FanStory.com - I Survived by davisr (Rhonda)

Greetings survivors,

There are many of you in FanStoria with amazing stories of survival. I would love to hear them. I have several to share as well. Here is a summary of my first.

~~~~~~~~

No one ever wants to hear they need a colonoscopy. I certainly didn't. I'd heard horror stories, but my doctor assured me it was a simple procedure.

She was right, the whole thing went off without a hitch. I woke up rested and refreshed. That was the end of my euphoria for two years.

I had a 9-inch tumor in my colon that required immediate attention. I met with a GI* doctor that was sweet as could be, but hid some pretty grim news beneath his smile. I would have to meet with a surgeon.

The surgeon, who I swear was 12-years-old, declared I needed surgery to remove it as soon as possible.

I met with a cancer doctor next, who got me set up with a post-op meeting in case I needed chemotherapy. He didn't look 12, but was a bit on the young side. Is it just me, or do all doctors these days look like children?

I digress...

All set, they got me in for surgery ahead of many others as the need was urgent. Lucky me. If you remember from earlier posts, I have an unusual aversion to surgery. Some might call it phobia. I called it sensibility.

Anyway, the day arrived earlier than I was ready. They took me into surgery right away, no unusual wait. The tumor was excised using fancy robotics, and was found to be benign. It was still classified as colorectal cancer as it was the same cell, but it hadn't flipped to the nasty stage. After a few days, they sent me home to recover. All good, painful, but good.

People sent me flowers, others came to visit, and just about everyone I knew called or came by. Nice survival story, right? But it didn't end there. It had only just begun.

I have shared this tale with a few, but never really in full. Even the memory sends me into fits of PTSD. 5-years later, I'm ready to talk, due in part, to the many people on here who have shared their own experiences of overcoming adversity.

~~~~~~~~~~~

My intestines refused to knit back together. After a few days at home, they tore open at the surgical site and spilled unthinkable things inside my body cavity.

This it did three times, resulting in rampant infections that required further procedures and surgeries. In the end, I had 8 major surgeries, including a complete gutting, and countless minor ones. My abdomen looks like I've been in a knife fight and lost. I didn't, friends, I won. By the Grace of God, I won.

During the seven weeks I spent in the hospital, people dropped away. I was no longer getting phone calls, cards or visits. People were exhausted and worried. They had their own lives to get on with, and I understood.

I walked the halls of the hospital hour after wretched hour, which was recommended. I dreamed of being anywhere besides where I was. I often pretended to be walking along a beach or in my garden.

