Six months ago today I was admitted to the hospital. Up until then I was healthy; seldom got a cold, hadn't had the flu in at least six years and then on January 20th I was suddenly not healthy.

January 17th I started I started my new position; I was thrilled to leave my crazy, immature department behind and start as a manager in a department I had been trying to get into for at least two years. Go me! My first day was kind of boring, reading up on stuff, meetings, training, etc. The next day began day one of two of HR webinars. By the end of that day I felt tired and like I was coming down with a cold or maybe a stomach bug. I had heard three of my new coworkers had gone home early or were home with a killer flu. I remember thinking, "I hope I don't get what they have." and crossing my fingers that the flu shot I had gotten back in October would reign supreme.

I woke up on January 19th, exhausted and feeling a bit...off, but I went to the gym anyway because I'm stubborn. By early afternoon, I felt like I hadn't gotten any sleep but I also felt like my blood sugar was low. I drank a Coke, ate some peanut butter crackers and I still didn't feel any better. After work I picked up some food, but once I got home I had absolutely no appetite. I posted on Facebook, "I am either extremely tired or I'm coming down with The Sickness. Cross your fingers for extremely tired"; I slept for four hours. When I woke up I felt a little better and ate something and watched a little TV before calling it a night. I woke up the next day and I remember saying out loud, "FUCK. I have the flu." I trudged to work (like I said, I'm stubborn) and I stopped in the coffee shop and got a bagel with peanut butter and some orange juice and some Vitamin Water. I couldn't even manage a bite of my bagel. I was barely at work an hour before my new boss sent me home. I sent instant messages to a few work friends letting them know I was pretty sure I had the flu and I would text them once I got home. It felt like it took me 30 minutes to walk home. The snow felt like quicksand and it felt like my snow boots and legs weighed 50lbs but I made it home and in bed I went.

The next few days are a bit fuzzy. I think I slept pretty much all day the following day, if I wasn't in the bathroom puking, and I texted a few friends saying I felt awful and just needed to sleep and take a lot of medicine. Saturday the 22nd I ordered a pizza since I had no food in my house and had not had a meal since that previous Tuesday night. I remembered I ordered a large veggie pizza and two 2-liters of root beer and Coke. I remember taking a bite of a piece of pizza before throwing it back in the box and deciding eating just wasn't an option. I picked up my 2-liters, stood up from the couch, took a few steps.....and fell. I tried to get up again and I fell again. I remember being able to walk down the hall towards the stairs before falling again. And I remember looking up at the staircase and thinking, "How the hell am I going to get up there if I can't walk?" So I basically crawled up the steps. I would put one of the 2-liters as far up the steps as I could and I would scoot up the steps on my butt. I have no idea how long I did this but I was determined to get upstairs. I got upstairs and got myself in bed. I don't know how long I slept but I remember waking up and it was dark. After that, I don't remember that Saturday night. The next time I woke up it was Sunday and I had to go to the bathroom. I got out of bed, went to go downstairs and fell all the way to the bottom of the stairs. I crawled to the bathroom and that is about all I remember for a while. I may have passed out in the bathroom, I don't know. The next thing I remember is being upstairs lying at the foot of my bed unable to pull myself onto my bed. I remember just wanting to get into bed and sleep and being extremely thirsty. But no matter how hard I tried to use my bed frame to pull myself up or try to reach the 2-liter of Coke that was only a foot away, I did not have the strength to do it.

I think I was in and out of conscious for a little bit, more out than in. I had dreams/delusions that made it seem as though I was awake, mobile and going on with my life. In my head I went to the gym, went to the grocery, and talked to friends called off work and orchestra rehearsal Monday the 24th. At some point in time I had my "white light moment" which is just too personal too share but this is when I knew something was seriously wrong and I was near death. All I will say is that I received reassurance that I wasn't going to die and that someone would find me in time. I was passed out at the foot of my bed until three of my work friends and my landlord found me the morning of January 25th. I looked into the face of my landlord and thought, "Why is K here?" I looked to my left and saw my friend, TS and said, "What the fuck is going on?" They looked scared, but I wasn't scared. Just tired and confused.

