I’m writing this on my 54th birthday. Hold your applause. I often joke with many of you that the age number keeps getting bigger, but in my head I am still about 15. This bodes well as I am now on roughly the same humor level as my sons. My wife loves this. Big hit.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about a brief moment that I would like to write about. It’s been running around in my head for quite a long time and I’m not sure how to describe it, but I’m going to try as it ties into aging and my memory.
As most loyal readers know, at approximately 11:05 AM eastern time on January 5, 2024 I coded while in the ICU. Later I learned that I was being worked on by a team of 5 or 6 hospital angels for about 6 minutes. I have read the case notes of that morning and they are not pretty. Obviously I have no solid recollection of these 6 minutes, but I also later learned that 2 of the professionals in the room had a heated exchange over who’s fault (which department) it would be if they lost me right then and there. While they performed CPR and kept air pumping through my lungs they were also worried about the worst possible outcome.
Thankfully, God had other plans for me that morning and I regained consciousness to a nurse holding my right hand and saying “OK Patrick, no more of that now.” I had no idea what she was talking about.
Inside myself it felt like I had simply closed my eyes and then opened them again. I was in some pain and I remember having tubes in my throat, then none, then tubes in again after I opened my eyes. I could not speak and I was anxious but I couldn’t put my finger on why.
In what seemed like seconds, I was completely calm.
Ladies and gentlemen, that’s also known as the power of narcotics. IV narcotics shooting straight into my veins. Oh what peace it was to ride in a one horse open sleigh. My ass was flying.
For the next few hours(?) I felt a state of euphoria washing over me. My brain knew that I was lying in a hospital bed, mostly unable to move, hooked to machines and wondering why a nurse was standing in my doorway at all times with a standing desk and a laptop on it. Why did she keep looking at me? Didn’t she have other patients to attend to? I had an idea to tell her that I was fine, but I couldn’t really form any words. She was cute, so I definitely smiled at her. I didn’t and couldn’t smile, but in my mind, I was spitting mad game at this cute lady. Which reminded me that I didn’t know where my wife was. She’s more cute. Usually she is in the room on my left. Where did she go?
On my left is a big window. It’s gray outside today and it’s winter in Massachusetts so it’s really cold. I’ll ask the nurse in the doorway how cold it is outside or I could ask my sister and my brother in law who were just here a minute ago and now where did they go? I want a warm blanket, but I am SO comfortable that I think I’ll just float here awhile with my eyes open and closed and open and someone turn off the TV where is my stereo or my phone with the bluetooth to connect not a good idea in the hospital like your phone on the plane that could screw up some signal maybe my laptop to read a bit or watch something. Music I want music. Where did everyone go? OK the nurse is still there. She takes my blood pressure every 3 minutes. What’s up with that? I feel good. I’m going to ask Vanessa to bring my wheelchair in. Time to get moving. This room is so small it sucks. Too cold out, maybe soup for lunch. I’m a big soup guy especially in the winter.
My sister and brother in law are back but they don’t look good. Mike is always stressed about work but the dude looks pale. Maybe we should switch and he should take the bed. Sheila is holding my foot and patting it but she looks ashen. What the hell is up with everybody? You’re all brining me down. You should see if the doorway nurse can get you some IV narcotics. You will feel like you can skim the cloud tops……Chitty, chatty bang bang baby. That flying car movie with Dick Van Dyke that was on TV when I was a kid. Is he dead? Poor Dick, no I think he’s still with us. Focus dude. The drugs are bad but I can understand why people do this to escape themselves. I don’t give a shit about anything I’m so warm.
Mike and Sheila left. Did I hug anyone? The doorway nurse remains. Imma ask her to call Vanessa. The clock in front of me says sometime after noon which is funny to me because I can usually read it. I’m all about time, I play drums which reminds me that I need some new heads for my toms as well as my snare but I’m not really playing anymore so maybe not. Why am I not playing? It’s my favorite thing to do in life. See? right now I’m playing paradiddles with my feet under the blanket. Fast, smooth and so warm. Just like Rick Allen of Def Leppard. After he lost his arm in a car wreck he woke up in the hospital just like me now and he used a piece of foam at the foot of his hospital bed as he invented a new way to play. When I get better I will reach out to Rick to see how he did this. Who can put me in touch with him? I wonder if they are on tour maybe I’ll wait but it would be cool to play his kit but he’s a damn righty so we have to turn it all around. His drum tech. can do that because of my muscle thing I can’t move the drums. Same blood pressure as last time door nurse, please give it a rest and find me some soup or better yet my wife.
I’m tired. I’m closing my eyes. When you close your eyes, do you dream dream about me. Good song. We didn’t play that one. Tough vocals but we did play You Can Still Rock in America which is a better song. Oh the double bass around the toms fills were great woooo. wooo. sleepy time.
