Another year in the books and another strange anniversary to celebrate. I know we celebrate the new calendar year on January 1st, but as much as our birthdates better mark our treks around the sun, my survival date feels a more appropriate day to celebrate my mere existence, or something like that.
To digress for just a moment, I am all about celebrating accomplishments, goal achievement, and finish lines, but I think that our society is so focused on the finish line that the quality of the journey gets lost. ***Let’s not mistake this for permission to start a bunch of projects and deviate before completion (I mean, if that’s your M.O. you do you, but I’m a bigger fan of commitment, dedication, and finishing what you’ve started) – Oh heavens, I’ve gone and digressed on my initial digression…The point I’m failing to articulate is that the beginning is arguably as or more important than the end. If we never start a journey, we can never meet our destination, whether that is some magical place around the globe or career, fitness, family, and well-being goal. So…the day I was admitted into the hospital in Uruguay seems as perfect a day to celebrate my journey and appreciation for life as any other.
It has been five years. Half a decade, and yet a cold chill embedded deep in the pit of my stomach makes its annual wave through my entire body. Hmm, my body, the earthly vessel that either a) briefly tried to resign from its position or, b) deserves the love, care, and promotion of the highest order for its “heroic” part in granting my being just a little bit longer (okay, hoping for a lot) on this crazy, beautiful, and sometimes tragic planet. Am I nuts to be grateful to be living through this mostly (but not entirely) shitty pandemic?
Looking back and hitting the big bullet points (I could spend hours linking these memories with seemingly insignificant details). I remember the wheelchair I had requested for assistance in making my trek to the infirmary. No simple chest cold should rob one of their gross motor skills, right?!
I remember opening my eyes (without my “coke-bottle glasses” – I’m blind as a bat if you didn’t already know) and looking at what appeared to be fuzzy Halloween decorations – the faces of friendly ghosts, pumpkins, and something purple. The massive vessel that had replaced my once reasonably small frame served as a prison from which I was unable to escape even long enough to sit up and investigate further. Several days later when the hospital staff located my glasses, I learned that these decorations were carefully organized bins of medical equipment. Okay, not the most significant detail, but it was one my first memories post 5-day beauty sleep (too bad I came out on the other end looking like hell).
The medical staff – I remember more faces than names, but a few stood out. I remember Sebastian in CTI practicing his English with me. He had a kind smile and a gorgeous sleeve of beautiful tattoos. I think it was beautiful and gentle Laura that gave me [her] scrunchie to tuck away my long, thinning (thanks to the immune hit) and scraggly hair. The ice chips proved more desirable than the bottled water which, to me, had an odd taste. I remember my doctors checking in on me – constantly. I remember my family and former partner fighting for their moments in CTI (not aggressively, nor with each other lol) and I remember how much I had come to love the doctors, nurses, and orderlies – so much, that a should-be happy move to a regular bed was met with a pang of sadness that I wouldn’t see my angels on a regular basis. That said, they did visit me during my stay out of intensive care and I arrived in my new room to a wonderful new group of kind souls who treated me with compassion, preserving what little dignity I still possessed.
I remember the pain caused by 50 pounds of oedema that put pressure on my joints beyond anything they’d ever felt. I remember learning to stand up – perhaps the hardest challenge I’ve ever had. I also remember learning to walk again – in my 30s – with a walker. A [kid] who had spent her entire life dancing – just 4 steps proved difficult and excruciating. A different measure of success than I’d ever felt before, my once daily visit with Sebastian 2 of 3 (PT) was topped up with perfect Natalia’s visits – a reward for my good progress and will to get better/regain mobility.
I remember the hospital staff trying to make me eat a whole chicken because they thought my disappearing girth was a result of my refusal to eat at all. I actually remember them looking at the picture OF ME that Kyriakos’ beautiful mother Zoi had sent, and asking who it was – the two faces were not the same, hell, I didn’t even recognize the girl in the photo. I remember the hours of dialysis spent with wonderful nephrologists and technicians. They stayed by my side while I often slept through the process of cleansing my blood and removing excess fluid. It was the most exhausting passive practice in which I’ve ever engaged. I remember surprise surgeries in middle of the night, an allergic reaction to a blood transfusion, not to mention the allergic reaction to the hematoma dressing – you know that cute little heart on my inner arm? That was what was left after sweet Romi came to my rescue roughly 12 hours before the wound specialist could arrive.
