Upon hearing this, my heart sinks. My mind cries out, "No! NO! This is not good! Tomorrow is Yom Kippur. It is a Shabbat. It is a day of rest. No one is supposed to do work for me. Sending out the drug tonight means people will have to work to drive my package to a sorting facility. In the morning, a delivery person will have to drive my package to my house. Moreover, calling my home health nurse means she too will have to work when she drives to my house and administers the drug. Oh this is not good! This is not good at all! Having other people work for me means I will be breaking Shabbat."
I am too heart-broken to say anything. My mom leaves. I pray to God that if this is not supposed to happen, my package delivery will be delayed until after Yom Kippur. When the sunsets, I watch a live streaming Yom Kippur service. I try to allow the beautiful service to soothe my broken heart.
In the morning, I sleep long. When I get up, it is around 11 a.m. My antibiotics have already been delivered to the house. I open the box and fight back tears when I see the medicine neatly arranged inside. My mom tells me she has called my home health nurse. She is going to be here in the afternoon. I place the medicine in the refrigerator. I then go back to bed and watch more live streaming Yom Kippur services.
Shortly before 2 p.m., I make my way to the living room. I sit on the couch and continually apologize to God for making this day, which is the holiest day of the year, just as common and ordinary as any other day of the year. I apologize for making people work for me on this day.
When my home health nurse arrives, she conducts her usual routine. She takes my vitals, checks my PICC line and asks me a standard series of questions. When she completes everything, she takes one container of antibiotic out of the fridge. She primes the pump and tubing. Soon, she starts infusing the drug into my PICC line.
Very quickly, I am not feeling well. I develop a headache which continues to intensify. My breathing grows labored. I cannot sit up any more. I slouch to the side. I feel impending doom like the world is ending. My home nurse is busy filling out paperwork. My mom notices my abrupt change in health. My mom alerts the nurse. The nurse talks to me. My tongue is thick. It is terribly difficult to speak. My nurse grabs the emergency medicine which came with the antibiotic. She prepares the Benadryl and epinephrine. She administers both drugs. She then calls 9-1-1.
A short time later, the ambulance shows up at the front door. Thankfully, the Benadryl and epinephrine have worked their magic. I am starting to feel a little bit better. I can now speak short sentences. The emergency medical workers help me on to a stretcher. I am then loaded up into the ambulance and taken to the hospital. As we make the long drive, I continually apologize to God. "Oh, I am so sorry. I have continually violated this day. Now, I am making two more people work, and when I arrived at the hospital, I am going to be making medical personnel at the hospital work too. Oh, I have really messed up this day!" I am grateful the anaphylactic reaction along with the sedative effects of the Bendryl make it very difficult for me to move or exhibit reactions. The tears welling up in my heart never flow from my eyes.
When I arrive at the hospital, God arranges for a very kind physician and amazing nurse to tend to me. The doctor runs some tests. My mom informs the physician she just wants to make sure I am stable. She then is going to drive me nearly 400 miles to the medical facility where my doctors are located. The doctor agrees to her plan. Soon, the physician gives the green light that I can leave. I am grateful to be leaving the hospital...but I plead with my mom to not take me to another medical facility. "I am fine. Let's just call my doctor in the morning." I desperately want to get home; I want to at least try to salvage just a little bit of this happiest day of the year. But, my mom insists my physician said if I had a reaction to the antibiotic, I should come to the hospital.
I am shocked when we arrive home; my mom has almost everything I need for the journey already packed up. While we were waiting for the ambulance, she began to pack. She continued to frantically pack while I was loaded up and taken to the hospital. She then was able to arrive at the hospital very shortly after I had been examined by the emergency department physician. Seeing all the work my mom had done, I reluctantly decide to make the long journey to the medical center.
As we begin our trip, we drive westward. The sun is just above the horizon. It is still Yom Kippur. I apologize again to God for breaking Shabbat. I watch as the sun's rays sink lower and lower below the horizon--such a beautiful sunset! I continue to watch as the last light grows paler and paler. Quickly, the light fades, and the darkness takes over. Yom Kippur has ended.
This was supposed to have been the happiest day of the year. Quite frankly, it ended up to be the saddest day of the year. For the next year, this single day plagues my soul with guilt and sorrow. For one year, I have been asking God to allow this next Yom Kippur to be one dedicated to Him. Today, at sunset, begins Yom Kippur. As much as I wish things would be different from last year, they remain very much the same. I am still fighting off Pseudomonas. I have another PICC line. I am again on IV antibiotics. I have asked God for nothing to disrupt this day. I am praying this year, this Yom Kippur, it truly will be the happiest day of the year.
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