In the end, I no longer stressed about surgery. There were times I longed just to be given chips of ice to chew on. I lost 60 pounds, and lots of body parts. I even lost my mother. I went to the hospital to be with her after the last surgery and slept beside her as I was too weak for anything else.

~~~~~~~

To the point of this chapter:

During a procedure to place a third infection drain, I was very weak and my blood pressure so low, they couldn't use anethesia stonger than novocaine, which no longer worked on me. An Irish nurse with a lovely accent, sat with me as I waited. He was kind and never left my side.

Behind me, on the floor of the hospital I had been staying on, I had groups of nurses and doctors openly praying. Was it protocol? I doubt it, but it was most welcomed.

The Irish nurse, Peter, in his delightful way, talked with me, joked with me and finally, encouraged me to touch the hem of the Savior's garment for healing. I closed my eyes and pictured the story of the woman who was suffering from years of bleeding. In that moment, I was her. I reached out and touched. And then, it was time.

The Radiologist and his helpers, braced themselves for another round of my extremely loud protestations. They never came as I felt no pain. I remembered every second of it, though, which I always did, inspite of their proclamations that I wouldn't... but no pain.

Coincidence? Not a chance. I'd been through too much for something that simple to come to my aid.

Here I stand a survivor. Am I the same as I was before? Nope. I never will be, because I know what it means to suffer. I, also, learned what it means to touch the hem of the Savior's garment!

Tag! You're it. Please share your personal survior story, whatever form it comes in.

Author Notes The first image was found on google, and reminded me of how I felt in my time of trouble.
The second image was AI from Izea

What is your story? It can be about a health issue, weather related, accidents, personal loss. Join with us to support and encourage each other.

*GI- Gastro Intestinal

On another note, I never saw Peter again, and no one seemed to know who I was talking about when I mentioned him. Angel or nurse? Who really knows?

BTW, Phoebus and Diantha will be back later in the week.

Chapter 1
A Long Time Gone

By davisr (Rhonda)

The following true story is one that I've told before, but that was years, decades ago, so if you're familiar with my tale of, "whoa!" My apologies:

A spur-of-the-moment decision, seemingly inconsequential at the time, can change the whole trajectory of your life, not to mention your life itself. Faced with two options I chose to go up to the main office of my credit union to cash my paycheck from The post office where I worked as a letter carrier. Had I chose to go to the closer satellite branch office, I wouldn't have been on the highway where I was hit head on by a woman in a hurry to get where she was going, failing to notice the Ford Ranger pickup truck in the oncoming lane, and turned left into my lane.

They tell me I was airlifted to a hospital in the big city, but I have no memory of it. Ironically, I don't enjoy flying and get extremely apprehensive, preferring to drive, true, it is dangerous, but at least I controlled my own fate. Ha!

They tell me I was in a coma for 13 days, but to tell you the truth, waking up to my new situation made me wish I'd just have gotten the dying over with. At least I wouldn't know I was dead. What I did know was I was messed up. I couldn't walk, or talk, afflictions which still are affecting me 24 years later, come October 30th. On that day in 1998, my life was changed forever, some positive, but most negative. I remember being told by the doctor in charge of head injury patients that most of the healing takes place within the first two years. Two years! I couldn't wait that long. I was a bit nieve of my reality, two years is nothing. It's almost twenty four years and I'm still messed up.

Years ago I was told by a doctor, who undoubtedly figured I needed some tough love, that I was going to have to accept that I've gotten back all there was to get back. But I won't accept that, refuse to accept that, I still notice minute changes toward a full recovery, and yes, I admit that that is highly unlikely to happen, it's my goal.

What a long, strange trip it's been. That's the understatement of all understatements. I won't get into the hours of physical therapy, the frustration of being trapped in a body that doesn't respond to the orders I give it, and all the time that's gone by, time I'll never get back. Ironically, I can see my life direction clearly now, the things that will make me happy. Can't do much to make them a reality, but...

Chapter 3
Running Blind With A Pen

By davisr (Rhonda)

Monday, June 1, 2009—The day everything changed.

My workday started as it always had since January 2, 2008. I was now a co-owner of an industrial manufacturing company. It was just my husband Jack and I, but we owned it and ran it together.

After we closed on the sale, we learned every facet of the business in a month. We'd also bought a YMCA membership to help relieve the stress of such a demanding job. Monday was my designated water aerobics day.

Today, I would be multitasking. After I'd dropped Jack off at the business, he loaded my trunk with a delivery and kissed me goodbye. I would be back in three hours after making the delivery and having a little me-time at the Y.

It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky. Even with sunglasses on, the sun was intense, unusually so, I thought.

My class was the usual gray-headed crowd. At 54, I was the youngest in the pool. Stress was relieved—for the moment—in the cool pool. I swam a few laps afterwards and showered and changed into my work clothes. For some reason, I couldn't find my sunglasses. I looked everywhere and checked the lost and found. No luck.

I walked outside without them, and that was it. I couldn't see a thing.

Frank, an elderly gentleman from my class, saw me, and asked, "Sally, do you need help?"

"Yes. Could you help me to my car? My eyes are sun-sensitive and haven't adjusted yet."

He walked me there and made sure I was okay, asking again, "Do you need a ride?"

"I'm sure I'll be fine," I said. "Just give me a few minutes. I have spare sunglasses in the glove compartment."

Frank stayed with me until I found the sunglasses. Although they were scratched to death, they seemed to help. My sight came back after ten minutes. Enough to drive, I hoped.

I assured my friend I was fine; then he left.

Deep inside, I knew something was terribly wrong. I suppressed the lump rising in my throat, turned the a/c as high as it would go, placed my cell phone on the console, and slowly motored out of the parking lot.

I prayed throughout the city streets. Once I reached the interstate, my worst fears addressed me full on.

I had just merged onto the interstate seeking a spot in the left lane when things began to disappear from my view.

"Oh, no! My side mirrors... are gone!" I could see part of the rear view mirror, but it wasn't good enough. I waited as a car passed, and slid in. I'd made it. Then I looked at my panels, and there was nothing there! I glanced at the right mirror. Nothing! "What's happening...? God, help me!!"