I remember playing cards with my family (apparently a deck was nearly impossible to find), but I also remember not being able to hold the cards because of the nerve damage that ravaged my right hand. It was so bad that I had been prescribed a cocktail of the very drugs that had been claiming lives of the North American Opioid Crisis. The fact that I was discharged from a Canadian hospital with a considerable dose – no weening plan and no doctor willing to manage the impending withdrawal is a story for another day. Fun fact – I (with permission of my GP) self-weened off Hydromorphone (down from the morphine in S.A.) and had to drop the Fentanyl cold turkey – not advisable, but there was NO WAY I’d let that garbage claim the life I’d fought so hard to earn back.
I returned to Canada as a tiny pile of skin and bones – The hospital’s Michelin Star cuisine (I’m not kidding, the food was amazing) worked hard to put the meat back on my bones (perhaps more success than I may have wanted lol). Oh yeah, ask me about the infectious disease tests I went through in Canada next time you hear someone bitch about a COVID test – I had been 4 weeks cleared of the infection before arriving in Canada, but the hospital here checked, checked, and checked again to ensure I wasn’t still infectious – and it was a much less pleasant experience than getting a swab jammed up your nose…
I can talk about everything I’d lost, but I’d rather focus on what I’ve gained. My already deep appreciation for life is even greater. The friendships that have endured and the new ones I’ve made; the family with whom I feel close, even at a distance; the never-ending pursuit of new experiences and the wisdom that each grants; the great minds, texts, and art that fuel my never-ending (un)structured education. I’ve experienced growth beyond what I’d ever though necessary or even possible and I’m grateful for every sweet and sometimes salty lesson as well as the moments that tug on, rip, or repair my heart strings. The whole of human existence is so tragic, yet so very wonderful and I’m ever-thankful to be here to experience it.
Gratitude should and almost always comes at the forefront of this recollection, but I’ve left it to the end as I try to compartmentalize my thoughts in some order reflective of a high school essay. I’m thinking “finish strong,” and what better way that with an explosion of love and appreciation?! I’ve not listed specific people, because there are WAY TOO many and I’m sure to leave people out of text (though never out of heart). This is by no means an exhaustive list, just some of the many things and people for which/whom I am grateful:
– When things became apparently dire, the life-sustaining actions of HAL personnel that kept me alive long enough to be admitted into CTI on land.
– The friends who stepped in and kept the Entertainment Dept. running more smoothly than I had left it when I [accidentally] abandoned my post (let’s blame the coma, shall well?! Lol)
– The medical staff in Uruguay. My forever angels without whom I wouldn’t be alive.
– The family who was by my side in hospital and then had to put up with my ever-frustrating reintegration into the land of the living.
– The pals (yup, they’re family too) who spent their precious shore-leave with me in the hospital in Uruguay.
– Those that helped me make it to a Canadian hospital and those that called, messaged, or came to see me (in body or spirit) while in the hospital or while I was recovering at home.
– My amazing medical team that continues to help me manage the physical aftermath. The compassion and patience they demonstrate as I stumble along the path of chronic illness is immeasurable.
– Dance, Yoga, and fitness endeavours that remind me how fortunate I am to be living in a body that has rediscovered such freedom
– The mindful movement, breath, and intention that give me both purpose and peace.
– Then the other good stuff like fresh air, nature, books, animals, and coffee…so much coffee.
– The friends and family around the world who sent love, prayers, and any measure of support – the very love, prayers, and support that keep my sometimes weary heart afloat. The people with whom I laugh, cry, and ponder life’s meaning. In case you weren’t aware, I’m talking about my forever loves, a group of which you are a cherished member.
– Finally, as much as I criticize both, my brain and body are pillars of resiliency. Though I’m a little less forthcoming with the emotional challenges that are part and parcel of extreme trauma, they are no less a part of the journey. Still, it is not lost on me that my ability to push forward is a privilege, one for which my gratitude knows no bounds.
If you’ve made it this far, thanks for joining me. This is such a self-indulgent exercise, but I commit to performing it every year because I need to remind myself why I fought and was fought for. I could tuck it away in a journal somewhere, and I’m sure I’ll do so in some manner, but as I focus so much on sharing the good in my life (when I feel inclined to share), I feel it’s only fair to share the [other] bits and pieces of the perspective I’ve come to cherish. My life looks very different than I had once hoped, but it’s my life and I feel so lucky to be able to live it.
Until next year…
With love and my eternal gratitude,
Kellie
Homebody Movement Lab 