I actually remember a majority of January 25th. Three EMTs came to my apartment, loaded me up in a wheelchair (my urban loft is not exactly stretcher friendly) and got me outside. It was bitter cold and my friends, JB and MJW were standing on the sidewalk and they look petrified. The EMTs loaded me into the ambulance and one of the asked me, "Do you have a hospital preference?" In my head I said, "Are you really asking me that right now?" but out loud I said, "No." and they said, "Is CH ok?" Me: "I guess."

My experience in the CH emergency room was horrible. Tammy was the ER nurse assigned to my case and she was awful. According to my friend, TS, she would start my IV drip no matter how my friends begged her to and no matter how I begged for some water. TS said the IV was finally started about 30 minutes after my arrival. Not only did Tammy not start my IV drip, she wouldn't listen to me as I told her I had the flu, I didn't take any meds except for Nyquil, I hadn't eaten or drank anything in a few days and I just wanted water and I was in pain. Everything hurt and she wasn't listening to me. You know what else hurt? When Tammy and another ER nurse put in my catheter. Tammy gave me now warning and yelled at the other ER nurse to hold my leg (her idea of hold my leg was giving me an Indian burn that resulted in me screaming). As I was being wheeled out to have some tests done I overheard one of the doctors ask Tammy, "When will that room be free?” My room. Which wasn't a room at all. Just a little area in the ER surrounded by curtains that Tammy never bothered to close even though I was off a busy hallway and naked from the waist down. I felt like a sideshow act as staff walked by, peeked in and whispered amongst themselves. Finally, I was taken up to my hospital room, where JB, TS and MJW stayed with me until my family arrived. One of my doctors asked me how I was feeling and when I told them I hurt all over they gave me morphine. One the morphine kicked in, I was out.

Day two I was in and out of sleep and subjected to MRIs, CAT scans, and pretty much any other scan you can imagine. I mostly slept when I was in my room. Every time I opened my eyes, there seemed to be a minimum of ten people in my room; comforting yet overwhelming at the same time. By the third day I was coherent enough to restrict my visitors to family only. I needed a day to just think and have some time without the constant in an out of friends and coworkers. I just wanted my family. Day three was also the day I realized that I did not sound like myself. What I heard when I talked was the voice of a child who sounded like they had a stroke. My voice was high pitched and it sounded like I had been drinking. What was going on??? Why do I sound like this?? One of my nurses stopped by and said my coworker was here with my leave of absence paperwork. Oh yeah. I probably need to do that. SS walked in my room and I could see the fear/panic on her face when she looked at me. Even though I was already starting to get used to that look from people, I couldn't help but wonder, "What the hell do I look like?" As I signed the LOA paperwork I noticed by signature wasn't my normal signature. To me it looked like nothing by chicken scratch but I still don't panic nor do I mention this to my team of doctors. Later that day I had a spinal tap. As I lay on my stomach, I looked to my left and saw someone crouched on the floor. I looked at the two lab workers and wondered why they weren't reacting the man in white crouched on the floor beside my bed. "Don't move," one of them said. I don't remember the spinal tap. All I remember is staring at the man who was crouched by my bed and saying to myself, "Please see him. PLEASE see him." They did not see him. Later that evening I was lying in my hospital bed staring at the light right above my head as my nurses took my vitals and took more blood from me. Except I wasn't just staring at a light fixture. I saw tiny figures and hieroglyphics and were swimming and dancing in the light. It's official. I am losing my mind. What was wrong with me? That night my favorite nurse, A, came in and said, "You look upset. What's wrong?" And I started crying hysterically. "A, I think I am losing my mind. I don't sound like myself and I am seeing things that aren't there," I sobbed. A's eyes were full of concern and she said, "Honey, what are you seeing?" I took a deep breath and I said, "I'm seeing people that aren't here. No one sees them but me." She didn't laugh at me. Instead she said, "What do you see?" I looked over at the armchair and looked back at her. I looked at the armchair again. Sitting in that armchair was an elderly black woman with short grey hair. I told Nurse A what I saw. Nurse A's response? "No one is there and you're not losing your mind. You're going to be fine." By my second week in the hospital, I wasn't hallucinating anymore.

