I laid in my hospital bed drenched from the melted ice that had been placed all over my body. My hospital gown was clinging to my clammy skin like Seran wrap on a glass bowl.The fever had reached such a high temperature that I had become delirious and near death once more. There was nothing more to be done, no medicine could I take, no procedure to perform, there was nothing left but the cold bags of ice as the final attempt to break my fever.
I had recieved my long awaited kidney and pancreas transplant. My kidney rejected just a few hours after being transplanted, the culprit was the Bactrim. It caused my kidney to shut down. The remedy was to change the antibiotic and I responded almost immediately. The rejection had ceased, and I went home a week later rejuvenated by my new gifts.
I went back 4 days after discharge running a fever. I was again hospitalized. My doctors and surgeons plan was to perform a lavage and a biopsy of my new pancreas. The lavage was intended to treat any underlying infection in my abdominal cavity and surrounding organs and the biopsy would indicate if the pancreas was functioning properly and to check for infection. The lavage went well and no sign of infection in the accumulated fluid, however the biopsy was problematic. The surgeon mistakenly took a sample of a lymphnode instead of my pancreas. A second attempt at a biopsy was too risky and the team decided that the problem must lie in the fact that a IV drug administered after transplant was not given long enough post transplant and a second course would do the trick. Still in the hospital I undergo a PICC line placement and sent home to await infusion from a home care nurse to be closely monitored because of dangerous blood pressure issues. The infusions took 5 hours and were scheduled to run for 8 days, and would have to be given very very slowly. It is a very strong drug, given too quickly it can cause heart failure. Day three of the infusion had been problematic my blood pressure began to be greatly affected and I developed another high fever. The nurse then sent me back to the hospital and I am again admitted for the remainder of the infusion treatment. I was discharged and sent back home.
Two weeks go by and it's time to return to the transplant center for bloodwork and follow-up. The day before I went out to a concert although still weak I had been cleared to be out in public by this point. I had to leave the next day for the 4 hour trip to the hospital. We checked into our hotel and settled in for the night. I had been exhausted and weak after traveling I immediately went to sleep. I awoke at 2AM burning with a fever of 103.2. I sat on the floor of the shower (too weakened to to stand) as the cool water soothed my fevered skin. My appointment was at 6AM, when I arrived my fever had went even higher at 104° and I'm admitted yet again.
I lingered with high fever for over a week. The doctors perplexed as to why I have a fever, they were at a loss. My fever spiked as high as 105°. Tylenol reduced it only to about 103°. I had been on a steady dose of heavy antibiotics but nothing had worked thus far. I was so weak and I remembered thinking I was dying. I clung to my husband, I was so afraid and filled with uncertainty. I grasped his hand as he stood by my bedside. He placed cold rags on my head and neck as he attempted to ease my fever. He brushed my hair with a slow rthymic motions. He showed such gentle and loving care for me with every gesture. No medicine could have given me, what he was at that very moment.
The doctor came in and spoken to my husband. The doctor said to him there is nothing more they can do, but pray. The doctor sat beside me on my bed placed his hand on my knee and we all prayed. They had began to pack me in ice. Small plastic bags were all over, the sheets soaked from the melted ice. As each bag melted another one quickly took its place. This went on throughout the night and into the next day. My husband stood vigilant as we continued to cling to one another, and as I clung to life. My eyes had become unable to focus, blurred shapes began to appear and dry cracks formed on my lips as the fever dominated over me. I began to feel my life slipping away, I began to drift into another place. My mind was as foggy as my vision had been. I had felt my husbands cold hand upon my forehead and looked at his face. His face appeared tired from sleeplessness and his eyes filled with tears around the dark circles that had formed underneath. He leaned over me and kissed my damp forehead still squeezing my hand he whispered "I love you"...I felt and saw his fear and helplessness as he watched my body turn on itself once again.
My constant battle was always with my own body. From my early childhood diagnosis as a diabetic, to this very moment my most persistent adversary has always been my own body. How do I fight myself? I'm so tired of fighting. I began to cry and ask my husband if I was dying?! His tears streaming down his face he said, "not today".
I fell asleep for a few hours and I awake to see my husband still standing in the same spot, still holding my hand. I looked at his face and he smiled and said, "your fever broke"
I had given up, but my husband never did. He took over where I left off and picked up the fight. He prayed and fought for me when I couldn't any longer.
My doctor came in smiling and said, "a miracle has been witnessed by us all. God carried you in the palm of his hand didn't he"? We both said "Yes, he sure did"!
After two more days I left the hospital and the high fevers never returned.
Sometimes all we have to fight with is prayers and the people we love. Whether its God or your family, friends, or whatever your beliefs may be, there is someone pulling for you, when you feel weak they will step up. I may have let go for a moment, but I survived by a circle of strength that I still carry everyday. That very moment taught me that I'll never give up again, because they never did!!
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