I put on my emergency flashers and slowed to the easement. I stayed in the car and called my husband.

Two weeks later, I had an appointment with Florida Retina Institute in Lake Mary, Florida. My regular eye doctor made the appointment for me after my examination in his office, saying, "I see black spots on your retinas." (You know it's bad when your doctor cries.)

My darling Jack drove me there and waited for hours as I had test after test to confirm the worst: I had a rare case of retinitis pigmentosa, a progressive, genetic blindness. The specialist broke down and cried with me too.

"How long before I go completely blind?"

"One to ten years, ten years being the best case scenario, Sally. Your right eye has progressed much faster than the left, so it's hard to say. This disease is like Packman, except it eats the cones and rods of the retina. With you, it started with your peripheral vision. With others, it begins with their central vision. The sight loss depends on the specific genetic defect in each person."

"Is there a cure?"

"Not at this time. When you're ready, call Foundation Fighting Blindness. They're a great organization, committed to helping the blind lead full and productive lives. They are also involved in finding cures for genetic blindnesses like retinitis pigmentosa."

I sat for a while, in a state of shock. "Will you help me tell my husband?"

"Of course."

<><><><>

The first few months were the most difficult. Honestly, I wanted to die.

However, loss and grief can rob us on the most important thing: purpose in life and the will to go on. I finally came to the realization I had much to live for: God, a loving husband, family and grandchildren. It was actually the Lord and my husband who helped me through the day-to-day.

Jack kept saying the same things over and over, "You're still the same beautiful woman I married, inside and out. None of that has changed. Don't forget who you are."

I retired from my job a few years later because I couldn't see to run the machinery safely. Answering the phone was ridiculous too because I couldn't see the buttons. I applied for disability and was approved, allowing me to spend more time at home and be involved with our grandchildren. I eventually let my real estate license lapse; yet maintaining my ownership of the company.

All the while, I felt there was something "out there" for me. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

One afternoon, I came across old love letters I had written to Jack. They were good, I thought, but I was very young when I'd written most of them. In a moment of contemplation, I wondered—maybe—if I possessed a gift for writing.

I was about to find out.

It happened rather serendipitously when I heard about a writing contest with Guideposts Magazine. There was a small fee to enter, yet the prize was insane. I thought, Why not? I had nothing to lose. However, I needed Jack's help to make sure it looked good and met the word requirement for the contest.

Jack agreed wholeheartedly and reminded me of the approaching deadline.

I got to it right away. I made a large coffee and curled up on the comfy couch. Time flew as I wrote the draft in just a few hours.

When Jack arrived home that evening, I told him I'd finished and asked him to take a look at my rough draft after dinner. "I want to read it right now," he said, and hid away with my iPad.

I was fidgeting like crazy in the next room, wondering what was taking so long. Finally, he appeared in the doorway. "I had no idea you could write like this! Sweetheart! This is fantastic!"

"Really? You're not just saying that because I'm your wife?"

"Of course not. It's amazing! We'll run it through spell check and submit to Guideposts."

Meantime, Jack suggested I join a writing forum, and came across FanStory. "This would be perfect for you, Sal. The membership fee is yearly and you can stay on for as long as you like. I can help you by installing tools to navigate the site. Whaddya say?"

"Okay. I'll try it for a year and see how it goes."

I joined FanStory in August of 2018, and I took off.

By December of 2020, I had written two books, and had become a Recognized Writer on FanStory.

Today, I'm a published author with Amazon Books and Kindle, 7 crime-fiction novellas, and 3 are on Audible. They are: What The Blind Girl Saw, Double Blind, Murder at Sleepy Hill Lane, Running Blind, Who Stole Ryan Little, The Will of Louis Creed, and my latest, Murder By Chocolate.

I've had four book signings so far with Foundation Fighting Blindness, and have given away hundreds of books to the blind and their caregivers. I have fans and friends all over the world.

Survival is good and instinctive. It's an important first step. But for me, I had to take a leap to overcome this, and not let blindness define me.

Jesus said, "He that overcomes, I will make him a pillar in the temple of my God." Yes, I'm definitely a survivor. Overcoming is a supernatural thing that has great reward in this life, and in Heaven.

Before I go, some simple things I would like to share that my blindness has taught me—

1) Every day is a gift. Appreciate and enjoy it.

2) Eyesight, hearing, speech, legs, arms, hands, feet and everything inside and outside of you is a gift from God. Don't abuse it. Don't waste it.

3) I write every day whether I post on FanStory or not. If I wake up and I can see, then I'm writing.

4) Read. I'm an avid reader. I'm reading The Winds of War by Herman Wouk right now. I just finished The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by William L. Shirer over the summer. I read portions of the Bible every day and put it to memory. I've read Les Miserables cover-to-cover 30 times; The Tale of Two Cities equally as much. Read if you want to be a good writer, whether it's prose, poetry or scripts.

5) Learn and grow. Try new things. Dig deep into your creativity.

6) Be yourself. There are great writer's on here, amazingly gifted men and women. But I can't be them; neither can you. You and I have the potential to be a something special though. Our unique, creative selves.

Until next time....

Author Notes Photo is of my first book signing, hosted by my grandchildren.

Chapter 4
How Are You Still Alive?

By davisr (Rhonda)

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.

"911, what's the emergency?"

Wayne sobbed into the phone, his words barely discernable. "My wife was kicked in the head by a bull."

"Okay, is she breathing?"

"Yes, but her eyes are rolled back and she's bleeding out of her mouth."

"Is she responding to you?"

"Sort of. She's answering my questions, but she can barely talk."

"Sir, is the bull still running around?"

"No, Ma'am. He's in a trailer."

"What's your address?"

Wayne read it off. They transferred him to another operator. He repeated his story. They transfered him again and again. It was 20 minutes before anyone responded to our remote farm Southeast of Dallas. All that time, I remained on the cold gravel driveway and waited for help.

Every professional who saw me that day and for months afterward, would lead with the same question. How are you still alive?

To be honest, I have no more answers now than then. I remember hearing my jaw and neck break. I watched the world spin around me and I remember telling myself to stay awake, to fight back.

