the very bottom. I realize that the bottom can be, and is, several rungs below
that. The view is spectacularly inspiring. Looking up because you can’t look
down any more was inspiring to me once I realized that I was done feeling sorry
for myself. It’s thought-provoking even. And I had a lot of time for inspired
thought-provoking in the days and weeks and months ahead.
As I was driving tonight, I subconsciously realized that
I remember the stark details vividly. I had worked the previous 24 hours
feeling completely exhausted, feeling as if I was a COPD patient with
exertional dyspnea, the type of patient that I had treated many times in my many
years in EMS. I could only walk a few steps before I needed to catch my breath
and gather my strength. I persevered that day, this day three years ago.
I saw myself, exhausted from a long day and night of work,
even more exhausted as I arrived at my doctor’s office to figure out what was
going on. I remember looking at my chest x-ray, wondering why the hell my left
side of my chest was as white as the wind-driven snow. I remember the
conversation with my doctor, how I decided that, because I had just driven
thirty miles to my doctor’s office, I could drive the last eight miles to Mt.
Clemens Regional Emergency Center. Almost breathless, I slogged into the ER to
be triaged, exhausted. Sleepy.
Looking back in recollection, maybe if I had looked into
a mirror at the doctor’s office, I might have accepted his offer of an ambulance
ride to the ER. Apparently, according to the triage nurse and the other nurses
and techs and doctors, I was pretty ghostly looking. Pale. White. A wheelchair
appeared and I was promptly ushered into the trauma room. My pulse ox reads a
measly 84%. Oxygen, IV’s, labs, 12 lead ECG, more x-rays and a CT of my chest. Shock.
A collapsed lung and a large unknown mass in the middle of my chest. What was
going on? Despair. Pain.
Mom and Dad show up at the ER. Nicole arrives to take
charge. I think I’m so tired and numb but I’m thankful that I can trust her to
try and make sense of the inexplicable. I still have a little strength left. We
always made a good team. From the first day of EMT class, a long time ago. Big
brother, little sister.
The ER doc shows up at the bedside. They want to tell me
privately but I don’t have anything to hide from anyone. Tell me what I don’t
want to hear. They don’t know what the mass is yet, but I have an ICU bed with
my name written all over it. It feels weird, being on the other side of the
veil. A patient, rather than the caregiver. Kinda scary, but oddly relieving
too. Truly believing that each person helping me now is doing so because they
want to, rather than because they’re being paid to do so. It’s what we do.
Delusional? Maybe. But I still believed it. But I might have been starved too.
I honestly don’t remember eating that day. My stomach aches.
Word gets out. Mikey is in the ER. Seems like wildfire as
the word spreads. Everybody knows Mikey. I’m starting to realize the full
unadulterated importance of friendship and family. I am in awe as the visitors
arrive. You show up, a couple at a time, a few, a group, a multitude. When all
is said and done eight days later, several dozen visitors each day. I think
they relaxed the rules just a teeny bit while I was a guest in the ICU. It was
a party. Somebody just forgot to bring the beer. Rob might’ve tried smuggling
some in if I would’ve asked. Now, that’s a partner! Who would believe that
someone gave me a blow up sex doll while I was in the ICU? You can’t make this
stuff up!
My date with the ICU begins. I remember taking quite a
few patients out of the ICU. This is the first time I saw one wheeled in from
the ER. 2 South. I’m relieved for the small fact that I might be able to sleep
eventually. I get my marching orders from my nurse. Stay in bed and rest. And
keep the oxygen on. As tired as I am, sleep is beyond me. I can’t even follow
simple instructions.
As it gets dark and the day grows older, Kimmy becomes my
protector, the watchful eye. She’s working down in the ER on the graveyard
shift. She comes to visit me in the ICU when she can, making sure I’m ok. Most
people can point to an older and wiser mentor who you learned life’s lessons
from while you’re learning to love the job you were destined to do. I have to
be different. My mentor is younger and much prettier than I. I’d like to think
we’re both pretty smart and we’re both much wiser together as partners. Four
years. At least three years. It seems like much longer, but in truth probably much
shorter. Do you have a partner that you can run a code with and not say a word?
I do.
March 10, 2009 will be the day that changed my life
forever. For the better and worse. It was the day that I felt my absolute
worst. Every day since has been my best. Some days are better than others but
these days are always best days. Over the past three years I’ve read more about
cancer and Hodgkin’s disease than anyone should be allowed to learn. I find it
oddly troubling that the American Cancer Society would need a slogan, but it’s
a good one: “The official sponsor of birthdays”. Because every birthday forever
after is one that might not have been. I was lucky. My brother David was
extremely lucky. Several friends were lucky. Several other friends weren’t so
lucky. Celebrate and live life like it was your last day. I’d say it’s a pretty
good rule to follow.
It’s humbling to truly realize how many lives one single
life touches, whether in the course of a day or a lifetime. Loves, girlfriends
and girl friends, partners, co-workers, bosses, students, FTO-lings,
supervisors, EMT’s, paramedics, nurses, doctors, techs, firefighters, police
officers, classmates, acquaintances, all my “nieces” and “nephews” that know
Uncle Mikey, and my families, real and adopted. Friends, all.
I just want to say…
May God bless you all. He’s blessed me. Thank you!
