Miracle Lady
By Verlene (Lynn) Lorenz
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| Photo: Hemera |
I have been a Registered Nurse for 34 years and have had a most lucrative career doing just about everything there is to do in nursing. I started in Emergency Rooms, went into Mental Health for 15 years, then worked with geriatric patients. The last four years have been in Home Health Care. Nothing very exciting or out of the ordinary happened until Tuesday night, January 30, 2002.
I went to work as usual that night, caring for the little boy who had been my patient for the past three years. The night went by without incident, but I didn't feel quite like myself—breathing seemed to be more difficult than normal. When my shift was over at 7:00 A.M. I drove the 45 miles home, anxious to get some sleep.
Sometime in the afternoon I awoke. I was exhausted from the exertion of trying to get air into my lungs, and I felt dizzy and terribly confused. I tried to give myself an injection of Adrenaline from my emergency allergy kit, knowing it would help open my airway temporarily, and called my brother-in-law, Lenny, to ask him if he would take me to the closest Emergency Room. When we got to Oroville Hospital I walked into the ER on my own power, but that's the last thing I remember until almost three weeks later. I had stopped breathing.
By listening to what was said by doctors, nurses, therapists, and family members about what had happened to me, I was able to sort out the pieces and put the puzzle together. I soon learned that I had been very near death three times before the Medical team got me stabilized.
I had gone into respiratory arrest. I had developed Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD), including asthma and bronchitis, as a result of numerous allergies throughout my life. My blood pressure dropped and I was put on two blood pressure medications; the doctor called my son Chip in Portland, Oregon and told him that I was in respiratory failure and if Chip wanted to see me alive, he had better hurry right down. My son was at my side in less than eight hours! The oxygen saturation levels of my blood were dangerously low and I was placed on a ventilator to pump oxygen at 100% into my lungs. My right lung was filled to the brim with pneumonia and the left lung was beginning to fill with deadly fluid along with the bacteria. My circulatory system was now septic; my white blood cell count was the highest the doctors had ever seen. I also had Influenza Virus and Methicillin-Resistant Staphlococcus Aureas (MRSA).
I apparently did not like the treatment I was getting because I was resisting all efforts the staff were taking to stabilize me, and even with my wrists restrained to the bed, I would not lie still. I kept trying to sit up. I was already on morphine and Versaid (an anesthetic) so the doctor added a paralytic agent, thus putting me into a drug-induced coma and total paralysis. It was necessary to have me absolutely quiet in order for the concentration of oxygen in my blood to increase and for my blood pressure to rise to life-sustaining levels. Nine different medications were dripping into the triple-lumen catheter that was stitched into my Jugular Vein; all of them working together to keep me alive. The antibiotics, however, gave me Thrush, and it was too painful to eat solid food. All I could manage were Cream of Wheat and health shakes. My lips and palate bled constantly.
Chip went back to Portland on the third of February, worried about possibly having to seek a Conservatorship for his mother, whose life was in the balance, and to transport his wife Shelly to Oroville to visit her mother-in-law, possibly for the last time. My condition did not improve, and the doctors expressed concern that if I did live, I may never walk again, and there was a real possibility that there would be brain damage (somewhat difficult to prove, in my case). My roommate, Bonnie, who had never known Jesus as a personal Friend and Savior, turned to God and begged Him for a miracle—that I would not only live, but that I would have full and normal use of my bodily functions and mental faculties, such as they are!
Five days later, on February 9, 2002 I was taken off the ventilator and began breathing on my own. Throughout the ordeal my kidneys had never shown any sign of failing and my heart never faltered, beating a strong, regular rhythm. I awoke to find myself in the ICU just a couple of days before Valentines Day. I could not move my fingers or toes, my vision was blurry, and my ears felt like they were full of water. I felt very confused and totally bewildered. The nurses had to do everything for me—tasks that I had always taken for granted, things I did daily for myself without a second thought, now had to be done by someone else. I was as helpless as a newborn baby. It certainly gave me a new perspective on how a hospitalized patient feels.
Blessed Assurance
For two days I stared at the large clock on the wall beside my bed and tried in vain to figure out what time it was. I knew those numbers should make sense and tell me the time of day, but it was hopeless. Trying to think was like slogging through thick oatmeal. I could blink my eyes and utter a few garbled words, but that was the extent of my functionality. Once awake, I rarely slept more than an hour or two each night. My body ached for sleep, but one night I had a dream. A man dressed as a pastor in a dark suit and tie came into my room and sat by my bed. While he held my hand in both of His, he prayed for me. I awoke with a thrill, knowing that God was with me, and everything would be all right—I was in His hands.
On the eleventh of February I was moved to an Isolation Room on another unit; I became more cognizant of who I was, and my thoughts began to materialize a bit more coherently.
My goal was to regain control of my muscles and bodily functions. At first I could only holler for help; even though they had put a raised button on my call bell, I could not begin to push it. But I kept trying! And I made real strides in my healing progress. It was at first the plan that I enter an inpatient rehabilitation center for several weeks until I regained the use of my extremities, but I had my own "rehabilitation regimen," and worked at it constantly. I had many therapists working with me, also, Respiratory, Physical, and Occupational. I couldn't even point a finger at first, but I soon learned to push the call button, and work the controls for my bed and the TV. With the help of my therapists I sat on the edge of my bed one day, the next I stood, and the next I walked a few steps with a walker. They put a bedside commode next to my bed and I was soon able to get to and from that wonderful invention without assistance and even tie the pajama pants they gave me. Before I knew it, I was walking to the bathroom, without the walker, and down the hall, then up and down three stairs.
I was discharged from the hospital on February 27, one month after I went in, and in two weeks I was able to go through my activities of daily living independently. I was known throughout the hospital as the "Little Miracle Lady From Brownsville," and I shared my faith with anyone who would listen. The very best and most important outcome from my ordeal is this: Bonnie gave her heart to the Lord and is studying to join the Seventh-day Adventist church! I truly want to spend the rest of my life, however short it may be, serving my precious Master. I believe He has a plan for my life, that's the only reason I am alive today, and I intend to follow where He leads. I pray that one day soon we will all be together in our heavenly home where there will be no pain, sickness, or death.
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