The fear from my cardiologists voice sent chills down every millimeter of my body. Have you ever had a moment where it feels like you’re standing outside of your actual body and you’re just standing there staring at yourself? If not, it’s a fucking wild experience to go through. I felt like I was looking at my lifeless self who had no control, who continued to moan & groan in agonizing pain, with a mind that just couldn’t shut the hell up. Couldn’t seem to get the words “what the fuck” from my thoughts.
The taste of salt kept hitting the sides of my lips from the tears streaming down my face as I was doubled over in pain with my mom rubbing my back in comfort & friends in the waiting room who weren’t allowed back because of “Covid rules. The “why’s”, the “what the fucks happening”, & mainly the “fear & worry” were consuming all of me. Just stop, please stop, but I wasn’t mentally strong enough to get them to stop in those moments. No matter how much I tried fighting it, simply put I was petrified, petrified for my life (literally & figuratively), that I’d never see my kids again, but more so that the next time they’d see me wouldn’t be how any child their age should see their mother.
What the fuck, why the fuck was I at a hospital & they still failed me. Not only was there 1 doctor, there were 2, plus the nurse at Brava Health in Spring Hill, FL but it took me calling (texting actually) my cardiologist at Tampa General just to get a fucking CT done. (Keep in mind the doctors at Bravera were preparing discharge papers for “muscle spasms”). CT scan & X-rays, tests that are given out like candy to every patient weren’t even an option even with me begging and pleading. They would’ve given answers 8 hours prior to my life changing so significantly. I guess that’s what happens when you go to a pathetic excuse for a hospital & a team of incompetent doctors. Never, I mean Never, stop being your own advocate.
The pain was getting worse by the second, the oxygen couldn’t keep up with my inability to breathe. “Just breathe, Jess” I kept telling myself. Soon after 2 individuals strolled in from the medflight team and you could tell from their demeanor they weren’t going to waste any time. Sweet, kind, compassionate, but quick an efficient. Within minutes I was lifted from the bed to the stretcher. Shit, onto the next fear I had to face…claustrophobia Strapped down like I was a prisoner trying to fucking escapee and the only thing that could direct me and give me any sense of comfort were my eyes & the sound of their voices. Up we go, not into the air, just into the chopper. Hoping more than ever that when I landed I’d have made it & someone would be there in my corner.
Tears poured down my cheeks, the cool feeling of fentanyl quickly hit my veins, but it still wasn’t enough. Closing my eyes to rest wasn’t optional, the fear of never waking up consumed me. In those moments I felt the most alone I’ve ever felt in my life, even knowing I was far from it. I was helpless, no control over the smallest of things as I laid there strapped to a stretcher. “It’ll be over soon”, “just stay awake Jess”, “the girls need you” I’d tell myself over and over.
The fear was endless & finally I felt the soft touch of the nurse and could hear her faintly say “we’ve made it, you’re almost there just stay with me”.