I Partied Like it was 1999...until I Couldn't

Some of what I’m about to share is not my memory, but what has been pieced together with what I’ve been told by those who were there; I don’t actually remember some of it.

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From birth, there was always some sort of health issue that I had to cope with. First, it was being born premature. Okay, obviously it was my mother who had to cope with that one, not me. I was born a month early, was about five pounds, and had to stay in a humidicrib for about three days.

Being a five-pound baby isn’t the smallest or anything, but to my mother, whom had numerous miscarriages prior to me, it was a scary time for her; but I survived. Then as I grew and was developing, more health issues came along in the form of asthma, eczema, allergies, poor eyesight, and arthritis; yay for me!

Having the ailments that I have from the mid/late 70’s through to the early 90’s meant a fair bit of growing up was spent in doctor’s offices or hospitals, mostly due to the asthma; I did nearly die a couple of times from having severe attacks, causing high levels of stress and worry for my mother in the process. So by the time I hit my late teens, soon entering into young adulthood, my mother was incredibly overprotective; if she could, she would’ve wrapped me in bubble wrap, for sure.

Enter the rebellious years!

By the time I was seventeen, I was doing all the things a rebellious teen does; drinking, smoking, sneaking out at night, and partying. The trouble with that was that my body was struggling to keep up, but I didn’t care. I was constantly getting told that I can’t or wasn’t allowed, so naturally, I thought I knew better and felt that I could do whatever it was that I was told that I couldn’t. I just ignored what my body was trying to tell me, and “managed” it by amping up the use of my inhalers to keep breathing, and other meds to help with the arthritic pain and eczema that burned, (seriously, it sometimes felt like my skin was on fire) – I thought I was SO smart. Miraculously, I was able to get by and continue to party on in this manner into my early twenties.

By the late 90’s, I was heading out to bars and clubs three to four nights a week; staying out until 5am and sometimes having to go to work the same day. Looking back at that now, I have absolutely no idea how I was able to do that. I’m getting exhausted just thinking about it! Something else that I also had a habit of doing was having dizzy spells; fainting when travelling on trams was common, and I would often get sick from colds, flus or chest infections, which led to me missing a lot of work. How I managed to stay employed during that time was a miracle in itself.

Then one day, my body screamed at me.

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It was April 1999 and I had been staying at my then boyfriend’s place when I started to feel unwell. Thinking that it was just another flu, I spent a few days with him there, him taking care of me, but rather than getting better, I was getting worse; so much so that he decided to first call for a doctor to come see me, then an ambulance after an asthma attack had been triggered.

The first day in hospital, I was diagnosed with double pneumonia. It didn’t take too long for the medics to treat that; it seemed that I was on the mend and feeling much better, but I was to stay for a night or two as a precaution. However later that night, something went wrong.

This next bit that I remember is actually hard to describe. I guess the closest description that I can make is that it was (sort of) like an out-of-body experience. I was sitting up in bed and settling in (I thought) for the night. One of the doctors, a red haired lady, was speaking to me when I could hear the sudden sound of the medical equipment beeping; like alarms going off and the doctor shouting at me, “It’s okay, Jessica, you’re all right, you’re all right, you’re all right!” as more staff appeared, all seemingly in a panic and moving really quickly. Now from my perspective, I was wondering what all the fuss was about. I felt quite comfortable and calm, and I was watching them move quickly all around me, thinking to myself, “What’s the matter? I’m fine”. That whole experience seemed like although what I was watching was from my perspective, it was more like I was watching a T.V show or something; like it wasn’t real.

The next thing I know, I’m in another room with a couple of staff. It was just us there; I don’t remember what they looked like. That room was dead quiet with the exception of the staff trying to talk to me. I think they were trying to tell me what they were about to do. All I remember is that one of them took my necklace off from around my neck and hung it up on a hook on the wall, which really distressed me. Why were they taking the necklace my mother gave me away? I looked at that necklace for what seemed like a minute, wanting to take it back, but I couldn’t. Then there was what I thought was an oxygen mask and they put it over my nose and mouth. Not really knowing what was happening, I began to panic and the staff were trying to calm me. The suction of the mask on my face and the warmth of the air of whatever it was that they were getting me to breathe in was really upsetting; my eyes closed; they had induced me into a coma.

