How Almost Dying Taught Me to Live
I only remember their faces. Expectant, with bated breath. Like sailors lost at sea, searching for the horizon. For me, they were like dimly lit lanterns, as I tried to swim ashore.
Welcome to Oz, someone said, as I opened my eyes. It was three days past Christmas, 2007. I had been in the ICU since December 26th.
Oz, I remember thinking. That sounds about right. I felt like Dorothy waking up from a dream. Except for me, there had been no tornado. No Glinda, no munchkins, flying monkeys or wicked witches either. Instead, there were EMTs, hospitals, snowstorms, doctors and MRIs, none of which I remembered. I’d been in an induced coma to stop the seizures. My dream had held nothing but a blanket of black. Missing time. Three days. To me, it felt like seconds.
Seventeen years ago today, I collapsed after an allergic reaction to a medication used for a common sinus infection. At least, that’s what the doctors blamed it on. The truth is, they weren’t sure. This is why they asked for permission to write about me in a medical journal. I was to be studied. An otherwise healthy, 28-year-old girl, I had collapsed suddenly that morning. I remember not feeling well. Things seemed confusing to me. I sat down on the edge of my daughter’s bed and four days later, there I was in ICU, on dialysis as my kidneys were shutting down. A woman near the same age as me had died two weeks earlier. The doctors said she had the same symptoms.
My husband had found me having a seizure. He called 911. The EMTs didn’t know what to do with me. They assumed I’d been on drugs, even when my husband explained to them that I don’t drink or hardly take a Tylenol. It wasn’t until they shipped me to the local hospital and the drug test came back negative and the doctors who observed me there also didn’t know what to do with me that my family decided to ship me to a larger hospital in the city. Outside, a raging snow and ice storm covered the roads. Since there was no Life Star because of the weather, the doctors put me back into an ambulance which drove to the hospital an hour away (on a good day) while a woman hand-pumped a ventilator to keep me alive.
I’ve heard the story so many times. The missing days I don’t remember.
If she lives, the doctors had said, we can’t guarantee she’ll be the same.
They ran MRIs to study my brain. How long had it been without oxygen? Would I be able to walk? Talk? Feed myself? Would I remember who I am?
When I woke up, staring up at my family, their faces shrouded in darkness, their voices were distant to me. The sounds of beeps and bleeps and the hustle and bustle of the hospital took over my senses. Still, I sensed something big had happened. I felt disoriented, so I looked to the windows, noticing the tall city buildings outside. I wondered where I was and why. I can’t remember if I asked, but someone in my family answered.
You’re in the hospital. You collapsed, but you are going to be okay.
And then, I thought how strange it was to see them all there together. They didn’t always get along.
For two more days, I stayed in the ICU, peeing in a bag. I remember the burn of the IV when it dried up. The bright hospital lights. The family that came in and out, sitting by my bed. In the night, I felt a glow of a warm presence covering me with a blanket. An angel nurse that whispered everything would be alright.
My aunt brought me a gift basket. Chocolate. Tabloid magazines. A Strawberry Shortcake DVD. Not because I could watch it, but for my daughter, five at the time. Oh, how I ached to see my little girl. I hadn’t seen her since I’d been admitted to the hospital. I kept asking for her. I needed to see her. And so, my mother and husband talked with the doctors, and they made an exception.
This is what I remember most: the way my little girl crawled up on the bed and held me tight, her tiny warm fingers grasping mine, anchoring me to the world I was so desperate to return to.
That was just what the doctor ordered, my doctor had said. Everyone in the hospital called him “the smartest man in the world.” And I knew they were right. Because he saved my life.
And so.
I remembered my name. I could still walk. After a week more in the hospital, I returned home. I was out of work for a month. My muscles felt so heavy. It was as if I’d lifted a million pounds twenty days straight at the gym.
For a long time after, I was scared. Scared of germs. Scared of medicine. Scared of allergic reactions. If I could have walked around in a Hazmat Suit, I would have. The anxiety of not knowing exactly what had happened to me got the best of me. What if it happened again? Was it the medicine? A mysterious illness? Was there something the doctors missed? I washed my hands until I needed a special cream because I’d washed them so dry. I avoided crowds. I woke up panicked in the night.
But what I learned was this: being scared didn’t take away the things I feared. Being scared didn’t stop me from almost dying. Being scared only stopped me from living.
It’s been seventeen years. I still can’t believe it. Since then, I’ve given birth to a son. Raised a beautiful family with my husband, watching both children grow to become amazing human beings. I also went to law school. Passed the bar. Became an attorney. Wrote some novels. Became a published author. And so much more. I cherish every moment.
This experience taught me we can do hard things. We can heal. We can make dreams come true. We can be brave. Most importantly, it taught me that true freedom comes when we find the courage to rise above fear and embrace life in all its fullness.
So, here’s to 2025—a year for conquering fears, chasing dreams, and finding the bravery to live the lives we’re meant to live.
Whatever challenges you face, remember this: you have the strength to get through it. You can make your dreams come true. It’s just one step at a time.
Till Next Time,
Sarah Crowne
AKA A Busy Lady
© 2024 WHATS GOIN ON?! SLN Publishing LLC, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Wowza! What a story, Sarah! I love the takeaway to face your fears, and I love that you shared the story!
Amazing story!!!!!!