The next few days were stressful. I went from having a catheter to having an adult diaper and subsequently got diaper rash. My vision was blurry and I had to use prescripted eye drops (I couldn't see with my glasses until about day 8 in the hospital, my eyes were blood red my first few days in the hospital). I walked for the first time and discovered that I couldn't walk without assistance and it felt like my hips were disjointed. And if I walked too fast, my heart monitor would go off and send the staff into a panic (a 2 minute walk around my hospital floor caused my heart to leap to nearly 150bpm). On my fourth day in the hospital, Dr. LAC came to my room and told me that they were going to be releasing me that day because they couldn't find anything in my blood work and my scans revealed that although I had brain swelling, it was going down. Oh really Dr. LAC? So I cussed Dr. LAC out and yelled at her that I couldn't be released when 1) no one has told me anything about why I am there 2) I haven't walked the entire time I've been there, 3) I don't sound like myself 4) if my blood work is negative why did I have more blood work that morning and 5) how can she make that decision when she's only been on my case for two days? Needless to say, I was not released from the hospital on January 28th.

As days when on, my nurses came to the realization the multiple blood drawers each day were torturing me. Every time they came to take blood I would cry and sometimes even scream. One nurse said I had veins the size of a small child's and they just were not going to put me through the agony of trying to get blood from me when it would never be enough for what they needed. My childlike veins were even a challenge for the IV specialists that were called in to take my blood. One specialist came in and he was oh so cocky. I said to him, "You're not going to get anything." He laughed at me.......and soon found out I was right. Idiot. One of my doctors, Dr. L, came to me and said they were pretty sure I had viral encephalitis but want to make sure I did not have any other diseases. It was his long winded way of asking me if I would be willing to be subjected to an HIV and Herpes test. Sure. And they were negative. So Dr. L said they wanted to send my blood off to the CDC. Ok no problem. What they didn't tell me is they would have to fill a five inch syringe with my blood. Of course the phlebotomist who was assigned to fill this syringe could barely get blood out of me and the specialist that was called in could barely get blood out of me, but after what felt like a (painful) eternity, she filled up the monstrous syringe with my blood and announced, "Honey, that hurt my hands and I am so sorry you had to go through that." You and me both lady. I get back to my room and one of my nurses tells me it's a good day because I am going to get a PICC line. A what? "You won't have to be poked with needles if we need blood from you or to start an IV." Rejoice! I had also convinced my doctors that I needed to speak to a speech pathologist or someone in charge of speech because my voice was not my voice. Finally Dr. A came to see me. She had me count backwards from 100 and even though I freaked out after I went from 90 to 87 and also skipped over 84, she wasn't too concerned since I was able to remember that five minutes ago I was able to remember she had told me to remember spoon, shoe, and rose. She confirmed everything that I had suspected, whatever had caused me to get so sick had affected my speech but she did not think it had affected my memory long term. She said she would have Dr. KBC stop by my room the next day. Dr. KBC came by the next day and we went through a few exercises and then she asked me to read the first line out loud of a book I had on the table beside my bed. In my head I read, "Mama washed the last dish she ever intended to wash." but out loud I said, "Umm.....M....Ma....". I couldn't read out loud. I broke down and threw the book aside. I went from being well spoken and well read to the complete opposite. If I couldn't read out loud, what else couldn't I do?

My doctors came to the conclusion I had come down with viral encephalitis. I had been admitted to the hospital with severe dehydration and kidney failure. My tests had come back positive for the flu  and H1N1 which had rapidly manifested into viral encephalitis. They told me the strange rash on my arms and thighs were a result of my organs starting to shut down and my kidneys failing on me. Despite the brain swelling and the affected speech, there were no signs of a stroke and because I was active and good health before I got sick, they did not see why I wouldn't make a full recover with a lot of time and not have any lasting brain damage. February 4th I was admitted to inpatient rehab where I was allowed to wear my own clothes. My first day in rehab I had occupational therapy where I looked at pictures and told my OT what was wrong with the picture. That was super easy. Then he said, "Ok, now we're going to pretend like you're a cashier and I'm the customer. The total cost of my order was $25.45 and I give you $50. How much do I get back?" I stared at the play money and drew a blank. 50-25.45 is................?? "Um..." I stumbled. "Forty? Wait..." Why don't I know this? I was a whiz at adding and subtracting. I was starting to think maybe I did have permanent brain damage and I got upset and told my OT guy to take me back to my room.  