Oh. Vanessa’s here. Why the hell does she look so concerned? Why are there 3 strange people in here with her? Where am I? What the fuck is going on? Am I dreaming?
Oh fuck I still have muscular dystrophy the whole thing wasn’t a dream this is real oh fuck oh fuck I can’t get up and walk around. WHERE THE HELL ARE MY KIDS?? I am so pissed I want to punch someone but I can’t lift my arms why I am I in the hospital and what is with the tube in my throat this shit feels like a garden hose someone pull it out. WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?
Vanessa is holding my hand and she’s crying while some doctor tells me that the drugs can cause agitation. I realize that I’m not actually saying anything because I can’t talk but I am agitated as F and someone is going to hear about all this stupid shit that’s STILL messing with my muscles.
For a brief moment there, I thought it was a bad dream. My machines are beeping slower and at a more steady pace. Listening to the beeps I turn the sound into a metronome and work out that one pulse is around 60 beats per minute and one is around 80. They are out of sync with each other which triggers my drum brain much like a song playing on the car radio while it’s raining. The wipers never line up with the tempo and that pisses me off. Where was my stream of thought?
For a brief moment, no more than 5 seconds, the drugs, as they wore off, left me completely calm and unaware that I had a muscle disease. I don’t know how else to put it. I was totally at peace and then it all came crashing back into focus. I was really sick, maybe deathly ill and I was 2 months past turning 51. This was the same age that my father died. 51 ain’t old. In my head I did some quick math and came up with the exact age of my father’s passing. I would pass that date in August of 2024. Right then and there in that hospital room I made a bargain with whoever was listening to my thoughts: I need to make it past August. 8 more months.
Not long after, the calm feeling returned as the nurses added more IV drugs to my cocktail. I had no idea that I had been extubated at 10:30 AM and a little over 30 minutes later, with my sister and brother in law in the room, I told everyone that I was ‘feeling really weird.’
They were escorted out and the chaos began as I lost consciousness and my heart did not beat on its own for 6 full minutes. The doctors warned my wife that there was a chance of brain damage and heart damage. Permanently.
I cannot imagine what it felt like to be in her body and mind in those moments. Meanwhile I had terrible drug induced dreams and a few hallucinations to go along with the dreams. These vivid dreams contained color, and varied from things blowing up to people moving and yelling in slow motion. I began to understand why some psychedelic rock tunes sounded like they did. I did not like the dreams, the vibe or the situation but I can and do understand why people try narcotics to escape from themselves.
Not having a clue about what addiction is really like, about 3 days later, I asked the nursing staff what they had me on.
“Oxy, and fentanyl.”
My eyes widened and I looked as though I was in shock. The nurse told me that these were not at all like street drugs and I was in a controlled environment and the drugs had left my system with no adverse side effects. I should remind you that I was still intubated at this point so I had to point to alphabet letters on a sheet of paper to share my thoughts. I had too many tubes in my hands and was too weak to write, so conversation was slow. I asked for the whole story about why I needed these narcotics and was told essentially what I already wrote above.
For a brief moment I was dying.
For a brief moment I was completely calm and forgot that I have muscular dystrophy.
For a brief moment I remembered my illness and was blinded by anger.
For a brief moment I thought I was at the end. All I wanted was more time. How can this be all of the time that I get?
That brief moment lasted several more weeks. One or two days later, the nurse in my doorway disappeared and I realized that I was SO sick that they had eyes on me at all times. Holy shit.
I returned home on February 22, 2024. Seven weeks of my life had passed. Seven weeks of everyone around me going about their daily routines and wondering if I was going to be around. Holy shit. Seven weeks of my meaning being defined by blood draws, x-rays, nebulizers, machines, minor surgeries and learning how to eat and drink normally again. Nothing outside of my hospital room mattered. Job, money, emails, texts, calls, nothing. It all stopped like I was gone. Holy shit. I didn’t see my kids for 3 weeks. I was afraid to let them see me in the state I was in. I didn’t want to scare them. Holy shit, for a brief moment this was happening to me….not someone else and not some medical drama TV show.
It was not my time to go. I was alive because I could not die.
For a brief moment I thought my dates would read: November 5, 1972- January 5, 2024.
Today I turn 54. For a brief moment, it’s my birthday again. I’m happy that I’m still here. I’ve got shit to do. So do you. Text, call, write, or get on a plane to see and be near the people who matter to you. If you find yourself thinking ‘this is it’ I swear that you will think: I thought I had more time.
None of us have as much as we need. For a brief moment, remember that. Happy birthday to me. I think I’ll have a cookie.
Stay safe, stay awesome, and stay tuned.