~~~~~~~~~

It all started a pretty normal day. My husband, Wayne, and I had gone to church, then out to eat. I don't remember what we ate since the day was, as you might guess, shrouded in a painful mist.

Wayne and I were loading a yearling bull on a trailer to take to a man I worked with. He was destined to be his pasture bull, which meant he wasn't going to slaughter. Good for him he was pretty tame, and I liked him... then.

We loaded his mother first. She was easy and a personal pet. The bull had been separated from her all night as we had penned him for easy loading. Understandably, this made him angry... angry as a bull. It was then I learned an important lesson. Even tame bulls are still bulls.

Wayne was on one side of the trailer and I was one the other. As big as it was, we were out of sight of each other.

Once he loaded the enraged bovine, Wayne pushed a board between mom and son and reached through the slats to close the door between their compartments. No problem, but bully boy was angry, so he had to move fast.

Once the gate was latched, he called out, "Pull out the board."

I pulled, but a splintered part caught on something and it wouldn't slide through. He yelled again for me to pull the board. I tried to explain the situation when the bull decided enough was enough. He kicked and hit the part of the board still in the trailer.

It flew part-way out of the slat and slammed into my chin. That was the first break.

For some reason, I still held the board while the world swam around me. The bull kicked again and the slat slapped me on the right side of my jaw. That's when I heard the second crack.

This time, the board and I both fell. In the shadowy world I found myself in, I continued to fight to stay alert. I took one fist and put under my chin, and the other under my neck. Stabilize, I said, stabilize and stay awake.

I heard Wayne shouting for me, felt him drop to the ground at my feet and heard him calling my name. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear.

I heard the call to 911, his cry to the dispatcher, and felt the terror in his voice.

When he was finished, he leaned over, stroking my face and repeating my name. Through clenched teeth, I asked him to call our pastor to pray. He had to use my phone because 911 had his locked. He couldn't get hold of Pastor Glenn, so I told him he'd have to do it himself.

I heard him put down the phone and take a deep, jagged breath.

I know now that the Lord can hear your words, even through sobs, because a warm sensation enveloped my neck and grew in intensity. I felt something in my neck shift, like when a chiropractor adjusts your neck.

My eyes, which had been rolled back, returned to their normal position. A fuzzy image of everything around me appeared. I could see Wayne's reddened face and the neighbor across the street standing over me.

"Hi," I said, again through clenched teeth. "I've had an accident."

"Yeah, I can see that," Larry said. "Please don't try to talk."

I blinked my eyes in acknowledgement as I dared not move my head.

Moments later, a fire truck showed up from the neighborhood Volunteer Fire Department. Wayne's cousin jumped out and ran over to me. Through sobs, Wayne told his story yet again. Bennie and his companions came over and knelt beside me.

They did a few silent assessments, including looking in my mouth for broken teeth. They asked several questions, like what the date was, my name, who was President, etc. I knew most of them, and faked the others. I swear I heard Bennie chuckle.

"Okay, cousin, hang in there. The ambulance will be here soon."

I blinked my response.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks turned into months, and months into a year before I could move my head without pain and sleep all night without excruciating headaches.

I went through 3 major surgeries and countless hours of therapy, rehabilitation and prayer. The neurologist originally wanted me to go on permanent disability. I had an injured carotid artery that was all but ruptured, a vertebrae that had slipped within millimeters of being broken, which I knew an inside story on, a traumatic brain injury that kept me from walking unaided, and eyes that still wouldn't focus well.

Months later, I had to go to him to get a release to return to work. He put me through every test known to man. When finished, he said, "I can't explain it, but you've been healed."

He signed the paper. To be fair, I still have a weird eye thing going on where if I focus on tedious tasks, my eyes start darting back and forth.

I also have mild Auditory Processing Disorder, or APD, which means there's a bit of a delay between someone speaking to me and my response. The noisier the room, the more difficult it is for me to process what people are saying.

How is it I'm still alive? Like with all the intestinal surgery I went through the very next year, I don't know. I can merely say that in both instances, I learned what it meant to suffer and how to be compassionate to other people's distress.

I also figure I owe God a few favors.

Author Notes A special thanks for the marvelous artwork. Leon - Heathrow Airport by avmurray on FanArtReview.

Some of you have heard some of this story before, to others its new. It happened in January of 2017. I've only told parts, which is what I've done here. I've left out a lot, but you get the picture.

Please share your stories here as well. I'd like to know what you've survived. Thanks to Sally Law, Mike and Ulla for their contributions.

Chapter 5
Beating the Odds

By davisr (Rhonda)

I had been especially depressed for 3 weeks before April 4, 2016. I had felt suicidal before, but I always had help from my best friend, my mother. She would always help me through these times.
In 2015 she had been diagnosed with dementia, and I could no longer go to her with my problems.

I lost all faith and hope that Spring. I felt God had abandoned me. Around 4 a.m. on April 4, I jumped three stories onto the driveway of my apartment complex.

I was LifeFlighted to Altoona, where I was operated on for a broken back, a broken pelvis, and a shattered elbow. I was later told my heart had stopped during surgery.

I was in Altoona hospital for about two months, first in I CU, then regular hospital, then the psych unit.

While I was in bed, unable to walk, I asked the staff a few times, "Will I ever walk again?"

They always answered, "We aren't sure. We'll do our best." When I got this answer, I kept asking about the blue cane in the corner of the room. They would reply, "There is no blue cane there, Cindy."