I took my first shower since January 18th on February 5th. When I was in my previous room I asked my nurses for a solid week if I could take a shower and I would get, "Sorry, you can't get your heart monitor or IVs wet." When my rehab nurse told me a shower wouldn't be a problem as long as they wrapped up my PICC line and I used the shower seat I hugged her and cried. That first shower was a little piece of heaven. I think I sat under the hot water for at least half an hour laughing and crying because it felt so good. Something so simple was bringing me so much joy. A shower made me smile for the first time in a long time.

I was in inpatient rehab from February 4th-February 9th. My days were packed with OT, PT and speech exercises. I also suffered from anxiety during that time started to develop painful cramps and a burning sensation in my feet that would wake me up in the middle of the night. They didn't know what was causing it so I was prescribed Lyrica. My elevated heart rate was still an issue as my resting heart rate was as high as 120bpm and I was prone to passing out during physical therapy. I was instructed to take it extremely slow once I got home and to call a friend to stay with me if I needed it. By 4:30pm on February 9th I was home in my apartment and unsure of what I should do. I took a bath, watched a little TV and snuggled with my cat that refused to leave my side. I drove my car for the first time that Friday night, just around the neighborhood. It took everything in me to turn the wheel, I could feel every bit of the 2000+lbs as I drove and my vision was blurry but I made it home. The next week I had a follow up appointment with my regular doctor and to have some blood work done to check my kidney and liver functions. At the mention of blood work I started to feel anxious. My arms already looked like I had been shooting up heroin few months and the veins felt spindly and thin. I was crying before I even sat in the phlebotomist's chair, but she managed to calm me down and take my blood. I've had blood drawn many times since then and while I don't cry as before, I still have to take a deep breath and remember I have been through worse things.

I returned to work on March 7th and returned to my orchestra on March 14th. My liver and kidney functions are normal and my doctor is certain there will not be any lasting damage. I have been in speech therapy with Dr. KBC since February 14^th.  Dr. A and Dr. KBC have told me that my brain injury caused me to “forget” how to use my mouth, tongue and throat and I have spent the past 5.5 months relearning how to use my mouth and tongue.  I have had to relearn how to breathe properly not only when I speak, but when I eat as well.  When I first brushed my teeth in the hospital, my mouth felt like jelly and I didn’t know how to spit into the sink, water and toothpaste just dribbled out of my mouth.  When I would eat, food would fall out of my mouth and I would breathe at the wrong time and I would almost choke on my food.  Dr. KBC says I have improved by leaps and bounds. "Sarah" no longer sounds like "Sawah". I am able to read a loud  and I can read for a full ten minutes without getting winded.  Dr. KBC says I am 96% recovered with a few things that need tweaking. There are still some words and letter combinations that I still have to slow down and think about when I use them. I still don't talk as fast as I used to but she says that will come with time and I should be patient. What may not come back is how I sound to myself. To my own ears I still don't sound like myself even though my voice has dropped to its natural register and I no longer speak in the staccato way I was speaking just 3 months ago. If I record myself, I hear me albeit a little different but not by much. I've been told that if you met me for the first time today, you wouldn't even know I was in speech therapy. Before I got sick, I was an extrovert and super talkative. Once I got out of the hospital, I was an introvert and I didn't talk much because I wasn't sure what people were hearing when I opened my mouth because to me, I sounded awful. But today, I'm almost back to being my old extroverted self.  I'll get there. 

