Needless to say, these past several weeks have been fairly difficult. After New Years, my Primary Care Doctor came to go over my lengthy medication list. He found several meds that were interacting with each other, and discontinued them. I felt better for a few days, but that's it. I really don't remember the next week and a half. I spent my friend's twin daughers' birthday party passed out in the car. A week later, I apparently asked my mom to take me to Walmart.
The next thing I knew, I was in the ER at Piedmont Hospital in downtown Atlanta. In addition to asking stupid things like going to Walmart when I could barely stand up, I had apparently been doing some version of drunk dialing...minus the alcohol. My mom was afraid I had accidently taken too much medication, and so did the ER doctor that admitted me. I was furious and demanded to go home, even if I had to take a cab to get there. Finally, they got me to agree to stay and wisely started moving my bed in the direction of the elevators. I lasted until they got me to my room. Then I got dressed and again demanded to leave. The nurse and my parents left, and a African-American woman dressed in scrubs came out of the shadows, pulled up a chair, and asked if she could talk to me. I was still furious at my mom for taking me there, but I agreed to listen. She said all she wanted to do was tell me her story. She said she was horribly abused as a child, and grew up very angry as a result. Her whole life was a mess, and all her relationships failed because of her anger. A friend invited her to church, where she got saved. She said at that moment, all her anger just melted away. She said, "Jesus was horribly abused, worse than I ever was. Jesus was betrayed, just like you feel you were. If Jesus could forgive all that, there is no reason why we can't forgive." Of course, she was right, and I knew it. She sat with me while I cried and waited with me until I fell asleep.
A couple days later, one of those patient care specialists who ask patients about their experiences, etc. came to my room. He asked if there was anyone that I felt went above and beyond to help me. I could only name my nurse, who was great, but I really wanted to name the woman that was with me the first night, but for some reason I couldn't remember her name at that moment. A couple hours later, I remembered. Michelle. I asked around to the nurses, and no one knew who she was. No one with that name and description was employed at the hospital. All my nurse from that night could tell me was that when she left my room, I was very upset, and when she came back about an hour later, I was sleeping peacefully.
Three days after my admission, I got my diagnosis - MRSA. This is the 3rd time I've had the infection, which started at my feeding tube site. It had already started spreading, and had caused several skin lesions. After 5 days of IV antibiotics (and a tornado), I was discharged to continue to recover at home.
I kept Michelle to myself for a few days, trying to sort out what had happened. I have come to the conclusion that yes, she could have been an angel. They are minstering spirits that point us to Jesus, and that's exactly what Michelle did. I also understand that there are certain things that we don't know this side of heaven. I will always keep that memory with me...its very special. I thank God for, once again, miraculously sparing my life.
Surviving the Tornado in my stylish blue "Smurf suit" that I had to wear in isolation.