I was delighted to know some of the staff were Christians. I had a Bible with me, but left my glasses at home, so I asked my physical therapist to read the 23rd Psalm to me. (This was my Grandmother's favorite Bible verse). My therapist, Mary, recited it to me by heart. Every time she entered my room I asked her about this and other verses. (Since my heart stopped during surgery, and since I tried to end my life, I had really been in the The 'valley in the shadow of death,' as part of the verse is worded.

I went home relegated to a wheelchair. I eventually drove again when I graduated to a walker. I was determined to return to the independent person that I had been before my attempt. One day, I decided to try to walk with a cane. I called my local pharmacy to have them deliver one to my apartment.
(The roads may have been slippery that day, so I didn't venture out).

"What kind of cane do you want?" the pharmacist asked.

"The kind that stand alone when not used, " I answered.

"We have a model like that, that comes in 6 colors. What color do you want Cindy?"

"It doesn't really matter," I said. "Just so it fits my 5' frame."

They delivered a blue cane, like the one I visualized in the corner of my hospital room months before. It was always small, yet significant signs like this that let me know God "had my back," so to speak.

I began to love life again, though I had to live through bouts of intermittent, sometimes excruciating pain, that painkillers no longer helped.

Despite a noticeably crooked right arm (with metal keeping my upper and lower arm together), I took up the cello. I will never be a literal connoisseur of that beautiful instrument, but a metaphorical one, as I write some stories about cello players. I know some simple cello passages, and every once in a great while, when I play it, I reach that wonderful honey tone the cello was meant to have.

I began to realize my life long passion of writing creatively. (Before this, I wrote strict college essays). I joined Fanstory initially in 2018. Sally Law was my very first reviewer. Today we are good Fanstory Friends. I have other friends too on this caring website. Roy taught me to 'trust in the Lord.'

Others with variegated, eclectic backgrounds enrich one's life with knowledge and humor.

I pray Wayne recovers and enjoys life again. My prognosis wasn't that great, yet I overcame. I know God has his back too. I found a new friend in Rhonda. God bless them both.

Author Notes Thank you for reading and reviewing.

Chapter 6
Fighting Back

By davisr (Rhonda)

Have you ever seen someone literally fighting back from the jaws of death?

I always thought the saying figurative -- having that fighting spirit inside-- a behind the scenes sort of thing, but it's not always that subtle. Sometimes you can watch it unfold in front of you.

I observed it the day after my husband, Wayne, had an Ischemic stroke, which means a vessel in the brain is blocked by a blood clot.

It's the most common type, and he had it in the most common place - the frontal lobe. All commonality after that disappeared. He's spent the last 2 1/2 weeks defying all the odds.

There's a scale score on stroke severity, 1- 42, with 42 being the worst, but I never asked what his score was. To be honest, I didn't know the scale existed before this event.

The medical professionals batted around the words, severe, massive, and major artery occlusion like verbal ping pong balls. They were scary enough without any numbers attached. The message I got was Wayne had a very grim outlook in spite of surviving a surgery called thrombectomy.

Yes, he was sleeping in a bed beside me. I could feel and touch him. The sounds of beeping machines, and his rasping breathing, convinced me he was still alive. But what was ahead of us? What had just rocked our world?

With promptings, he would squeeze my hand with his good right one. The left lay useless at his side.

The night crept on with little change, but by morning, he began to struggle to breathe on his own. He had very limited response to any of us besides slight hand squeezing and muttering. Concerned, the ICU team and Neurologists were considering putting him on life support.

Before doing so, they took him in for a CT scan to see if there was any further damage. I breathed in-- breathed out-- prayed -- waited. A myriad of emotions and memories overwhelmed me. What would I do??

A few minutes later, Wayne returned, but not the way he'd left. He was wide awake. Those luminous blue eyes, ones I feared I'd never see lit up again, were alive with fury. He was thrashing around in his bed, ripping out IV tubes, electronic attachments of all kinds and trying to get out of the bed. It took three large men and me to try and hold him back.

He repeatedly screamed, "Let me up! Let me up!"

One of the men holding him was his burly son, Mike. The very one who had saved his life less than 24 hours earlier. Wayne balled up his fist and punched him in the ribs, shouting, "Boy, either help me up or shoot me."

Mike helped him up. Me? I smothered laughter as sobs. I don't think I fooled anyone. You see, his screaming was beautiful in my eyes. It was clear speech and the thrashing was done with both sides of his body -- a body that had been almost completely paralyzed on the left. It was moving and it was fighting.

That, my friends, I would call a miracle.

And, how did it happen?

Many of you already know. You were a blessed part of the process. His miracle came from the Grace of God, prayers and support of friends, skill of the surgical team, and an unconquerable will to survive.

Author Notes A lot of you have heard about this incident. I wrote a poem about it from Wayne's point of view, and Debi made a book many of you contributed to. Thank you all. Your poems mattered to me. Your support and prayers even more.

Tuesday, less than 3 weeks after surviving what might have been a debilitating stroke of epic proportions, he will be coming home. I don't know what changes will have to happen. He's still not back to "normal", but he's a walking, talking, eating, joking, miracle!!

