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One of my Nightmares
15 years ago
~Remember when your mom told you she loved you?~
I can write and sometimes my writings disturb people. You have been warned.
This one is a current nightmare that I have actually been having since I have a surgery coming up here shortly:
~It was like any other morning that I had to do this. Surgery. The previous night was hell, like usual, because I didn't sleep. I never do before an operation. Nerves, I guess. Always been that way.
~This was no different. In and out surgery. That's what they said and that's usually how it was. Unless there was complications, which in that case, they would keep me as long as necessary until I was better and could be released.
~The horn blows from outside and I move to the sliding door of my apartment to look down. My place is a rather nice two bedroom on a second floor and overlooks the parking lot. It is my mom, shivering I can see from my current vantage point, because it is still early summer and there is a slight chill in the morning air. I wave to her before turning my head to look at the clock on the wall.
~6:23 am. I'm to be there at 6:45 for registration, then they would start the prep work around 7.
~I hated being up this early, as I slide on my black hoodie with its large white skull and blue flames, smoothing it down over my black tanktop and black pajama pants. My small feet slide easily into my black slippers, for I was to wear only comfortable clothes there today, and I grab my keys to head out the door. My son wasn't up yet, being the late riser that he is for school, so I don't have a chance to say good-bye to him.
~I didn't want to disturb him.
~Heading down the stairs once the door is locked behind me, I move slowly, hating how my body hurts with every move. Damn Fibromyalgia, I thought, as I almost lose my footing due to my hurting knees buckling slightly. I caught myself with the rails to either side, the wood biting deep into my palms, and grumble as I pause only for a moment to readjust my step, then move on down to the bottom.
~The door opens as I push against it, the first chilly blast of air hitting me as I make my first step outward. Brrrr...fucking cold, is my only thought. At least my mom's brilliant yellow Chevy Cavalier has had some time to warn up as I open its door and slide gratefully in. A quirk of my lips at the woman that looks like an older version of myself and a muttered, "Yay for me. Surgery time again. How ever did I get so lucky?" is the start.
~"I don't know, sis," is the reply. She's always called me that, since Jayson, the older of my two younger brothers, was born.
~I only shrug back and we pull out to head for the hospital that is roughly 2 miles away. The trip is in silence; neither of us wanting to break this, through ritual or whatever, we're not quite sure. Nothing really to be said.
~Once there, the car parked and locked, she walks in with me into the Surgical Center. I know this place rather well now, and it is to the large, wrap-around desk that I move unerringly to. The woman behind it looks up and gives me that smile. It's the one just before she says my name before I can.
~Oh they know me here.
~We exchange the pleasantries, like usual. I answer the question asked to me, like a robot.
~"Name and date of birth?" "Kristie Grandy, March 8th, 1976."
~That's the big one to verify that I am who I say I am. Like anyone else would want to suffer through what I'm about to?
~A few more questions, my answers follow, then I'm told that I can take a seat and they will be out for me in a few. I look at the clock.
~6:55.
~She's true to her word. 2 minutes pass and another woman comes out, an older one, and calls my name. I smile wanly at my mom; she won't follow me in. She can't stand seeing me get the IV and the blood drawn. After everything done, though, she will come back to sit with me until they take me into surgery.
~I'm lead to my little waiting cell (what I like to call them) and told to strip down to nothing and pull on this heavy type gown with several holes in them. These are for the nice little hoses they attach to them to force warm air in. Rather awesome, I think...I want one for at home.
~I'm left alone to do my thing. I always, no matter how many times I go through this, I still feel uncomfortable and weird stripping down and getting into that gown. Bloody thing is a pain when you have to climb (and I say climb, for I'm a little person and the bed is usually too high up) up into the bed and have to spend about 15 minutes trying to get the gown around you just to the point of being comfortable.
~Finally situated, the first person comes in. The anesthesiologist is usually the first one. First question from his mouth.
~"Name and date of birth?" "Kristie Grandy, March 8th, 1976."
~This gets to be repeated alot, so I'll spare you the rest of that one.
~He goes over his job (like I've never heard it before) and while he is droning on, a nurse comes in with the much-dreaded IV. I ask him to hold a moment and proceed to explain to the nurse that she cannot, under any circumstance, tell me that she is poking me with the needle. The moment she does, I inform her, much like I would to a small kid, I will start to hyperventilate and the veins will collapse. She smiles and says that she understands, and the anesthesiologist is allowed to continue his speech, more so not because I don't know what he will say, but more to draw my attentions away from the IV.
~True to form, she gets the IV in with a little trouble, but succeeds finally and both her and the anesthesiologist leave me to wait. My mom is called in finally. Again, there is very little that needs to be said, but for some reason, there was this funny "itching" between my shoulder blades. Not the kind of itch you scratch, but more like something isn't feeling "right".
~"Mom?"
~"Yes?"
~Moment of silence, then, "I love you."
~That brings a smile to her worried face. "I love you, too, Krissy." (She is only one of a very select few that can call me that.)
