Our Last Weekend in Malaysia: Part Two

This is a continuation of a previous post. If you have not read part one, you can find it here.

Zofran only lasts for four hours. At exactly the four hour mark, I vomited.

I vomited after battling a migraine and several other symptoms of an adrenal crisis for the past six hours. My situation was rapidly deteriorating and priority was escalating. By this point, my body was starting to seize up and I could not control my convulsing.

My husband knew that the next steps would be my emergency injection and a trip to the hospital. While I was vomiting, he called our hotel concierge and informed them that we needed a taxi waiting for us to immediately transport us to Gleneagles Hospital. He then returned to my side as I slowly maneuvered from the restroom and back onto the bed.

"Ok Amber. I am going to mix up your shot, inject you, and then we are going to go to the hospital."

"No... I don't want it." I meekly whimpered. I never want to admit that I need to receive that emergency injection. That injection symbolizes how sick I am, and I try to downplay it. If I had my way, I would just wait and see or try to just sleep it off. This is so incredibly dangerous and can potentially cost me my life.

My husband had the absolute perfect response to my irrational and very dangerous denial. "Ok Amber. How about we think about it?"

"Ok, let's think about it." His words allowed me to relax. I closed my eyes. I stopped fighting him. I was no longer worried about being stabbed with a rather large needle.

Suddenly, I felt pain radiating from my thigh. "OW! I thought we were going to think about it?!"

"I did think about it. And I think you need it."

A few days after this event and when I was stabilized, my husband informed me that he had started mixing up my solu-cortef vial the moment I vomited. There was no doubt in his mind that he had to inject me. He had only given me the illusion of choice in this situation so that I would relax enough in order to not further injure us both. It was absolutely brilliant.

Although the injection momentarily stopped the convulsing, I was still not out of the danger zone. I could not see the world around me and there was absolutely no way I could walk. My husband carried me to the elevator, as I lay limp in his arms. We made it down to the lobby where there was a taxi waiting for us. After one look at me, the driver immediately knew that he had to transport us to the hospital as fast as possible. My life depended on it.

When I arrived at the A&E, I vomited again. The staff attempted to triage me, but we showed them documentation provided by AIU. As soon as the nurse read the simple three steps on "3 Ways to Save Lives," she skipped all formal protocol and took me immediately back to "Resuscitation 1."

My BP and HR are normally much lower than this. When I slip towards a crisis, my BP normally spikes up as my body dumps adrenaline into my system to attempt to stabilize. If I do not receive treatment quickly, my BP will drop potentially causing irreversible damage to my body.
This entire experience is such a blur to me.

I still could not open my eyes at this point. The outside world was too overwhelming.
I remember them sticking the IV in my hand. I remember that IV hurting. I remember noticing that blood was starting to backfill up the IV line. The nurses took care of that rather quickly.

They had put the blood pressure cuff on the same side as the IV. Every time the machine tried to read my BP, it would force blood back into the IV line.
I remember hearing the voice of an incredibly kind A&E doctor informing me that he had already spoke with my endocrinologist to touch base with her.

"But... it's like 2 am? You were able to reach her on the phone?"

"Of course. She's you're doctor. When was the last time you saw her?"

"Three days ago on Wednesday... to thank her for treating me for the past six months... and to inform her that I was returning to America soon."

"Well she and I both agree that you need to remain in the hospital for a few days to be monitored."

And so it was decided. Our last weekend in Malaysia was to be spent in the hospital.

Continued here.

Labels: , , ,