Chapter 7
My Code Blue Experience

By davisr (Rhonda)

It was the early morning of July 7th, 2022. I sat in the backseat of my daughter Michelle's car while my other daughter, Bridget, rode shotgun. They thought I was sleeping, but I was daydreaming about the miracle of getting a new knee and leg. My husband couldn't be with us as we had planned our Summer, taking turns having much-needed surgeries. His hip replacements would be in June and August, and my knees and legs would be in July and September. So, he was still recovering from his first one at home.

I was thinking about the days when I was a walking fool. I wouldn't quit until I had at least 10,000 "Steps on my Fitbit" in a day's time.

But more important were the memories of my time with my grandkids. I am not sure if I have ever enjoyed my life more than I have with them. I still enjoy them immensely, but back then we were all about non-stop fun and laughter. We may have even had a record of the most uses for duct tape. We went from building forts to science experiments, from playing grandma monster on my bed where I pretended to turn into a monster and swiftly turn back into myself. It seemed I had one special thing with each kid and many with all of them, until they decided to do the inevitable; they grew up. I pray the memories live forever in their minds.

My lupus of thirty years had taken so much from me already, and now it had slowly disabled my legs, and were in the formation, much like the letter X. The bones needed to be straightened and built up. I could walk a few steps with a walker when need be. I spent much of my time in a wheelchair because not only were my legs bad, but my knees were bone on bone, which made it twice as hard to walk.

I hoped to write while in the hospital, so I brought one of my iPads. I joined FanStory in 2021 during COVID, which had removed all physical human contact except my husband. I was incredibly lonely for my family, especially my grandchildren. My immune system was very low, so we couldn't allow anyone in the house, even with a mask.

It was during the pandemic when I learned that my lupus, along with my chronic anemia, had also caused kidney damage, and now I had stage 4 kidney disease. At my last appointment, my husband reminded my surgeon about my health challenges.

I am proud to say that I had already planned to refuse any narcotics. I had been addicted to them years earlier; when my doctor had pushed them on me for my lupus pain. I took them for ten years; and was on high doses of OxyContin and Percocet when I decided to wean off, with my doctor's help. It wasn't easy, but it was well worth it. I just knew that I didn't dare start retaking them. They were way too hard to quit the first time around.

That morning after my surgery, I was released from recovery and put in my room, and all seemed to be okay. The doctors said it was a success. That evening, they brought all my night meds to me. I should have looked at what it included, but I assumed they were all there. After all, nobody had said anything to me about changing my medication schedule.

Later, after I had fallen asleep for a few hours, I woke with a sensation that something was wrong. I could feel my legs wanting to jump and twitch, but it was mostly an uncontrollable urge to throw my legs around and stop the horrible sensation. So I rang for the nurse, and when she came in, I asked if they had given me the medication for restless leg syndrome. She said no, that it contributes to lowering blood pressure. I told her they had to give me something as it was getting so bad that I could hardly stand it. I was afraid that I would somehow hurt my leg or knee as they have always spazzed when I don't have the medication.

The nurse refused to help me and told me I should try to relax. Besides, it was the weekend, and they usually don't like to contact the doctor on call unless it is an emergency.

As it got later and later, I could feel an anxiety attack coming on. I could barely get my air and was trying hard not to move my legs. I felt like I was going to die. I looked at the clock, and it was 3 AM. The nurse came in to check my vitals and the IV, and I told her about the panic attack and how uncomfortable my legs were; she told me to lie back and take some deep breaths, and I would be fine.

When she left the room I got out my iPad that was on the bed with me and texted all three of my children. I hated to do this to them but I knew I had to at least say goodbye. I told them I loved them and feared I might not make it through the night. I explained what had happened regarding my restless legs medication, and how that had led to a panic attack and worse. I wanted them to be aware just in case I didn't survive, as I was sure they would not hear the truth of what had been happening.

A few minutes later, the nurse returned to check my blood pressure, heart rate and also the heart monitor. Suddenly, she ran out of the room, and soon there was a code blue announcement, and a team of people rushed in to work on me. There were so many people hooking wires and straps on me, putting meds in my IVs, etc... that I just closed my eyes and started praying. At that very moment, I felt Jesus holding me in His arms. The pain was gone and I felt so peaceful. I didn't recall anything after that until I woke up in intensive care.

After they had me stabilized and established in intensive care, labs came and took my blood. I looked like a pin cushion before they were done with me. I also noticed that I was bruised all over and had so many wires in me that I wasn't sure where they were all leading. Plus, I had four blood transfusions before I left the hospital, as my hemoglobin was at 5, when they first tested it, which is extremely dangerous.

My children and husband were there by 7 AM and extremely upset by the news of the Code Blue and that I had been ignored when I asked to have the doctor called to help with the restless legs. One of my daughters said that the fact that it got so bad that I had to text them to say I may not make it showed that even I knew that my body was in distress. She also pointed out that "On call" doctors are "On call" for a reason and there was no way I should have been ignored, especially when much of my trauma could have been avoided.

When the doctor came in, he explained to us that much of what caused the problem was from me losing so much blood during surgery. My family immediately wanted to know why the blood wasn't restored, and the answer was that most bodies restore it on their own. That is when I could see my husband's blood pressure rising. He reminded the doctor that he had warned him about my medical history. The doctor passed the blame onto recovery, saying it was their responsibility at that point to take care of it.

