A free verse poem giving an account of my life-threatening GI bleed. |
The day started fine. My beloved wife Linda and I did our two-mile exercise tape, with my using five-pound weights for the arm exercises. All good. We ate lunch at noontime, then settled in to watch golf on TV and nap. Everything normal; no indication of the harrowing night ahead. At 2 PM the first signs of trouble showed up. Walking from the sofa to the bathroom, I became dizzy and needed help from Linda. But, back seated on the sofa, I felt good and clear-headed. On another potty run at 5 PM, I again became disoriented and fell to the floor. Not fine! With Linda’s help, the mission was completed and I was resettled on the sofa. I felt fine, mentally alert, in no pain, sensed no immediate danger ahead. Comes 9 PM, and I feel faint upon trying to rise from the sofa. Soon Death will be stalking me! My wife gets my rolling office chair for me to sit upon. I black out, eyes rolling upwards, start seizing … blood issues forth from my mouth soaking my shirt. I regain awareness to hear Linda’s terror-filled voice frantically calling my name while sobbing and begging the 911 person to hurry. Twice more I throw up copious amounts of blood. So much blood! I realize I am now teetering on the edge of a crumbling cliff, facing falling headlong downwards into the abyss of darkness. My angels arrive not on gossamer wings but as EMTs in an ambulance with brightly flashing lights and loud motors revving. The EMTs swarm over me as a fourth round of bright-red blood pours forth from my mouth. Onto the gurney, into the ambulance, where an EMT on each side of me attempts time after time unsuccessfully to find a vein with a needle for an IV saline bag. I awake to hear, “BP 60 over 40.” I ask, “What is critical?” The reply is, “You’re there!” The thought ‘I may never see my Linda again’ fills my mind. A deep sadness overwhelms me. Finally, with success in starting an IV port and saline infusion, the ambulance hurtles toward the nearby hospital ER only blocks away. The rough jostling of the gurney surprises me. I hear the sirens howling as we negotiate through heavy traffic. The gurney is lowered from the back of the ambulance. I’m rushed inside to waiting ER nurses. Soon Linda arrives by my side. I am quickly infused with saline and three units of blood. I’m in and out of consciousness. At 2 AM I become stable enough for the covering gastroenterologist to stem the flow of blood by banding the esophageal varices that had ruptured. After four days in ICU, where I received my fourth unit of blood, and three days in a regular hospital room, I was discharged this morning. I am alive and making satisfactory progress in my recovery from my near-fatal GI bleed. The experience was a collage of memories. Prominent among them was having nothing by mouth for thirty-six hours, followed by a liquids-only diet for three additional days, during which they actually fed me gruel daily. Gruel! I had thought gruel was something paupers ate during medieval times. I was so excited … nay, joyful when they moved me up to a semi-solid soft diet. Some say that after experiencing a close call with Death, it makes you appreciate life more. You no longer take things for granted. You pay more attention to the beauty of Nature, to the importance of family and friends and neighbors. I hope it will be thus with me. I know I won’t take each new day for granted but will realize what a blessing each day I am given henceforth truly is. And I shall treasure my Linda and cherish every future day we get to spend loving one another. (This poem is dedicated to the EMTs, hospital nurses and doctors who played a role in saving my life.) |