~Smiling back, the "itch" niggling more at me, I fall into silence again until the surgeon himself comes in to talk to me. It is rather quick. He informs me that he will be going in through my previous C-section cut to remove my bad cervix and that all should be well.
~I hate those words. 'Should be well'. But I say nothing.
Moments later, the anesthesiologist is back. He has one needle on him, which he injects this stuff into my body through the IV close to my skin. Moments are all I have to look over at my mom, who smiles again at me to reassure me that she will be waiting for me to come out alright, then darkness claims me as the drug takes effect.
~My eyes open and something feels....strange. Glancing around, I wonder what is happening. There is no IV in my arm.....
~Wait...why is my arm transparent?! What the hell?
~Taking what I think to myself as a deep breath and feeling nothing, not even the numbness from the drug they gave me, I become more aware of things around me: the sound of people rushing about, of the sound of a flatline, and my mother's heart-wrenching cries.
~"Not my daughter!!"
~What?! What happened to me?!
~Then I see it: doctors and nurses are surrounding a bed and between their shoulders, I see the lifeless form of a small redhead female.
~Myself.
~Oh my god, what happened? I catch pieces of the conversation as they pronounce my death time.
~7:48 am.
~"There was nothing we could do," is the doctor's response to an unheard question or comment. This is directed to my grieving mother. "She began hemorrhaging and we couldn't get it to stop. I'm so terribly sorry for your loss, Ms. Grandy."
~This makes my mother lose it more. I can't stand to hear those heartbroken sobs, the cries of anguish at the loss of her only daughter. Her firstborn.
~Why did this have to happen? I can't seem to find my thoughts as I watch them lead my mother away from my body and the sheet gets moved up to cover my still face.
~No!! This wasn't suppose to happen!!! I was suppose to live longer...
~My kids are my second thought once my mom is removed from the room. Oh god, how will they handle this? It will shatter Caitlyn's world. And my friends? What will they think?
~My friends Chris and Nik....I didn't tell them everything I wanted to.
~My face hits my hands as I sob, thinking about everyone that will be so hurt by my leaving them like this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~I woke up this morning to the sound of my alarm clock, drenched in a cold sweat and crying. I have surgery coming up soon. Was this a sign or just my mind playing tricks on me?
This one is a current nightmare that I have actually been having since I have a surgery coming up here shortly:
~It was like any other morning that I had to do this. Surgery. The previous night was hell, like usual, because I didn't sleep. I never do before an operation. Nerves, I guess. Always been that way.
~This was no different. In and out surgery. That's what they said and that's usually how it was. Unless there was complications, which in that case, they would keep me as long as necessary until I was better and could be released.
~The horn blows from outside and I move to the sliding door of my apartment to look down. My place is a rather nice two bedroom on a second floor and overlooks the parking lot. It is my mom, shivering I can see from my current vantage point, because it is still early summer and there is a slight chill in the morning air. I wave to her before turning my head to look at the clock on the wall.
~6:23 am. I'm to be there at 6:45 for registration, then they would start the prep work around 7.
~I hated being up this early, as I slide on my black hoodie with its large white skull and blue flames, smoothing it down over my black tanktop and black pajama pants. My small feet slide easily into my black slippers, for I was to wear only comfortable clothes there today, and I grab my keys to head out the door. My son wasn't up yet, being the late riser that he is for school, so I don't have a chance to say good-bye to him.
~I didn't want to disturb him.
~Heading down the stairs once the door is locked behind me, I move slowly, hating how my body hurts with every move. Damn Fibromyalgia, I thought, as I almost lose my footing due to my hurting knees buckling slightly. I caught myself with the rails to either side, the wood biting deep into my palms, and grumble as I pause only for a moment to readjust my step, then move on down to the bottom.
~The door opens as I push against it, the first chilly blast of air hitting me as I make my first step outward. Brrrr...fucking cold, is my only thought. At least my mom's brilliant yellow Chevy Cavalier has had some time to warn up as I open its door and slide gratefully in. A quirk of my lips at the woman that looks like an older version of myself and a muttered, "Yay for me. Surgery time again. How ever did I get so lucky?" is the start.
~"I don't know, sis," is the reply. She's always called me that, since Jayson, the older of my two younger brothers, was born.
~I only shrug back and we pull out to head for the hospital that is roughly 2 miles away. The trip is in silence; neither of us wanting to break this, through ritual or whatever, we're not quite sure. Nothing really to be said.
~Once there, the car parked and locked, she walks in with me into the Surgical Center. I know this place rather well now, and it is to the large, wrap-around desk that I move unerringly to. The woman behind it looks up and gives me that smile. It's the one just before she says my name before I can.
~Oh they know me here.
~We exchange the pleasantries, like usual. I answer the question asked to me, like a robot.
~"Name and date of birth?" "Kristie Grandy, March 8th, 1976."
~That's the big one to verify that I am who I say I am. Like anyone else would want to suffer through what I'm about to?
