What is done in secret, God sees

Earlier this year, a fellow Believer shared her painful story with me about a series of heartbreaking events. She has Mitochondrial Disease, and her family has a difficult time understanding her illness. In addition to all this, she has been waiting and waiting for her disability application to be processed. In the meantime, she is living on very little. She is in constant debt and continues to use credit cards to sustain her from month to month.

I was deeply moved by this woman's story. She was not asking for financial assistance. She just wanted prayer and emotional support. As I was praying for this dear warrior, God moved my heart. "You could pray for a blessing in your friend's life, or you could be a blessing." Without thinking about my next action, I asked for the woman's address. I wrote the girl a card encouraging her to keep on keeping on and enclosed a check to help lessen her burden.

I am a person of limited financial means. I save every penny and am scrupulous about any money I do spend. I always want to have something to give in the offering plate and greatly desire to help my local food bank. However, my monthly income is tiny. Hence, the amount I am able to donate is very, very small. I often wish God would bless me with great finances, not so I could buy a vehicle or live in a luxurious house, but so I could have lots and lots of money to give away.

God put into my heart the amount of money I needed to give this woman. I wrote out a check and knew if this was from God, He would provide a way. I did not tell anyone about my deed. When I donate money, I always try to do it in secret. I do not want to receive accolades or have my intentions be turned into one for evil. I only want God to see my actions.

A month later, I received an odd card in the mail. It had listed as both the sender and receiver my address. I looked at the postmark and saw the letter was sent from a local location. I opened the tightly sealed piece of mail. Inside, there was a card which was taped completely shut. It took some effort to cut through the sticky adhesive with a scissors, but finally I was able to open the note. Inside, there was a short message: "A gift of encouragement from the Lord." The message was not signed. Taped to the card was cash in the EXACT amount I had sent to my Mitochondrial Disease warrior! I was blown away! I was also doing a happy dance!

I have a secret rule about any money I receive as a gift. I give it away to charity. Although the money could be used to help pay for my supplements, food or medical expenses, I find the greatest delight in being able to continue the money's giving power by forwarding it on to another person or organization. Since I never have much to give, it is such a joy and blessing when other's provide the means for me to be able to offer charity.

During the entire card opening ceremony, my mom was incredibly curious about the card. (She was the person who had retrieved the mail from our mailbox and was subsequently enthralled by the mysteriousness of the letter.) When she saw the note and the money inside, she immediately said, "So, where are you going to donate that to?" A smile swept across my face and I nearly started crying as my heart was overflowing with joy. As hard as I try to do everything in secret, I was overwhelmed with happiness that my mom had noticed my actions.

Although many months have passed since receiving the card, the note still sits on a shelf in my closet. I look at it often and smile that someone took the time to send me such a beautiful gift of encouragement. I have the money sitting in an envelope. I am planning to give it away, but so far, nothing has captured my heart. The money was given out of an abundance of love. When the right time and situation arises, I will joyfully give the money away, and continually thank God for His endless mercies.

When in desperate need, God sends a man...an angel...a miracle

I sit in a crowded emergency department (ED) waiting room. People from every walk of life are crammed into an area far too small for so many sick and injured people. I have checked in to the front desk. The clerk seems unconcerned about my health. She tells me to wait until my name is called to go back to be triaged.

There are signs all over the front desk area stating the trauma center is closed. Six helicopters had delivered critically injured patients to the ED. Due to the extent of their injuries and the intense care needed, the trauma center is shut down. This translates into half the ED being closed. This comes at an incredibly inconvenient time. The ED is extremely busy with walk-ins and folks arriving by ambulance. And now everyone has to be funneled through just half the ED.

I am feeling extremely sick. I cannot put my finger on it, but something is wrong. I am losing muscle strength and coordination. My breathing is growing ragged and chaotic. I can feel my lungs are filling up with mucus. I am trying to cough up this sticky substance, but I am having very little success.

After waiting nearly 30 minutes and having yet to be triaged, a nurse enters the waiting room. She informs everyone the wait time is approximately eight hours to be seen in the ED. My heart nearly breaks upon hearing this news. Not knowing what else to do, I start praying to God. "Oh LORD, I am so sick. Oh LORD, I cannot wait eight hours. Oh LORD, please help me!" After a few short pleas to God, I end my prayer.

