Two months ago, I spent the week leading up to Halloween in a cramped room at Alamance Regional Medical Center. My dad posted about the initial experience on our Facebook page, and I want to thank everyone for the words of healing, love, and encouragement. In my entire life, I have never been that sick. Being able to read your messages helped me, especially during the early days when I couldn’t eat or sleep and spent most of each day crying.

For those of you who do not follow us on social media, around October 19^th, I began vomiting and could not stop for over 48 hours. Nothing I ate or drank stayed in the appropriate location long, be it Powerade, ginger ale, or even something as benign as a solitary ice chip. Eventually, I could no longer hold a glass, grip a straw or apply lip balm, and then walk or stand on my own.

When I finally consented to an Urgent Care trip, my heart rate oscillated between 170 and 180 with a blood pressure of 180/135. Of course, that’s when they could locate it because it was too high for the machines, and manual methods only yielded results in certain positions. Two bags of fluid and two different types of anti-nausea medications did nothing to alleviate my symptoms, and my doctor said I needed to be transported to the ER immediately. I have never been transported by ambulance before and hope to never experience that particular joy again.

Ultimately, I required over 9,000ml of fluids, four different broad-spectrum antibiotics, six IV pushes of three different anti-nausea meds, anti-anxiety meds, blood pressure medication, and blood thinners. After the onslaught of prescriptions to my system, the hospital deemed me stable enough for release and summarily shoved me from their doorstep. It was much too soon, especially because I could not eat or drink. Before admission to the hospital, I lost ten pounds in three days and threw up several gallons of liquid. It was pure, unadulterated hell.

My final diagnosis was a septic infection of my GI system. Where was it? How did I contract it? No one bothered to determine answers. My kidneys and pancreas “took a beating,” according to my doctors, and my discharge blood work still showed signs of infection. Whether the problems with my organs came from the sepsis or the drastic dehydration, I do not know.

After the hospital discharged me, my throat and esophagus were so raw and damaged that I needed to limit my drinking to small sips of water. The only food I tolerated was tepid broth. Everything burned my mouth, throat, chest, and back, and even popsicles and apple juice were too acidic. I felt like I was swallowing razor blades while being stabbed straight through my diaphragm. Easy to see why I cried so much, right?  

My energy levels were nonexistent, and my skin was peeling away from every surface, all the way from scalp to toe, because I lost so much fluid. The recovery time for GI Sepsis can be months if not a full year, and the idea of spending another winter sick sent me into a tailspin. There were some emotionally dark days post-release, but I reminded myself how grateful I was to survive at all. They say recovery is a journey when something this serious and life-threatening happens.

Well, friends, this journey ain’t been easy. It wasn’t quite on the level of depositing a certain gold ring in Mount Doom, but the struggle continues almost as long as the film adaptation. Around the time the antibiotics from the hospital exited my system, I experienced a nasty relapse and quickly returned to Urgent Care. The doctor prescribed a fifth antibiotic at the maximum dosage level and said it was likely that the initial treatment curbed the infection without completely eradicating it. She also gave me much more detailed information about what I had ahead of me and how to maximize recovery.

In the middle of all this, Khaleesi, Lil Sociopath, Chewer of Collars, Defiler of Rugs, and Inciter of Chaos passed away at twelve due to complications from seizures. She was the last of the Sophisticated Pair guard dogs and the last little dog. Medjay is 38 pounds, and Xena, my dad’s Belgian Malinois/German Shepherd/Australian Shepherd mix, is almost 60 pounds. An era ended with her. As the daughter of Hailey and Einstein, an entire family line and legacy ended too.

After recovering from my first setback, I began writing this post only for a cold to race through the household. One of the things my doctor warned me about is how your immune system is closely tied to your GI health, a fact I was already keenly aware of due to years of chronic illness. She was forthright that this would be a difficult cold and flu season for me, and my stomach would likely take the brunt of the punishment.