~A few more questions, my answers follow, then I'm told that I can take a seat and they will be out for me in a few. I look at the clock.
~6:55.
~She's true to her word. 2 minutes pass and another woman comes out, an older one, and calls my name. I smile wanly at my mom; she won't follow me in. She can't stand seeing me get the IV and the blood drawn. After everything done, though, she will come back to sit with me until they take me into surgery.
~I'm lead to my little waiting cell (what I like to call them) and told to strip down to nothing and pull on this heavy type gown with several holes in them. These are for the nice little hoses they attach to them to force warm air in. Rather awesome, I think...I want one for at home.
~I'm left alone to do my thing. I always, no matter how many times I go through this, I still feel uncomfortable and weird stripping down and getting into that gown. Bloody thing is a pain when you have to climb (and I say climb, for I'm a little person and the bed is usually too high up) up into the bed and have to spend about 15 minutes trying to get the gown around you just to the point of being comfortable.
~Finally situated, the first person comes in. The anesthesiologist is usually the first one. First question from his mouth.
~"Name and date of birth?" "Kristie Grandy, March 8th, 1976."
~This gets to be repeated alot, so I'll spare you the rest of that one.
~He goes over his job (like I've never heard it before) and while he is droning on, a nurse comes in with the much-dreaded IV. I ask him to hold a moment and proceed to explain to the nurse that she cannot, under any circumstance, tell me that she is poking me with the needle. The moment she does, I inform her, much like I would to a small kid, I will start to hyperventilate and the veins will collapse. She smiles and says that she understands, and the anesthesiologist is allowed to continue his speech, more so not because I don't know what he will say, but more to draw my attentions away from the IV.
~True to form, she gets the IV in with a little trouble, but succeeds finally and both her and the anesthesiologist leave me to wait. My mom is called in finally. Again, there is very little that needs to be said, but for some reason, there was this funny "itching" between my shoulder blades. Not the kind of itch you scratch, but more like something isn't feeling "right".
~"Mom?"
~"Yes?"
~Moment of silence, then, "I love you."
~That brings a smile to her worried face. "I love you, too, Krissy." (She is only one of a very select few that can call me that.)
~Smiling back, the "itch" niggling more at me, I fall into silence again until the surgeon himself comes in to talk to me. It is rather quick. He informs me that he will be going in through my previous C-section cut to remove my bad cervix and that all should be well.
~I hate those words. 'Should be well'. But I say nothing.
Moments later, the anesthesiologist is back. He has one needle on him, which he injects this stuff into my body through the IV close to my skin. Moments are all I have to look over at my mom, who smiles again at me to reassure me that she will be waiting for me to come out alright, then darkness claims me as the drug takes effect.
~My eyes open and something feels....strange. Glancing around, I wonder what is happening. There is no IV in my arm.....
~Wait...why is my arm transparent?! What the hell?
~Taking what I think to myself as a deep breath and feeling nothing, not even the numbness from the drug they gave me, I become more aware of things around me: the sound of people rushing about, of the sound of a flatline, and my mother's heart-wrenching cries.
~"Not my daughter!!"
~What?! What happened to me?!
~Then I see it: doctors and nurses are surrounding a bed and between their shoulders, I see the lifeless form of a small redhead female.
~Myself.
~Oh my god, what happened? I catch pieces of the conversation as they pronounce my death time.
~7:48 am.
~"There was nothing we could do," is the doctor's response to an unheard question or comment. This is directed to my grieving mother. "She began hemorrhaging and we couldn't get it to stop. I'm so terribly sorry for your loss, Ms. Grandy."
~This makes my mother lose it more. I can't stand to hear those heartbroken sobs, the cries of anguish at the loss of her only daughter. Her firstborn.
~Why did this have to happen? I can't seem to find my thoughts as I watch them lead my mother away from my body and the sheet gets moved up to cover my still face.
~No!! This wasn't suppose to happen!!! I was suppose to live longer...
~My kids are my second thought once my mom is removed from the room. Oh god, how will they handle this? It will shatter Caitlyn's world. And my friends? What will they think?
~My friends Chris and Nik....I didn't tell them everything I wanted to.
~My face hits my hands as I sob, thinking about everyone that will be so hurt by my leaving them like this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~I woke up this morning to the sound of my alarm clock, drenched in a cold sweat and crying. I have surgery coming up soon. Was this a sign or just my mind playing tricks on me?
I doubt it's a premonition. But those questions you asked in your dream at the end, maybe that was what the dream was for. Do you have a living will? Is it all spelled out, what you want to have happen with your possessions, your back account, car etc. Do you have it all planned out for where your kids would go, someone you know can care for them. Then there is your own funeral. Do you know how you would like to be interred, any specific songs played, etc? It may be those details your dream wanted you to pay attention to.
According to my mom, the older of my two younger brothers, and my son, when I die, they're just going to have a bonfire in the backyard and hold a Kegger in my honor, and toss my body on the fire to cremate me. That way, they get the money, I get crispy crittered and I go out as the life of the party...somewhat...