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During the coma, I remember seeing my brother at my bedside. I’m staring at him and he softly says hello to me. Without blinking, I’m still locked on to his face when I start to convulse and projectile vomit like something out of, ‘The Exorcist’. To this day, I don’t know if that actually happened or not because my brother has a dodgy memory as well, and no one else was in the room with him. I was in an ICU room that only allowed one family member in at a time for maybe 10 minutes to visit. I’ve been told it probably did happen, as I did convulse and it was touch and go for me a few times whilst unconscious.

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It was a week later when I woke up. It was during the day and I was in another room that was dead quiet. There was a nurse there, asking me the types of questions that anyone who has been unconscious before gets; did I know where I was, did I know the year, how old was I, those types of things. I turned to my left to see another patient in the far corner. A man, out like a light with a woman who I assume was his wife or girlfriend by his bedside. They were both so quiet; I was later told that the man had been in a motorcycle accident and I sometimes think of him and wonder if he pulled through.

I was moved into the respiratory ward into my own special room, which was actually kind of nice. Apart from medical staff, the first person I saw was my mother. Extremely happy to see me awake, yet exhausted, her beautiful smile came over her face, and she gently took my hand and stroked it. I may not remember much during that time, but the feeling of her soft hand touching mine and her looking over me and my face is something that I’ll never forget.

Not long after I had moved into my new room, I needed to use the bathroom, so I thought I’d hop out of bed to go. At that moment, I got a rude shock, because that’s how I found out that I couldn’t actually move my legs. I fell hard on to the ground and started crying. No one else was in the room with me, but my mum was just outside and could hear me crying. I remember looking up at her, holding my arms up, crying like I was a small child, wanting her mamma to come and save her. She helped me back up into bed, and that’s when I learned that I couldn’t walk. I don’t remember why, but as far as I know, it was merely the effect from being in the coma, and that I did have to get physiotherapy and basically learn to walk again. When you have to learn how to do something that you’ve always done; it's quite a different feeling when you suddenly can't, let me tell you. Having to teach your brain how again is a frustrating experience.

But what was wrong with me?

After waking, the doctors and specialists were still trying to work out what I had. I learned that many questions were asked of my family. What meds was I on, did I have a drug problem, what was my diet like, did I keep birds at home (bird flu was a common problem back then), all kinds of things to try and work out the problem. I was scanned, poked and prodded like you wouldn’t believe; it was like an episode of, ‘House’, and yes, they did think cancer at one point.

It turned out to be pancreatitis, which apparently was quite unusual because it was something that was more common in much older men with alcoholism, not a young woman in her twenties (hmmm, so maybe all of that partying had something to do with it?). Coincidentally, I was staying at a teaching hospital, so I became a case study and had students interview me.

The road to recovery was long, painful, and hard. For a large part of it, I wasn’t able to eat solids and dropped down to about 40 kilos (about 90 pounds) - I looked like a bobblehead for a long time after; I had two surgeries, physio, hospital food that I couldn’t stand, and I watched my family exhaust themselves just to come see me, especially my mother; something that I wish never had been put upon them.

A wonderful moment during that time was that my oldest nephew was born. I got to meet him as a one-day-old, his mother bringing him in to meet me the day of my first surgery. Him being born was such a blessing for us all; he being now a young, independent man, all of twenty-two.

All up, it took nearly two months before I became well enough to leave hospital; it was such a surreal moment, leaving that place after all that time. Being outside in the fresh air; I was free.

What did I learn from this experience?

I've learned not to sweat the small stuff so much (although I still do from time to time), and to try not to take things so seriously (I was pretty tightly wound back then); that you don’t have to prove anything to anyone; that you don’t need to do what everyone else is doing; that I'm tougher than I look - at least, my body is; to listen, to listen to doctors and specialists who know better, and to listen to my body. It knows when I need to stop and take a rest.

Finally, I never want to see the look that my mother gave me again. The look that said, “No more, Jessica. Please, no more. You’ve pushed yourself to the limit, now please will you take care of yourself?” And I have ever since.

After all of that, I had finally grown up.