I remained in intensive care for another week and in the hospital for two more weeks after that. I had visits from hospital administrators, and I could tell they feared a lawsuit.

Of course, I had no plans to sue them, but I offered my advice for them to listen to their patients more closely and, if they are going to take away medications, to talk to them ahead of time and not do it without their knowledge.

I was just so very thankful that Jesus brought me through that night and that I had survived.

So, in September, when I had my other leg and knee done (at a different hospital) this time, my son was there too and insisted on talking to the doctor ahead of time. The woman at the front desk said they didn't do that before the surgery, but he could speak to him afterward. My son told her, either I talk to him before, or the surgery doesn't happen. The surgeon was out there within ten minutes. I don't know exactly what Jason said to him, but I knew whatever he said was to help his mom, and I knew that meant things would be different this time. And they were!

Author Notes My thanks still go out to Margaret, Late Bloomer, who wrote a poem of prayer for me after this ordeal. Because of her considerate poem, I received many prayers from you.
Thank you all.

An interesting fact about this particular hospital was that it was the hospital where other hospitals would send patients with trauma and injuries that they weren't able to handle, as this was a trauma hospital. My daughter at age 8 was flown there by helicopter from our local hospital when she had a fractured skull following a bicycle accident.

Chapter 8
Stay With Us

By davisr (Rhonda)

First, let me apologize for one more story from Wayne's miraculous saga of recovery from a massive stroke, but something came up last night I feel needs sharing.

It was the end of the day, and Wayne and I were sitting on the side of the bed discussing his experiences. He survived something most never live to talk about, or if they do, are in various states of impairment.

We are aware of the magnitude of the gift he has been given, but cautiously aware that he still has some hurdles to overcome.

It was incredible to hear him talk about his emerging stroke symptoms and how he struggled to stop the tractor he was in. It's something few have the opportunity to share.

Both of my parents died from equivalent strokes. They never were able to talk about what happened to them, to say good-bye, I love you, or any of the other things we wished could have been said.

Wayne had his own personal experience with a family member and a debilitating stroke. His uncle, Jerry, spent 21-years in a nursing home unable to move his right side or even talk. He understood what people said and could respond with hand gestures, but was otherwise cut off from the farming community he once was a huge part of.

Wayne thought about all three of them as he sat in the tractor that morning and fought against his entire left side going weak to stop the machine from plunging into the stock tank ahead of him. He was determined that, one way or another, he wasn't going to end up like his uncle.

As Wayne talked to me last night, his head began to ache, something he struggles with especially when he's trying to make his brain work. He was going back through the day when he was whisked off by the helicopter to Dallas where they had an awesome stroke response team waiting on him.

He talked about how it felt to be lifted up out of the pasture. He could see most of what was going on outside.

He gazed around at everything below, including his cattle running for their lives from the whirling sounds of propellers. He watched familiar landscape zip by, noticed the path of the aircraft down I-45, a major highway leading to Baylor Scott and White Hospital, and a myriad of buildings he recognized from growing up close to Dallas.

Then, as we sat on the bed, Wayne grew anxious. His hand crept up to the right side of his head in a gesture that has become common for when he's in pain.

"I just wish I could remember them landing on the hospital roof and unloading me," he said. "That had to have been cool. I just remember them saying, Mr. Marusak, stay with us. Mr. Marusak, stay with us. They said it over and over, and then nothing. That's all I can remember."

His hand completely enclosed the right part of his head and eye. He paused, then said through tear-filled eyes, "I guess that was them taking me off the helicopter. I think I was dying."

For any of you out there who have been first responders or in the medical profession in any capacity, know that when you tell someone, Stay with us, you are heard.

Author Notes The first picture is one our sons took of the helicopter in our pasture. You can see the group of First Responders surrounding Wayne as they prepare to load him on the aircraft.

The second picture is of Wayne the day he came home from the hospital, sitting in his side-by-side. Very happy to be home!!

Update on Wayne:
He's been home almost a week now. He's doing amazingly well, but not able to take care of himself without help-- yet. He is forgetful and impulsive, though otherwise seems right as rain. Right now, I'm working remotely, which isn't easy with 5 different High School science classes. My bosses are being amazingly tolerant, which is a blessing.

Thank you for your ongoing prayers and support. I'll try to post my fantasy chapter sometime this week.

Chapter 9
The Burden of Survival

By davisr (Rhonda)

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

From Invictus by William Ernest Henley

"Rhonda, I can't do this anymore. Jesus, please take away the pain."

I held Wayne's head against my chest and prayed with him. Tears flowed from both our eyes as I rocked him back and forth. His cry became a mantra, his tears a bitter release.

As you probably know, my husband, Wayne, is a stroke survivor. But, the hours leading into this status were only the beginnings of his struggles. He faces physical, occupational and speech therapies, and unfathomable pain.

A once strong farmer and man must watch as his sons, the very ones that rescued him from his tractor on October 23rd right at noon, feed his cattle, mow his pasture and drive his red Chevy truck.

