I woke up with my
head under the small white chest of drawers. I was lying on my back on the
bathroom floor. It’s a beautiful blue mosaics floor, but dangerously hard. And
I had fainted and landed on that shiny surface.
I have a bad cold
with a high temperature. And this was Saturday morning. My blood pressure has a
tendency of dropping when I for some reason am weakened, very tired or sick.
And this morning was one of those mornings. I felt it coming but didn’t make it
out of the bathroom. And there I was. My head under mom and dad’s old bedroom
drawer. It’ wasn’t painted underneath, I could tell.
It wasn’t just
that I was out on the bathroom floor. I was also very sick. And with my back
problems I couldn’t get up. I tried. But of course it didn’t work. Fainting is
a way of giving in. To the body. And giving up trying to get up was one more
giving in. I have fainted before but been able through great struggle get back
to bed, but this time not so.
I think it took me
half an hour before I pushed the button. Since November when my back went out I
have a safety alarm on my arm. I haven’t used it before, haven’t needed. Now I
was in great need and it was right there on my arm, yet my resistance was
severe. Giving in. Calling for professional strangers to come rescue me.
I spent a good
hour on the blue shiny floor. I couldn’t tell how my body was doing. I managed
to reach a couple of bath towels to cover me so I wouldn’t get too cold. And I
put one under my head. That helped. I think I dozed away for a while before a
friendly woman and man put the key in my door and came save me. I was the fifth
person down that morning.
I don’t know that my
bed has ever felt as good as it did when I was finally back there. And some
hour later my home care angel Peter from Civil Care was sitting at my bedside
holding my hand. Holding my hand firmly while I was telling him the story. Not
just holding my hand. But holding my hand in the way telling me that he was
there and I was not alone. He gave me breakfast and the next time he was back
he brought me a beautiful Eastern bouquet of yellow roses to put on my bed
stand. During the whole weekend he attended to all my needs in a way that makes
the word caring feel week, I would say loving. And my gratefulness is beyond
words.
The last couple of
weeks have been my yearly cancer check up. Thursday I met with my oncologist
who told me that everything looked good, breast and skeleton all clear.
Normally that response gives me some weeks with an elevated sensation of life,
for life. But this time around I was just too damned sick from a lousy cold.
And then I landed on the bathroom floor. So I have been more in chock then in
joy.
How did my head
end up under mom and dad’s white drawer? I don’t know. I must have gone down in
a way that’s hard to figure out. But from the pain in my body it seems like I
have fallen on my left side before I landed on my back. And considering that
there are no soft spots in my bathroom but exclusively sharp corners and hard
surfaces it’s a little miracle that I could even stand on my two feet when they
got me up. And that my legs moved. Not even my back seemed terribly shaken.
Before the evening
though, my neck started feeling tight. Sunday morning I couldn’t lift my head
from the pillow. And I got scared. Really really scared. Had I added a whiplash
on top of my list of chronic conditions? I felt like when I discovered the tumor
in my breast: if I survive this I will never ever complain about anything in my
life!
Peter took me to
the ER Sunday evening, and the doctor didn’t find any evidence for whiplash.
Neither Peter nor I felt a great confidence for that very brief exam though, so
I had a second opinion from my chiropractor Michael, who I really trust,
yesterday. He checked me thoroughly, looked at me and said: Maria, this is not
a whiplash.
“Maria, this is
not a whiplash”. To hear those words. Was like hearing “Maria, your breasts and
skeleton are all clean”. And my promise to not complain about anything in my
life seems (for now) very easy to stay true to.
Today I am able to
sit up on my couch without fainting and terrible pain in my neck. The sun is
shining through my extremely dirty March windows. And I am able to take in,
enjoy, and be so grateful and happy about that I am cancer free and that the
pain in my neck is just soar muscles from a fieldtrip from in under my mom and
dad’s white chest drawer. Not a whiplash that will haunt me for the rest of my
life.
I was lucky. I was
so lucky.
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