As I continue to fight to breathe, a homeless man approaches the check-in desk. Waiting for the clerk to acknowledge him, the gentleman looks around. His eyes widen when he catches sight of me. Instantly, he races to me, grabs my hands, bows his head and starts praying. He starts with the most beautiful rendition of the Lord's Prayer I have ever heard. He continues on by asking God for me to be seen quickly, for me to have fast relief from my symptoms and for me to receive treatment quickly. This man’s prayer is one of the most powerful prayers I have ever experienced. As the man is praying over me, the check-in clerk hurries over to the man and tells him to leave me alone.

In an instant, the man disappears. The check-in clerk has a brief conversation with the triage nurse. Then my name is called to go back to triage. The check-in clerk summons another associate. They both come around the check-in desk and help me gather up my ventilator and heater/humidifier. I am wheeled back to the triage area. As I leave the waiting room, I search for the homeless man, but I cannot find him amidst the myriad of people. The nurse takes my vitals. She inputs the information into her computer and checks on the bed availability. She tells me she cannot believe the homeless man was trying to hurt me. She informs me she is not going to send me back out into the waiting room. She does not want anything else to happen to me. She finds an ED room in which a patient has just been taken upstairs to a hospital room. She summons an aide and has her run back to get the room ready.

As I sit in triage waiting for an ED room, I am in disbelief. I know instantly what had happened. God had sent the homeless man into my life as an answer to my prayer. God changed the image of a man praying into a man trying to hurt a person on a ventilator. God heard this man's prayers and worked a few miracles. Everything the homeless man had asked for was being fulfilled. I have the distinct impression that this homeless man was sent in direct relation to my interaction with another homeless man six months prior. ("One who is gracious to a poor man lends to the LORD, and He will repay him for his good deed" Proverbs 19:17.)

Very shortly, I am wheeled back to the chaotic ED. (I am in disbelief that I have skipped the eight hour wait and am being seen so quickly. But, God knew I needed urgent medical help.) When the physician enters my tiny ED cubicle, his eyes grow wide in panic when he sees my physical appearance and vital signs. He immediately orders blood work. When the results come back, they indicate I am in the beginning stages of sepsis. Quickly treatment is started, and I am soon on the path to better health.

As I think about the homeless man, his powerful prayer and his sudden disappearance, Scripture floats through my mind: "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it" (Hebrews 13:2). Was this homeless man an angel; was he a messenger from God? My heart is too overwhelmed by God's abundant kindness to think too much about these events. I weep for God's kindness. If I would have had to wait eight hours in the ED waiting room, I am not sure everything would have gone so smoothly. I praise God over and over again for His abundant love and for hearing prayer.

(Link to Part One, click here)

An impulse to give: Setting the stage for an incredible miracle

As we leave the confines of the medical facility and begin our long voyage back to our home, we encounter a red traffic light. As my dad and I sit in the car waiting for the light to turn green, I see a man walking around the intersection asking for $8 to be able to spend the night in a homeless shelter. This incidence seems so usual and mundane. Lots and LOTS of people target the traffic intersections near the medical complex begging for money. But this man, this man seems so different.

Instantly, I feel the need to give this man money. I have a strong inclination I need to tell this man something. I quickly search my belongings looking for cash. (I rarely carry cash, but today, God had the exact amount He wanted me to give this man in my wallet.) The traffic light turns green before I can fish out the money and give it to the homeless man. My dad continues on our mission home, but as we are passing through the intersection he exclaims, "Oh, look! CVS. I have a coupon I need to use which expires today. Let's stop there." My dad swings into the pharmacy parking lot.

When my dad leaves the car and enters the store, I quickly exit the vehicle. In a hurry, I scurry away to the traffic light. I wait for the light to change before crossing the street to where the homeless man is working. I flag down the man. The gentleman walks over to me. I give him the money. He starts talking to me.

Unprovoked, he tells me he is a believer in Jesus. The man lays before me his recent life which happens to be a series of heartbreaking events. His wife had cancer. She passed away. Huge medical bills caused him to lose his house. He was part of a church. The church was helping him get back on to his feet. Evil speech spread lies about the homeless man which caused the homeless man to be kicked out of the church. At the end of his teary eyed monologue, the man chokes, "God once had a plan for me!"