Will he get better? Most likely. As I said before, he's been beating the odds all along. But, he now has internal bleeding from the strong blood thinners they have him on as part of his stroke treatment. He remains in a fight for his life and mobility.

Is he alone as he adjusts to a new brand of life -- one he fought so hard to keep? Are there other survivors out there that are grateful to be alive or out of a bad situation, but just aren't the same anymore? Are there others in pain?

Indeed!

I've read your stories, some from this book, others just reading your posts or comments. I've talked to other people who have survived unbelievable situations. My friends, it takes courage to keep going after disaster. I know it personally, maybe you do, too.

I see those with heartaches after surviving loss, physical weakness, loss of mobility, pain, blindness, PTSD... the list goes on. I see you. I hear you. I feel you.

Are the reprecussions, the sacrifices so loved ones can still keep us around, worth the pain? It was for me. If you ask Wayne, when he's not suffering another nighttime headache, he'll say, yes. But, to be honest, sometimes he isn't so sure.

If that's you. If you get to that point when the pain just doesn't seem worth the battle, remember the fighter inside that helped you win the initial battle, the one that beat the odds.

Know that you are cherished.

I salute the survivors! You are our inspiration. We understand there are scars. They may help define our new normal, but they don't define us.

Author Notes A special thanks for the artwork, Richie saluting, by Lilibug6 on FanArtReview

Update on Wayne: He got out of his second hospital stay for internal bleeding the day before Thanksgiving.

They did not find the source of the bleeding, but he has several follow-up appointments with doctors to try and help. We watch him closely for dehydration and bleeding. The headaches have not eased up.

It's our belief that as soon as the bleeding is handled, he will regain his life, whatever that looks like.

Thanks for all your ongoing prayers and support. FanStory is a great community and family.

Chapter 10
Dire Straits

By davisr (Rhonda)

I had felt something was going on in my lower abdomen for some time but, for whatever reason, it didn't sound any alarm bells. I was absolutely fine. I had no symptoms of any kind. I went on with my life as usual until one day when I couldn't.

It all came on so very quickly. Something that shouldn't be growing within me just did. What the heck was going on? I still felt fine but within a month I looked six months pregnant soon coming up for seven months. It was an emergency if I had ever seen one.

It was pointless to consult my regular doctor so I went to the emergency room, reckoning that they, the doctors, had to take some action, and I was not wrong.

My husband though, was another matter. I knew he was frightened but he wouldn't let on. He assured me that everything would be fine, a statement which didn't make sense to me.

The doctors, meanwhile, were scratching their heads. I had several ultrasounds, and other invasive examinations, but no matter, the mass growing within me was too big, hiding was what was going on. So they scheduled an operation as a matter of urgency, but it wouldn't be until another two months before having one, during which time I grew bigger and bigger.

By now I was frightened. Nobody knew what was growing inside me, whether it was benign or cancerous. I remember how I prepared for the worst. I would walk around the land and the garden around the house. I talked to the trees and the plants saying goodbye to every single one.

Sometimes I would just stop, looking up at the mountains and the sea way below in the distance, breathing a silent goodbye. I was terrified beyond reason.

Apart from giving birth to my daughter, I had never been in a hospital let alone having a major operation as the one I was facing. My husband still believed everything would be okay, but I couldn't fathom how he could be so sure. Even my daughter, a nurse, and her husband, a heart specialist, were worried, although they kept assuring me that it was most likely a benign cyst.

Finally, the day arrived for my operation. I was so big now that it was a miracle that I could still breathe freely. Something or someone was looking out for me.

At this point, I have to point out what Spanish hospitals and care are about. After I checked in at 7 in the morning, my husband and I were led up to the ward and into a room with a hospital bed and a sofabed which was for my husband, so he could stay with me. The room also had an ensuite bathroom with shower and all. And so it is, all free and part of the national health care system we enjoy in the EU.

Not long after, a nurse came in and I had to dress in a hospital gown. She drew some blood and gave me a sedative for which I was grateful. Half an hour later, I was wheeled down to the theater where none other than my surgeon greeted me. He assured me that the blood test had shown no cancer was present. Shortly after, I was injected with something and everything went dark.

Now, much later, I opened my eyes and the first person I saw in my groggy state was my surgeon. He took hold of my hand and gently told me that everything was going to be fine. They had removed a huge cyst and a thorough biopsy had found no cancer. As a precaution they had performed a full hysterectomy. I could feel the tears of joy as I thanked him and then I fell back into a quiet sleep. A couple of hours later, I was wheeled up to my room, my husband at my side.

I will never forget that surgeon and the care I received. Also, the relief and tranquility it all brought me is hard to explain, but the knowledge that this particular part of my body can never let me down again is a gift.

Chapter 11
Thinking of You Both

By davisr (Rhonda)

I have just learned that Wayne had a seizure on Christmas day and is now back in hospital. As far as I know a tumour has been found behind his eye.

I was so confident that he was on the road of healing, but now this! I am so very sorry. My thoughts are with Rhonda and her family. They have endured so much during the last few months.

For this to happen at this time of the year doesn't make it any easier.

Thank you so much, Debi Pick Marquette, for bringing this to our attention.

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