The time between going into the ER and a couple days after my brain surgery is basically gone from my memory, except for flashes. During that time, I was mostly unaware of what was going on and unresponsive when anyone tried to speak to me (or so I’m told, but I can’t say for sure).
One lucid moment often flashes in my memory and gives me the chills: at one point, I don’t know when or where, someone asked me if I wanted them to do “all they could do” — not explaining any further, but the implications were clear. They then asked me if there was anyone else I wanted involved in that decision, and I distinctly remember answering “yes, my husband.”
This coupled with (later filled in by family members):
– The doctors would only consider surgery if the situation became dire
– The brain surgeons told DH I has an 85% chance of making it
– Each of my family members and lots of others have told me I’m lucky to be here
I really put all of this together my first weekend home (Nov. 2), and finally realized that I very well could have died. DIED. That reality and the implications keep hitting me now and then, and I’m sure will continue to do so for some time. Sometimes it’s scary as hell, and other times just makes me feel thankful.