Tuesday, April 12, 2005
The Story Behind The Gym
When I close my eyes I can see the emergency room from the vantage point of my seat against the wall. It should have been a normal Friday night at home but I was there in the wee hours of the morning. I tried to sleep on my husband's lap but it wasn't comfortable. Interesting characters were coming into the ER keeping my attention. In particular, the woman who could barely move because of her dislocated shoulder courtesy of her boyfriend. I realized my situation wasn't half as bad as others. But I was still in bad shape and slowly getting worse as I waited and waited for them to call me in. The nurse told me that if I really began to feel lightheaded I should have the receptionist call her. So I waited a couple more hours. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore. I could hardly stand or think. I just wanted to be resting, lying down in a bed, being taken care of. I spoke to the receptionist. As I sat at the front desk, bent over the counter, I didn't see the nurse come up behind me with a wheelchair. But I was grateful. She found me a bed in room with two others, separated by hanging curtains. I was in a corner spot. I spent a while waiting in there while K waited outside. A nurse came and gave me some clothes to change in to plus I had to use the bathroom. I made it there, but I didn't make it back. I didn't have the energy. I just crouched outside the bathroom waiting to get the attention of another nurse, any nurse. One saw me and helped me back to my bed. While laying there I could hear the agony that others were going through and I prayed for them. Again I thanked God that my ordeal was not worse. The doctor came and checked me and cleaned me out a bit. No D&C looked necessary but I had to have an ultrasound to make sure. I was then taken to another room. A small room only large enough to hold one bed. There they filled me with saline and checked me more thoroughly. K was eventually let in to see me, after having waited so many long hours not knowing what was going on with me. He was worried and tired and hungry. I was too. They made me stay in that room for quite a bit longer. I was hooked up to machines. They were monitoring especially my blood pressure. I had lost a lot. Various staff came in and checked on me during the morning. I cried. Cause I knew it was my fault. The nurse saw me and told me it wasn't. That these things happen. That it wouldn't affect my body once it got over the shock. But I still knew it was me. I still know it was me. I went to the gym that week. I thought it was all good. I figured it would help me with my period I just knew was coming. I spent most of Valentine's Day in the hospital. It was a Sabbath day that should have been spent with my church family and watching my husband sing on the choir; a day I should have been able to go out with my husband; a day that led to a week of not being able to be intimate. It was a long day. I blocked it out mostly. I think about it every now and then. A lost life. My lost child. And it could have been prevented. I know. It could have been. It's been over a year since I've been to the gym, afraid of causing it again. I brought workout clothes with me today with the intention of starting back today. (I was actually going to start yesterday, but I forgot to bring my clothes.) My stomach was tight as I wrote this. I thought I might cry again. But I didn't. At least, not on the outside.