Health wise I am around 90%. Although I've built up most of the muscle mass I lost while I was in the hospital, I am still about two sizes smaller than what I was. By the end of March I was suffering from migraines every two week. They've lessened in frequency now, but I still get them.  I still have some issues with adding but it is not nearly to the level it was when I first went to rehab.  There are days where I have trouble remembering something or words, but I try not to panic.  At the beginning of April, I noticed my hair was starting to fall out in clumps whenever I washed it. A few weeks later I noticed that it had broken off to about in inch from the base of my neck through the middle of the back of my head, by mid-May I had cut off my shoulder length hair practically boy short to accommodate for the hair loss and breakage. The cramps and burning I had been experiencing in my feet while I was in rehab had spread to my calves, hands and forearms. My doctor said I may have peripheral neuropathy (nerve damage) so I was sent to CH for a muscle/nerve test which was painful but they came back negative. More blood work revealed I had a moderate to severe vitamin D deficiency which could have caused the symptoms of the neuropathy and I was prescribed a high dose of vitamin D. Unfortunately my symptoms seemed to get worse and not better. Around this time I also came down with the flu, bronchitis and an ear infection all at the same time and that left my mental state a bit fragile; what is healthy again? About a month ago the cramping and burning I had been feeling spread to my face and torso and I was feeling extremely tired and dizzy and unbalanced. Warning bells went off in my head and I went to see my doctor. My blood work came back with very low vitamin D and an underactive thyroid. My doctor explained to me my thyroid condition and I realized I have problem had an underactive thyroid for at least five months. While the diagnosis is simple and easy to treat, it is just another thing on my list of health issues that I have had to deal with this year.

Despite all of this I have not once said, "Why me?" Sure 2011, has been a pretty shitty year for me and there are days were I feel like I physically cannot get out of bed and the cramps/burning I feel in my extremities and my face are constant I know there is someone out there that has it worse than me. When I would be taken down to what felt like my 100th full body scan or MRI, I would often see patients who clearly had devastating brain injuries and I would think to myself, "That could be me. This is a cake walk compared to them." When I was in rehab, I was partnered with a man whose legs were as skinny as my arms and he could barely walk. He had cancer and his girlfriend had found him passed out on the bathroom floor hemorrhaging from a recent surgery. And his spirits were HIGH. Higher than mine even. All he could talk about was seeing his daughter once we were done with our exercises and going home in a few days. So who am I to even think about complaining?

I have my ok days and I have my not so ok days, but I won't let it get the best of me. One thing that was wearing on me was Facebook. That's right, FACEBOOK. While I was in the hospital I would check my Facebook on my phone and eventually on my laptop that RG brought to me. I realized that Facebook and I would have to break up soon. I went from checking it twice a day, to once a day to about twice a week once I got out of the hospital. Seeing people complain about the cold and how they had the sniffles got to me, especially when I was in the hospital. I longed to be outside and I wish I was just suffering from the sniffles, but I couldn't be made at my friends. Up until I got sick, that was me. A complainer of the little things and obsessed with Facebook. A Facebook slut if you will. My illness gave me perspective on life and I'm glad I was able to get it in my earlier 30s. I turned 32 on April 22, and on April 23 I "broke up" with Facebook. I baffled my friends and even some of my family with my decision to leave Facebook. I was like, "It's just Facebook, calm down." My therapist says it was a good decision for me. Oh yeah, I see a therapist now. In the three weeks I was home from on leave, I had many sleepless nights, random bouts of crying and signs of depression. Not only did my body have to heal, but my mind had to heal as well. That too will take some time and that is work in progress.

I'm more spiritual now than I was six months ago. No, I did not find God or anything like that but I have embraced the power of prayer and reflection and it helps me. It helps me deal with the complainers of the world, the people who are sweating the small stuff and mostly the people whose perspective of life is skewed and they don't get it yet. Not just some friends, but some family as well. But I don't preach to them they need to get it together because that is not my place. I believe everyone will gain their perspective eventually. Some sooner than others. And I have always been a believer that things happen for a reason. I was supposed to get sick. Even if my mind had been right and I had called 911 the first time I fell, I still think I would have gotten sick. It just may have come later in life. Who knows. Your guess is as good as mine.

I might not be overcoming cancer but I believe I have been given a second chance at life and I don't want to take it for granted. The main thing I have learned from all this is that life is short and it's precious. You can blink and it can be taken from you in a flash.