So I left of here....
That night included MRIs, CT scans, many medications, calls to my surgeon, calls to my parents, texts to a few friends, and in general, a tremendous amount of pain. They were trying to manage the intense pain of my shunt no longer releasing fluid, but it was so terribly painful.
My dear friend and mentor, Randi Corey, one of the HA Leadership team members, was there through the night and watched over me. She patiently sat by my side and helped me stay calm when I felt anything but. Her presence was invaluable as I was in hospital I didn't know with caregivers I didn't recognize and on the wrong side of the continent in comparison to my loved ones. I will always be grateful to her for the service she provided that night.
Around 1:00 am, I was able to secure an emergency seat on the flight home - leaving in just 6.5 short hours at 7:30. The trick was then to convince the healthcare providers in Charlotte that I deserved to go home...as they kept insisting I was far too sick to go home, and needed to be operated on immediately. I could not think of anything worse than dealing with a surgery of that magnitude without my loved ones + the long recovery process during which I could not fly. The doctors explained to me that I would be unable to travel for approximately 4 weeks after the surgery, and would need to figure out an extended stay hotel or furnished apartment for that time, as they could not release me to go.
You can imagine my horror of allowing an unknown neurosurgeon a crack at my brain + sticking around North Carolina for the next month....nope, wasn't an option, so I started bargaining with them. Pleading. Begging. The two surgeons continued to remind me of the dangers and potential consequences but I was desperate. My parents were part of some of these conversations through phone conference, and my mom of course immediately said she would be out on the next flight to start dealing with our living arrangements, caring for me, etc, but I couldn't imagine it, so I continued to press them.
They finally relented and agreed to do their best to make me safe and comfortable, but assured me that the methods they could do would probably only last 3-4 hours, and that I would need to be immediately treated upon arrival home. OBVIOUSLY. As if I had any intention of waiting?!
They packed me full of pain killers, nausea meds, seizure meds, etc and sent me in Randi's car to the airport as quickly as we could drive, arriving just in time to make the flight. Randi found a Delta agent and explained my emergent situation (which was fairly obvious since I could not walk at this point and needed full wheelchair transport), so he assured her he would take personal care of getting me on the plane. We hugged, they whisked me away, and my sweet angel Randi went off for a LONG day of meetings, after being up all night. That is true friendship.
The Delta agent helped hustle me through Security, as we were behind and I was slumped over in the wheelchair, however, when they scanned my bag (yes, the very same bag that had just come through the airport and not been unpacked for a moment), they insisted there was a problem. The initial TSA agent called over another agent, and they looked at it, then scanned it again...blah, blah, blah...finally, as I was draped over the side of the wheelchair, they helped me empty the side pocket to find my Kindle reader, which seemed threatening. I was so exhausted and angry that I nearly threw it at him, but instead the Delta agent grabbed all of the now-unpacked contents from my bag, put them back in my lap and took up hustling down to the gate, as we were running behind (while I tried to repack my bag).
He was able to get my to the plane in time, but could not take the wheelchair on the actual plane, so two very kind Delta flight attendants helped me (okay, nearly carried me) to my seat of 11B, where I became a little boy's nightmare. The aisle seat was a neuro-radiologist, which which was nice because he knew exactly what was going on. The poor boy in the window seat was less lucky...he was probably 10 years old and traveling parents and little brother (who were in the row behind us). Despite my best attempts to be quite as I started to vomit again, he looked like he wanted to cry or possible crawl out the window as I vomited six times in flight. Bag after bag was filled with the i/v fluids they had pumped into my body to prep me for the flight. The meds wore off within the first 2 hours of the 4.5 hour flight, and I was a wreck. I felt awful for the poor little boy next to me who clearly wanted nothing more than to get off the plane and as far from me as possible.
I slept/cried/vomited my way through the flight, trying to be as not-notable as possible, however, everyone surrounding me (rows in front, behind, and beside) all knew what was going on. The flight attendants had again called ahead for medical transport upon our arrival, and asked the other passengers to please wait on deplaning until they could "help assist in removing an ill passenger"....yes folks, that would be the crazy girl in 11B.
And then some dear Samaritans decided to help out and offer me an extra seat in the first row of coach. A couple had the aisle and window seats, so just before we reached the point of starting to land, they scooted together in the window and middle seats, and told the flight attendant I could have the aisle to be removed more quickly, and have a little extra space during landing. Bless their sweet hearts.
The poor boy in 11A was thrilled to see my go, and the physician wished me well and patted my back, while the flight attendants moved me forward for landing. They had my bag in tow, secured everything, and before I knew it, we were back on the ground and I was again in transport, this time to Intermountain Medical Center with my parents.
Big sigh of relief....back where I belonged.
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