Push Pt. 1

You know how cliche it has become to talk about the obvious in this world....and even more cliche it has become to talk about how cliche it has become....then you reach the point that people just do not care anymore. There is some crazy stuff that goes through my head on a daily basis that I keep to myself, because I just figure that no one will really care about what is really in MY head...or that someone, somewhere else has already proclaimed it.


In the early morning hours of Thursday, July 5, 2012, my husband took me restless and thrashing into the Kennestone Hospital ER. I had been vomiting and seizing for hours, until he finally picked me up, and took me in (resisting the entire time). I was having seizure after seizure, as well as having no idea who I was or what was going on. Ever since I was a small child, I have been extremely accident prone, and by the time I was 10, my parents had an express pass to the ER because of my daredevil antics that led to an insane amount of head injuries. Combined that with... experiences with exes, I have constant migraines and I am prone to seizures. Somehow, this all came to a head on the 4th.


The next thing I remember after entering the ER that morning was waking up, tied to a bed, in a dark room. They had removed my contacts, so I was unable to make out anything...and I had no idea who I was...or anything else for that matter. This guy kept appearing that was telling this stuff that was making no sense to me and all I wanted was for him to just untie me and just go away. As the night wore on, things began to make more sense to me, I realised I was in the hospital...but I thought that only a few hours had passed. Apparently, it was the early morning hours of SATURDAY July 7th...I had been under anesthesia with a tube down my throat for about a day and a half (I kept ripping out IVs and would not keep my arms still for the medication to take effect...even under the influence of other powerful meds), so they had to sedate me. It took me 12 hours to wake up, in which my husband stayed by my side almost the entire time (except when he need to leave to take care of the kids at home), begging me to wake up. Normally, when you are taken off of anesthesia, you begin to wake up rather soon. For me, they were not sure if I was even going to wake up, considering I was not responding to any type of outside stimuli, which concerned the Drs.


In any case, I finally woke up, and after haggling with the nurses and Drs., I finally convinced them I was not crazy and could be taken out of ICU and put into a normal room (okay, so I would like to take SOME credit that I had some kind of control of what was happening to me, instead of conceding completely). They FINALLY released me later that week. 


What is the point of this ramble you might ask? This is me starting to deal with it. When I was told that I almost died, and I would have, had Will not taken me in when he did, I just kinda shrugged it off. I figured that, "Hey, I am still here...beside, if you don't ACTUALLY die, then it is no big deal right? No need to make it heavier than it really is." Well, I have discovered that my liver is really messed up (I have an allergy for most painkillers, with the exception of Tylenol, which DOES not work and does wonders for your liver) and I have memory loss, and, of course, my favourite, the continuation of my seizures.


I have the uncanny ability to push people away. Despite what...'impression'...I give out, I am not really a social animal. I 'can' be. But spending much of my childhood/teen years in isolation, with only the company of my books and music allowed me the advantage of my own company. People have been asking me how I am mentally and physically after this event...honestly? Real honest? Or just what I should just say? Are they just being polite? I have mastered the smile and little laugh that says that I am better or getting there slowly, and things are peachy. I do not like to put people out...and I do not like to make it all about me. I do not like to bring a lot of attention on myself...and I MOST of all do not like people to feel sorry for me. There exists only two people that have been able to pry the true out of me, and that is Will and Daisy (you know who you are Miss Lovejoy). 


Sometimes, it is just easier for me to keep to myself...especially when I go through something like this. When I finally signed onto Facebook in the hospital, I was shocked to see the amount of messages I had that were asking where I was and if I or the family were okay. It really sucks when you realise that you are only pushing people away (even Will) that really care about you...even when you have never met them (i.e. Facebook). 


Right now, I am going to end this, and write the second blabbering piece to this...whatever this is...tomorrow. Have a good night, ya'll!