the doctor explained that the medicine wasn't working, but there was more than one way to skin this cat. i didn't like the imagery but was hopeful all the same.
"Cardioversion" he said.
transverse cardioversion for atrial fibrillation uses low energy biphasic atrial shocks delivered through electrodes in the right atrium and the coronary sinus or pulmonary artery. it restores sinus rythmn expediently in patients with recurrent symptomatic atrial fibriallation.
"it works slick," he said "but there are risks."
"one is that there will be a more irregular rythmn. or, no rythmn. but you will be in exactly the right place if that happens."
i couldn't stop the tears. they came and came, salty down my cheeks and under my chin. they will put me to sleep and shock my heart and it only takes a minute and then i'll feel better, but what if i don't wake up? it's all i could think. what if i don't wake up?
do my friends know i love them? do they know it as deeply as i feel it? did i say it enough? have i forgiven anyone who needs it? or asked for forgiveness from anyone i have hurt? what if today is someone's birthday and i am not here to wish it happy? what about... everyone? what about everyone? how did i leave things?
everyone smiled and said the right things and soon i was being wheeled into room 14. that's where they do it, in room 14. they all knew i was terrified but they didn't let that stop them. they smiled and patted and stuck on stickers and connected cords and ripped open things wrapped in plastic and asked each other questions and patted and told me "it's ok sweetie, we do this all the time."
i was crying now, truly crying, enough to fog up the mask on my face, and said "i know you do this all the time, but i don't".
the room grew more crowded - 2 doctors, more than 4 nurses, all available er staff, and a small flock of onlookers - interns and scribes -- all gathered round to see 200 jewels. mike sat in the corner with his arms crossed and someone asked him "are you sure you want to stay?" and i was so glad to hear him say "oh yes. i was a cop for 10 years, i've seen a lot." but he had never seen this exactly, in fact, nothing even close.
doctor number 2 had on a packers sweatshirt. he had thick red hair and a deep blanket voice. it looked like he had just gotten up. he leaned over my bed and said "i've never had anything go wrong in 15 years." but i cried more anyway.
"linda, are you getting sleepy?"
no.
"2 more milligrams, melanie. linda? how about now?"
kind of.
"will you count back with me from 100?"
ok.
"100."
99.
"98, what comes next?"
97.
"linda, we're at 96. what comes after 96? are you still with us?"
yeeeah. 95.........100! i liiike this....
flat on my back the ceiling was suddenly pinkish red. and like a jigsaw puzzle piece by piece the ceiling fell all away. until there was only darkness inside my eyes.
"linda, you can wake up now."
and i did, slowly. i answered all their questions and felt like i was floating on heaven. i have never felt so perfect in every way in my life. it had worked and i was fine. more than fine.
after resting a while, i pulled on my flannel pants, slid off the table and turned around. the massive complex machines behind my little bed astounded me - did they use all that stuff, i asked mike.
oh yes. and see back there, that's the machine they used to shock you.
the machine back there looked like a fax machine. it was yellow and it was black, and it was portable. there were two big wires on either side that connected to the paddles. there was a reostat. there were buttons with up and down arrows, red and green, and one button on the bottom that said "speed dial". Speed dial? who would they call? the morgue?
home in bed after a long nap, i noticed a peculiar itch on my chest. "burn marks, honey. that was electricity they used and it burned you a little." a tear or two.
underneath the blankets he told me he would never stop seeing it. seeing what?
"seeing you," said, "the way your whole body lept so high off the table when they shocked you, even though they were all holding you down. they shouted 200 jewels and the first doctor pressed the paddles hard on your chest. you screamed. i watched the screen to see what your heart rythmn was doing, and it shot high up, then plunged way down, and then you postured."
mike says that "posturing" is what happens to some people just before they die. he saw it often when he was a cop. your body gets very tense, and your hands and feet curl into each other and you reach for your heart as if you are trying to thump it for yourself.
"but then," he said, "you woke up and they asked you to say something."
and here is what i said: "that was fun." they all laughed, and it was over.
but it really wasn't fun. and it isn't. but i did come back, and i have more chances to tell you i love you, you who are reading this. and to wish happy birthdays and forgive and be forgiven if that is what i need. and there is something to learn in all of this, though i haven't found it yet.
eckhart tolle says "life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness. how do you know that this is the experience you need? because this is the experience you are having at this moment."
200 jewels in my heart, to make sure this experience - the experience of my life - continues. for as long as it will, and as long as it is supposed to.
No comments:
Post a Comment