Instantly, I grab the man and hug him. As I am pulling back from the embrace, I tell the gentleman, "God STILL has a plan for you!" Seeing my dad exit the CVS store, I say goodbye to my sweet friend and hustle back to the car. The man yells to me, "My name is Richard!" I wave and continue toward the car. I have prayed for this homeless man numerous times. I have also revisited this intersection (and nearby intersections) and I have never seen Richard again. I pray God helped Richard get back on his feet and get back in a relationship with Him.

As with so many stories, one could believe this was the end of this event. I gave Richard money. I prayed for Richard. I have never seen Richard again. The end. But God likes to continue stories. One small act of kindness changes my life six months in the future.

(Link to Part Two, click here)

Charity: Why I do what I do

Many moons ago, my mom came to visit me while I was pursuing my career. It was a gorgeous Saturday. My mom and I headed to the beach to allow the gently rolling waves to wash away the week of stress.

As we were relaxing under an almond tree, an elderly man approaches us carrying a guitar. We make small talk with the gentleman. He then proceeds to sing us a sweet serenade. The man's talent was quite astounding; he was an accomplished musician. At the end of the song, he asks us for money. My mom and I decline. The man leaves and goes on to the next couple sunbathing on the beach. My mom and I spend the rest of the afternoon at the beach. As the sun sinks below the horizon and produces a breath-taking scene, we decide it is time to leave the beach.

During the next week, my mom returns back to her home. I return back to my weekly grind of having too much to do and feeling as though I never have enough time. The following Saturday, I am grateful there is a health fair in a remote location in the mountains. Since I am one of the leaders of the organization which sponsors the event, it is expected I help. As always, I happily agree to the distraction. I gleefully step aboard a bus and travel over an hour into the mountains.

When I arrive at the health fair, there is a massive line of people waiting for their free health screening. I, along with my colleagues, set up the various stations. Soon it is time to allow the first patients through the registration desk. The day passes rather uneventfully. In the afternoon, the line begins to thin. I travel with the president of the organization on a tiny mountain road which winds through a small village. As we pass along, we tell residents about the free health fair.

As we approach the edge of the town, an inter-city bus stops. An elderly man exits the vehicle. My colleague immediately tells the gentleman about the health fair. As the man draws near, my breath catches. This is the same gentleman my mom and I saw at the beach last weekend. Instantly, I notice there is something wrong with the man. The sparkle is gone from his eyes; his skin looks very pale; he seems very confused and disoriented; his speech is slurred. Gone is his quick wit. He struggles to put words together to make a sentence. I ask the man what is wrong. He tells me he is a diabetic. Last week Friday he ran out of insulin. He did not have any money for any more medicine. (And I fill in the rest of the story. He caught a bus to the beach last weekend hoping he could get money from tourists and anyone else visiting the beach. He must have not been successful.)

With an extremely heavy and broken heart, I reach for the man's hand and gently cradle it between my two hands. (The gentleman is very unsteady on his feet. I am fearful he may stumble and will fall off the steep side of the small mountain road.) I tell the man I am taking him to the health fair. He does not protest. When we arrive back at the event, I skip the line and registration. I can see people are outraged this man just cut in line. I simply state this gentleman is my VIP. I take the man to the station which has the blood glucose monitors. I prick the man's finger and impatiently wait several seconds for the results. The man's blood sugar is so high, the monitor does not give an actual number. I know this man needs IMMEDIATE medical intervention.

Holding the blood glucose monitor with my right hand, I hold the man's hand with my left hand and lead him over to one of the local physicians. I explain to the doctor, "This is Mr. Smith. He is a diabetic. He ran out of insulin last week Friday and has not had any insulin in over a week. Here is the reading from the blood glucose monitor. Please give Mr. Smith the best possible care. He is one of our VIPs." With that, I left Mr. Smith in the care of one of the attendings.

How does this story end? I have no idea. After leaving the gentleman with the physician, I return back to my duties at the health fair. I pray Mr. Smith was able to get the medical attention he so desperately needed. I also know this entire situation was God-orchestrated. I just happened to meet Mr. Smith the week before at the beach. I witnessed his light-heartedness and amazing musical abilities. The following week, I just happened to be at a health fair in this man's hometown. And I just happened to meet Mr. Smith as he exited a bus. Having previously encountered the gentleman, I immediately discerned this man seemed very ill. Instantly I knew he needed urgent care.

