The Last Word

If it wasn't for the internet, I wouldn't have found out what meningitis means. When the word was first mentioned in the ER, I thought, "oh, so like, mono or something." Nooo, not exactly, genius. Even when the doctor was about to give me a spinal tap, and she turned towards me dramatically and said in her best grave voice, "it is very important that we do this," I was still all, "la dee da". Even when they immediately quarantined me in a room and starting pumping me full of antibiotics, I was like, "weeeeee!" Even when I had three needles sticking out of my arms, a constant heart monitor and a catheter in my lady business, I was all, "ho hum!" The previously mentioned quotes of nonchalance are perhaps more a demonstration of my level of consciousness at the time, but you get it. I didn't exactly realize the potential drama. Even when Hannah walked into the room with a face mask, plastic visor, gloves and hospital gown. "Yawn!"

When it was safe enough for me to be at home, and I could handle sitting in front of the computer for more than 30 seconds, that's when I plugged "meningitis" into Wikipedia. 10-15% of people die from bacterial 'gitis?! Oh. Ok. Ummm... maybe it's a good thing I didn't know this? Maybe they don't tell you for a reason? Or maybe they did tell me it could be fatal, and I just don't remember (the whole first few days are kind of a foggy blur). Or maybe they assume you know. Maybe it would be like me complaining that the doctor didn't explain cancer to me. (Off topic: my cat just jumped 4 feet straight into the air for no apparent reason. What a weirdo!)

Anyway, I'm rambling. This is my last post about The 'Gitis. I guess I'm talking about this because I had what I hope to be my last appointment on Wednesday, and for the first time ever, the doctor mentioned the word death - but it was enveloped in optimism (if that makes sense). He said, "Considering you could have died, you've made a remarkable recovery." I'm not sure how I felt about hearing that out loud, having a doctor say it to my face with sincerity; on one hand, it makes this whole experience a little more scary for me, even though I'm past it. On the other hand, it's kind of like realizing a dump truck was 15 seconds away from swerving in front of your Mazda - you could have died, but you didn't. You're alive, and actually, it wasn't even a real danger. This time, the odds were in your favour and soon, you'll forget it even happened.

But it's true: I have made a remarkable recovery. Thank you very much. I wasn't thinking about it that way, cause it took me a month to get back to work - but apparently it can take several months for some people to get back to normal. And here I am, back to the gym, back to work, and going into my fifth MMVAs this weekend. 25 hours of craziness? Bring it. I'm more alive than ever.