Mayo visit January 2016...

“Ms. Davidson?”  anxiously questioned the nurse. “Ms. Davidson, can you hear me?  Allyson, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

As I was coming out from anesthesia from a bronchoscopy I could hear what was going on around me, but I wasn’t really there,  my mind was still foggy and I couldn’t communicate.  I was just ordered to squeeze someone’s hand, I could feel her hand on mine, but I couldn’t squeeze.  I squinted my eyes and saw that I was surrounded by a circle of medical personnel, some attending to me, some just gawking.  What was going on?  What was wrong with me?  I could feel some sort of mask on my face and I had a chemical taste in my mouth, but what was happening?  Then an involuntary force hit me, I started coughing violently, flopping my body in a contorted heap on the table.  I couldn’t stop coughing and coughing, a deep, hurtful  but unproductive cough.  I went through several coughing attacks, with the doctor ordering them to put two different medicines through the mask strapped to my face.   In one of the lulls between the attacks I started to feel different, like a heavy weight was placed on my chest.  I began to feel the effects of my body being denied oxygen.   I was drowning in a waterless pool, not being able to outwardly scream, feeling helpless, with extreme panic assaulting my mind.   Suddenly I heard a voice declare, “She’s not breathing!”  

The next minutes, not really sure how long, were filled with a series of medical events, with me in and out of consciousness.  Mask ripped off.  Injection in my IV.   Head thrust back.  Limp body.  New device on my face.  Manual breathing.  Feeling the benefits of oxygen.  Lungs working.  Lungs failing.  Drowning again.  Needle into my arm.   Feel air in my lungs.  Propped up, stiff board behind my back, mobile x-ray.   Lungs working.  Getting air.   Drowning again.  Lungs failing.  Body shaking.  Too many voices for me to make out what was going on.  Plastic shoved in my mouth, feel something cold going down my throat.  Machine attached to my face.  Getting air.  No more drowning.  Intensive Care Unite (ICU) here I come.  

I was conscious when I got to ICU and when the reality of what had happened hit me, tears started to trickle from my closed eyes.  The night before I had PROMISED a very upset Andrew that I would be home to put him to bed.  How could I explain to my three-year old why I couldn’t keep that promise?  Sorry, sweetie, I almost died so I can’t sing you songs tonight?  My heart broke and sadness momentarily overtook me.  I HATED cancer.  The attending nurse saw the tears and gently tried to wipe my face since my body was attached to all sorts of machines.   I was embarrassed, angry, sad, scared, relieved and yet numb all at the same time.  I just wanted to melt away into the bed.   When Bill arrived in ICU, my tears kept coming, still unable to talk.  Despite all the fear, anger and confusion, I also felt immense gratitude.  I recognized that I was lucky, real lucky.  I was alive.  There are so many that suffer in this world with cancer that don’t have access to medical resources or support from family and friends.  I have been to many third world countries where people suffer, with no options at all, suffering with no hope of a future.   I am blessed.  I have my belief in God, a loving God, supporting me through these challenges.  I feel His love and concern.  I felt His love through the love and kindness bestowed upon me and my family from others.

Furthermore, despite the ICU setback, just the day before I had received great news!  One brain tumor, gone.  The other brain tumor significantly smaller.  Lung tumor, shrinking.  Tumors in my intestines, also shrinking.  The combo of radiation and drugs seem to be working their magic!

Unfortunately, the scans also showed I have a few new “hot spots.”  One of those was in my lung, which is why one reason I had the bronchoscopy.  Biopsy for came back negative for Melanoma!   My lung is still partially collapsed and pneumonitis is my constant companion, but I’ll take it over Melanoma.  I go back to Mayo next week to check out my other hotspot in my pelvis, hoping that my new trend of a negative biopsy continues.  Feeling good, feeling grateful, so glad I am home so I can tuck Andrew and all my kids in bed tonight.  

(FYI:  I recovered quickly in ICU.  The doctors explained that I experienced a rare event when trauma to the lungs combined with anesthesia causes your lungs and voice box to seize, making it so you can't breathe.  My lungs decided they had had too much trauma, they were done. Modern medicine helped them decide they needed to keep going.  When I talked to my mom and told her what happened she was obviously upset.  I told her not to worry, I wasn't that close to dying.  I didn't see any bright lights, no lighted tunnels, my father wasn't standing there with outstretched arms.  Anyway, my grandfather, who was quite a character would probably have yelled at me to, "get the #!@#!  back to earth!"  So, I was safe, not even close.  Also, I am not going to post any pics of me in ICU, I have too much pride.)