She added prescription supplements to my routine to bolster my still struggling GI system and internal organs. I also need to see a specialist to determine why this happened. She acknowledged we may never understand the full reasoning since the ER did such a fucking awful job of even attempting to figure it out and then promptly erased most of the diagnostic evidence via copious medications.

True to her words, the cold did indeed cause another twenty-four uninterrupted hours of vomiting followed by a day of being physically unable to eat much. However, I will continue to be proactive about my health and strict about my diet, ensuring I hit the right amount of fruits, veggies, and protein to facilitate a faster recovery.

My energy levels are still low, and I hate being weak. I am back to walking seven miles with Medjay each day, and I am managing admirably well in most regards. But there’s a lingering sense of malaise hovering around me, and I am trying to listen when it says: Slow down, friend, slow down.

I’ve never been a person who does well with rest. When she was alive, my mom and I wrote lengthy lists of projects to accomplish, big and small, much to the chagrin of the people in our lives. I carry on the torch with spirited dedication, I am told. However, since sepsis, everything feels like it has gotten away from me, like my “To Do” list was written on a scrap of paper being teasingly carried away by the wind whenever I reach for it.

Nevertheless, I do feel better. I even set boundaries about what I would accept from my family to allow more time for self-care. One of my best friends told me that boundaries are for yourself and what you are willing to accept. As terrifying and awful and painful as this experience was and continues to be, I am happy to come out the other side. The experience forced me to examine my current behaviors, goals, and outlook on my life and my health.

Depression hit me hard this year. Between my aunt and uncle rapidly deteriorating physically and emotionally, losing two dogs, and then the health problems that came from all the stress and general bodily neglect, I didn’t merely feel knocked down.

When you’re knocked off your feet, you land on your knees or your back, or maybe square on your ass (something I did recently on a piece of black ice!). But you know where the ground is because you were standing on it the moment before you fell. For me, it was like being shoved down a mine shaft, tumbling into a dark tunnel and watching the only scrap of light grow smaller and smaller.

Was there a point to trying to climb up? Maybe I should sit alone in the cold dark and say: “Fuck it. I’m done.” I engaged in behaviors meant to punish myself for not finding a way out of the pit and to punish the people around me too. Depression is brutal and cruel.

But you know what puts being emotionally alone and underground in perspective? Nearly being put into a very real hole because you died. Now I try to make progress every day. Even if I manage to climb up the shaft one inch, that’s progress. That’s good. Hell, even if I manage to stay put and not slide backward, that’s also good. It’s given me the kind of perspective all of the never-ending negative shit stripped away without me realizing it.

When I could not eat enough to enjoy the Lexington BBQ festival that I had been excited about all year, my first reaction was disappointment. However, I focused on gratitude instead. Rather than let circumstance defeat me, I channeled my mom. She loved Halloween, and the same day as the festival, the park where I walk Medjay hosted a Trunk or Treat. I’ve never been to one before, but my mom loved Halloween.

Our house was always the scariest in the neighborhood, and she loved kids. Even though I’m not a kid person per se, we loaded up Xena and Medjay and a boatload of candy and came to participate. Truthfully guys, the kids were more interested in petting the dogs than in getting the candy, but it was a good reminder that when things aren’t so hot in your own life, maybe take the time to brighten someone else’s. It was a great deal of fun, and it inspired me to get more active in the community.

Unfortunately, this does mean the thoughts of the store are on the back burner for a few months while I focus on recovery and see a specialist about why this happened in the first place. However, I will keep the survey active through the end of the year and post all the interesting results in January. I’m also still working through my review log and hope to post regularly, assuming life gives me a break! Lately, I’ve been writing a book, and I find it hard to tear my focus away from it.

Finally, I want to thank all of you and my amazing support network for helping me carve a way upward during the hardest days. Your words helped me in ways you will never realize. I appreciate having all of you as a part of my life. Special thanks go to my dad for sitting with me in the hospital, calling people and posting updates, and generally taking care of me when I was physically incapable of doing so myself. Here’s to better days. Happy Holidays!