Do you guys hate those overblown titles of Upworthy videos and HuffPo articles like I do? Cause I'll click on the link, read or watch the thing and be like, "I actually could believe that happened next," and then I get mad and tell myself to stop clicking on hyperbolic hyperlinks and get some shizz done.
At any rate, I almost died (no I didn't). Want to hear about it?
The day before the SuperBowl, I had a long and busy day, and was going to have a long and busy night of partying. A bunch of errands followed by drunken reverie as we saluted a friend who recently got unengaged from her fianceé and we were taking her out to WeHo to celebrate being alive even when your whole heart is shattered.
I went to they gym, I called a friend, I went to a Grant Proposal meeting for a friend's art project for Burning Man, I went to the mall (Gap Curvy jeans, am I right!?), then I went to the grocery store, and at 4pm when I was finishing up some work emails noticed, hey, the right side of my throat really hurts all of sudden. Better check on that in an hour.
An hour later, it hurt even more. I texted our whole group that I was sorry I couldn't go out to WeHo and although they were sad about it (cause I'm a ton of fun AND I was the Designated Driver) they did wish for me to get better soon. What can I say? I have nice friends.
Anthony asked if he should stay home to take care of me, and I said, no, no! I am fine.
11pm that same night I am swallowing razorblades.
I wake up in the morning and feel weak, dizzy, and have a 102* fever. My ear also hurts. Oh eff. This is strep throat. I know it is. I've had it before. Gosh darn it.
I tell Anthony he needs to take me to the emergency room and we go at about 3pm.
Want to know the BEST time to need emergency care? Superbowl Sunday! Not even kidding. We waited a total of 6 minutes, if that, and most of the waiting was filled with filling out paperwork.
The nurse does my intake and checks my throat. At this point, I've been sick for less than 24 hours, so there are no white or gray spots on my tonsils just yet (that did happen later. gross.) but they could either give me a shot of a week's worth of penicillin or a prescription for 10 days worth. I said I'd take the shot because that sounded awful and awesome at the same time.
I'm prepped in one of the rooms after they go on and on about how thick the needle and fluid is ("it really hurts! the medicine is thick and gooey like pepto bismol!" they cheered. pepto dismal?). But actually, the shot wasn't that bad, it was just long.
"Alright, we're just gonna keep you here for ten minutes to make sure you don't have an allergic reaction." The doc is very cheery.
"I'll be fine," I say, "I've had strep and penicillin before." I'm sitting in a chair I think is rather uncomfortable. "But just in case, so I know, what does an allergic reaction entail?"
"Oh, just some difficulty breathing, and if that happens, just holler for us and we'll give you the antidote and you'll be fine." She smiled and left.
I'm fine. Seriously.
But four minutes later, I notice I keep taking deeper and deeper breaths without getting any air. "Go get the doctor," I tell Anthony, "I'm having trouble breathing" He gets up slowly and takes his motherloving. sweet. ass. time. "Hurry!" I say, and he goes.
I'm light headed cause of all the deep breaths. I know to keep myself from fainting I need to lie down. I slide down to the floor and put my feet on the seat of the chair.
"Hey!" The doctor is super happy. Probably because it's Superbowl Sunday and the place is deserted and it's an easy shift. "Whatcha doing there on the floor?" She is not concerned, and that puts me at ease.
"I felt faint," I replied weakly.
"Let's go get you a wheelchair and put you in a room with a bed, okay?"
"Okay," I agree.
What I should have said, though, is, "Do you mind if I have another few minutes on the floor, first? Cause this is feeling really good." But I didn't say that.
You Won't Believe What Happens Next!
Mainly because I had to have it told to me.
I remember getting up onto the wheelchair, and I remember thinking, "Man, I really wish this chair reclined." It didn't.
This next part of the story Anthony recalled for me. I took a step out of the chair with the doctor's help and then I collapsed right on top of her. They're calling my name, and one of the nurses is taking my pulse.
"Do you want me to help you get her on the bed?" Anthony asks.
"No, no, we're fine," the doctor calmly responds.
"I don't feel anything," says the nurse holding onto my wrist.
They pull my limbs out so I'm flat on the floor.
"It's been four seconds, I don't feel a pulse, call it." Says the nurse.
The doctor nods to another nurse who pushes a button on the wall.
20 people (I think he's grossly inflating the number, but I wasn't conscious, so yeah) come into the room, and they start chest compressions. "Oh my god," Anthony told me he thought, "Did I just watch my wife die? Shut up. Don't think anything until you know more information. Shut up!"
I wake up on the third chest compression.
Have you ever taken a nap that was so deep that when you woke up you didn't know where you were? That you weren't sure if it was morning or night? Waking up from my heart attack was just like that. I was on the floor and people I didn't know were smiling and nervous and my immediate thought was, "They look really concerned about something. I wonder what happened?" I had no clue they were concerned about me. I just hoped that whatever happened, that person was going to be okay, because everyone was really worried!
"Hi Lira, you collapsed, and although we're pretty sure you're too young to have gone into cardiac arrest, we couldn't feel your pulse for four seconds. We're going to give you an EKG and make sure you just fainted, okay?"
They get me up onto the bed, and I'm shaking, cold, and tingly. All natural after effects from fainting. They give me an EKG and two blankets and I'm fine. A half hour later, I'm released.
I had a Vasovagal response, which basically means I was dizzy and fainted. They thought maybe I had fainted because of the needle in the shot, but I didn't see it, and I didn't watch them stick me, and it was a few minutes after that happened. I hadn't eaten anything that day ("that's what did it!" they all said) but again, I had a fever, so I wasn't hungry.
I did feel foolish, though.
When we got home, I went to bed, and even though if I just scooted to the right in my bed another inch I could have turned off my own lamp, I asked Anthony to do it for me. "Seriously?" he said. "I had a cardiac arrest an hour ago!" and we laughed and it became our joke all week long. "I can't do the dishes because I coded blue on Sunday!"
So yeah. That was my Superbowl Sunday.
Hey, who won?
"The label you give yourself cannot impact external forces that are not motivated by your own psychology or influenced by a third party's pre-existing consciousness of you. We are all presented with reasons to struggle which come from completely external forces; to pretend that one is not struggling is either arrogance or an admission of defeat. To admit that one is struggling is a sign and a source of strength." - Evan A. Baker