The one thing I have taken away from this situation is this: if anyone asks me for money, I will give it to him. One never knows if the person also may be in a terrible financial crisis like Mr. Smith. My stony heart could have killed a dear man. I never want that to happen again.

Part Eleven: Is this the story that never ends?

This latest episode of me fighting off a bacterial infection all began with a physician not calling me to tell me the results of a sputum culture. The multitude of ensuing events almost seems incomprehensible. Not only did I have double pneumonia, the bacterium invaded my head and neck causing meningitis. From there, I wish I could say I received antibiotic therapy, and I was soon on the road to better health. Unfortunately, I cannot write this.

While hospitalized, it took a very long time to start feeling well. Finally, things seemed to turn around. My appetite and energy levels improved. I no longer slept all day. Hooray! Things are going well. For about 24 hours I felt as though I was improving. Then I started feeling ill again. I thought perhaps the bacterium I had developed resistance to the antibiotic regimen I was on. Since the downturn in my health was at the end of my hospital stay, I did not utter a word to my medical team. They had everything set up for me to get me discharged. They assumed since I was feeling better the previous day, I was still feeling well. When my blood cell count numbers returned to normal, all blood work was ceased. It was not possible to know whether my health decline was just from the stress of being in the hospital, or if they infection may be worsening.

When I arrived home, I diligently took both an oral and IV antibiotic. I continued to feel worse and worse. I called my infectious disease doctor's office to get a follow-up appointment. The next available appointment was in two months. When the antibiotics ended, I went to the emergency department. To my heartache, my white blood cell count was elevated. I was given one dose of IV antibiotics and sent home on an oral antibiotic. I was assured when the sputum culture results came back in a few days, I would be called if the antibiotic I was prescribed needed to be changed. When the results were updated to my patient chart, the emergency department never called. The antibiotic I was prescribed was NOT effective against the bacteria in my lungs. I now had five additional bacteria, which I must have acquired during my recent hospitalization.

While hospitalized, my peripherally inserted central catheter (PICC line) insertion site became infected. The bacterium soon found its way into my bloodstream and settled in my left arm and shoulder. Again, I attempted to find medical care, but my efforts yielded little fruit. The PICC line was pulled. I was able to get one intramuscular injection of an antibiotic.

I have continued to seek out medical attention, but so far, no treatment which covers all my bacteria has been initiated. I have numerous bacteria fighting each other in my body. My body is taxed almost to its limit every day. I am constantly trying to push pass fatigue, but more often than not, I fall asleep. I am hoping I can keep enduring until my infectious disease appointment. Moreover, I pray this time my infectious disease doctor agrees to devise a treatment plan, and a therapy option which will keep me out of the hospital.


(Link to Part One click here)


(Link to Part Two click here)


(Link to Part Three click here)


(Link to Part Four click here)


(Link to Part Five click here)


(Link to Part Six click here)


(Link to Part Seven click here)


(Link to Part Eight click here)


(Link to Part Nine click here)


(Link to Part Ten click here)

Part Ten: The truth finally exposed. My sputum culture was not normal.

A few minutes after 2 p.m., I press my call light. I need to get up and use the shiny silver toilet. My nurse enters my room and is helping me get unhooked from all my monitors. Before I am able to slip out of bed, an infectious disease (ID) fellow walks into my room. I am surprised to see this doctor. I had just seen her two weeks ago when I saw my ID doctor. If I would not have been in the hospital, I probably would have seen her again this morning when I attended my appointment with my ID doctor. I decide to forego my need to empty my bladder. I lean back in bed and hook myself back up to my monitors.

The fellow asks me about my symptoms. She asks me if I have/had a headache. I say, "Yes. And a stiff neck too." She then asks if I have had any confusion. Her words startle me. Headache, stiff neck and confusion. Meningitis!? No, that could not be...could it? (For the last several weeks, I have had a headache which has gotten worse day by day. Confusion spells have plagued my days, and most recently I have developed a stiff, sore neck. Yes, it seems, the bacterium caused meningitis.) The fellow goes on to say my sputum culture from two weeks ago was not negative, as I had been told. It was growing a rare bacterium. My ID doctor decided the bacterium was just a normal part of my respiratory flora (although this bacterium has NEVER been cultured from my respiratory tract before).

