STANDING ON THE BARE FLOOR MAKING LEMONADE
Carole Carson
When life tosses a “lemon,” I usually make lemonade, but even the most practiced lemonade-maker can have the rug pulled out from under her every now and then.
On Tuesday, December 10, the phone rang just as my husband and I were finishing dinner. My granddaughter reported that my daughter, Jamie, 38, had fainted and was hospitalized. After I absorbed the initial news, my son-in-law got on the phone and provided more detail.
While checking out of a motel on a business trip in Oklahoma, Jamie had suffered cardiac arrest. The motel clerks administered CPR until the 911 paramedics arrived and restarted her heart. The time between when her heart stopped and had restarted had been dangerously long. She was unconscious when taken by ambulance to a local hospital, stabilized, and then moved to a level-one trauma center in Tulsa.
From their home in Columbia, Missouri, her husband and three daughters (ages 11, 13 and 18) drove six long hours to reach the hospital.
I decided to fly to Oklahoma immediately, uncertain of what I could contribute but certain I needed to be there. After a sleepless night, I left Sacramento in the predawn. A window between winter storms made it possible to get through Denver and on to Tulsa by early evening. I went immediately to the hotel next to the medical center, dropped off my bags, and went searching for Jamie in the enormous medical complex.
My brother, driving from Arkansas, met me at the hospital. Together we huddled with other family members in the intensive care waiting room. Seeing Jamie for the first time was a shock; I was grateful for my brother’s reassuring presence. Hooked up to countless machines and gadgets and in an unresponsive coma, Jamie was given little chance to live.
Every two hours, we were allowed twenty minutes with her. We saw steady progress as we kept vigil. She communicated first with her eyes; then she whispered. As consciousness increased, she became agitated and had to be restrained.
Watching her arms and legs flail and her head roll from side to side was painfully distressing. After fearing she would die, I now feared she’d live but be mentally disabled.
During our short breaks, I took the girls Christmas shopping, and we had our nails manicured. Sometimes we played cribbage—anything to distract us from the hospital scene!
By Saturday, in response to prayers on her behalf, Jamie made dramatic progress and was moved to another floor. Helpless as a newborn kitten, she couldn’t be left alone. Her husband and I spelled each other, feeding and caring for her basic needs.
I also tried to take care of myself. Although I slept only a couple of hours each night, I ate carefully, albeit irregularly, and walked the hospital corridors for exercise.
Eight days after the incident, Jamie was moved to a rehabilitation hospital near her home in Columbia.
I was strong for eight days, but I came home to California in bad shape. A sinus infection returned, and my hip hurt badly. Emotionally, I was a basket case. One moment, I was thrilled Jamie had survived. In another, I’d weep. I felt disoriented and disconnected.
Extra rest and exercise, especially stretching, regular eating, prayers of family and friends, visits to the chiropractor, and TLC from a supportive husband restored me.
I’m now headed back to Missouri to help Jamie make the transition to home. She can feed and clothe herself, walk with assistance, and communicate. Neurological processes, especially short-term memory, must be retrained. We’re hopeful she’ll recover.
Without being in shape, I would not have survived the trauma, nor would I have had the resiliency to return.
Until now, I shallowly thought I got fit to avoid medical problems, play tennis and enjoy abundant energy. Silly me! I was preparing for a much greater task. If I’m going to have to keep making “lemonade,” I’ll need to be strong, healthy and balanced.
Facing uncertainties, both global and personal, we never know who will need us, do we?
