The Month of March, Part 1

Spring is the season of new beginnings and I suppose, in a way, this is a new beginning; albeit not the one I had envisioned or hoped for.

It was the middle of the night when I decided to go to the emergency room. In my sleepy daze, I debated going right then, since I figured it wouldn’t be too busy. But I was exhausted, so I decided to finish out the night in my own bed and go first thing in the morning. It was the last night I would sleep in my own bed for days.

I googled my symptoms, and came up with “a rare disorder that is usually a surgical emergency.” Cauda Equina. I was so freaked out that I immediately stopped googling and went back to sleep.

They saw me almost immediately upon arrival to the ER.

The first step was an MRI. My first. “Are you claustrophobic?” they asked. Only if someone is in the small space with me. I had visions of weird, horror movie demons crawling on top of me. This one of (of many) times it does not pay to overthink.

The technicians told me it was loud, but they could give me headphones, and what music do I like? At this point, I was tired and freaked out and didn’t even know know to respond to what kind of music I like. I told them to choose, and was met with the response, “I’m a Deadhead.”

“So are my parents,” I joked. He seemed to approve.

I don’t know what they put on, but it was the type of music you’d hear on CBS-FM 101.1. The Oldies Station. I liked it. It was calming.

But MRI’s are ridiculously loud. I commented that it sounded like a large, angry, quacking duck. And every now and then a voice would come through, telling me to keep still, which made me afraid to breathe, lest I moved and messed up the scans.

I kept my eyes closed, because when I opened them the space was so small, and I’d get those visions from horror movies again. Best to shut my eyes, and try to focus on the music. Or anything other than what was happening.

The technicians did commend me. Twice I was taken out “for a break,” but what kind of break could I have when I couldn’t really go anywhere? I wanted it over with, so the 60+ minute session commenced quickly. They seemed impressed by that. And then, it was over, and I was back to my ER room.

I remember trying to sleep. At some point, someone came in to tell me a doctor would be in within the hour to speak to me. I fell back asleep.

Then there were three people in the room, telling me they were ready for me upstairs in surgery, and let’s go. “I haven’t even spoken to the doctor,” I replied, freaked out. “A doctor was supposed to come talk to me. I need surgery?”

I needed lower back surgery. Immediately.

Two herniated discs were pressing on my nerves, which was causing numbness. I did have cauda equina, which can be extremely serious. A quick phone call to my mom to have the doctor explain the situation to her, and they took me to the OR.

The last thing I remember was being wheeled into the surgical room, which was large and white. Thank g-d for anesthesia. The next thing I knew, I woke up with no idea what time it was, or where I was. It was the middle of the night when I was admitted into the hospital.

Two days later, I had a second MRI; shorter than the first, it was only on my lower back this time. The angry duck was back, but only for about twenty minutes.

The doctor came back with the results: I needed a second surgery. They tried to explain what they had done and would do, but if you know me, you know my stomach can’t really handle that stuff. It turns and twists and makes me sick.

I had two emergency lower back surgeries in 48 hours.

After 6 days away, I was discharged. I was going home.

And I stayed there for three days, before going back to the emergency room.