I feel as though I am in a free fall. A million thoughts and questions race through my mind. What!? I have a rare bacterium growing in my respiratory tract, and no one told me about it! How can this be? I have been lied to. My sputum culture was not normal. Why didn't my ID doctor call me with the results like he told me he was going to? Knowing I had this new bacterium, why did my pulmonologist say I was not sick at my appointment with her? Why were all my symptoms brushed aside? My head spins.

I ask the fellow the name of the bacterium. To my surprise, the bacterium has two names, and the fellow knows both of them: Chryseobacterium meningosepticum and Elizabethkingia meningoseptica. Being completely unfamiliar with both names, I focus in on the second name--Elizabeth something or another.

The fellow is frustrated a sputum culture was not taken while in the emergency department (ED). Now, I have been on antibiotics for two days. A sputum culture collected now will not be resulted for 4-5 days. Additionally, the sputum sample may not grow anything or may have a different antibiotic sensitivity report now that I have been on antibiotics. The doctor tells me they will probably treat my old pseudomonas infection and now also this new bacterium as they do not know which organism may be making me sick. She says she will make her suggestions and note them on my chart for my medical team.

When the physician leaves, I immediately pull out my iPad and search "Elizabeth gram negative". Immediately, the bacterium Elizabethkingia meningoseptica appears on my results page. I click on several of the links and start reading everything I can about this bacterium. Some fast facts: the bacterium is extremely rare. The bacterium causes pneumonia, meningitis and sepsis. It is mostly hospital acquired and is very deadly. (I read a case report about an outbreak affecting four patients. Three of the patients died.) The bacterium is extremely drug resistant. There are only five antibiotics which can be used to treat the infection. However, the bacterium being very drug resistant, may not be inhibited by these antibiotics. Most people die from this bacterium because they are not started on the correct antibiotics. Since it takes 4-5 days for cultures to be resulted, the infection may kill the person before the correct antibiotics are commenced.

When I read this last fact, I praise God I had a sputum culture taken two weeks ago. We have the results. I can immediately be switched over to the proper antibiotic treatment. Oh how blessed I am we do not have to wait 4-5 days for another culture to be resulted. As heart broken as I was about my ID doctor not calling me and not being told my culture results, I am at this moment praising God I am alive. I praise God I went to the ED. Who knew my lungs were harboring such a deadly bacterium...a deadly bacterium which could have easily killed me. Praising God I am still alive!



(Link to Part Eleven, please click here)

Part Nine: The doctor from hexx

After surviving the emergency department (ED), I think the worst is far behind me. I have a room. I have a call button. I should be soon on the road to better health. After being woken up by a resident on my medical team early in the morning, I am promised the attending will visit me later in the morning. And good to his word, the resident and attending show up in my room several hours later.

My attending informs me she is a nephrologist (kidney doctor) and does internal medicine one month a year. I look at the calendar. Drats! Today is the first of the month. That means she will be an attending on the medical team for the next 30 days. The doctor interrogates me about my medical history. She wants medical records on the spot proving my diagnoses. She disrespects my pulmonologist and criticizes my pulmonologist's medical decisions. This sends me off into a fury. How dare this woman insult another medical professional. How dare she show disrespect to one of her own colleagues. I immediately despise my attending.

The physician goes on and on how things in my medical past do not line up. For example, I have been to many medical centers over the years. Obviously, the doctor asserts, this is a red flag something is wrong. I am trying to cover something up. The doctor goes on and on about me not having my medical conditions, and she was going to prove it. She knows I am just faking everything.

I am absolutely livid at this point. I am grateful my mom has arrived in my room and is now backing me up. We both try to make rational talk with the doctor, but the doctor will have none of it. She tells me over and over again, she only does things by the book. (It's the odd school thinking of if your body does not read the book and present in a word-for-word fashion, then you do not have that condition. Many of my friends have died from this erroneous school of thought.)

Moreover, she asserts, if she cannot figure out what bacteria is causing my infection, she will send me home on nothing. She would rather have me sent home on no treatment than send me home on the wrong antibiotic. She did not want to be wrong. She did not want me to show back up in the ED sick from being on the wrong medicine. (I really wanted to point out to the doctor at this point, this was the DUMBEST and MOST arrogant and egocentric practice of medicine I have ever heard of! She does not want to be wrong. So, she would rather send a person with an infection home on no treatment than send a person home on a medicine which may be ineffective against the bacteria. If you do not treat the infection, the patient WILL still be sick. The person WILL return back to the ED or even possibly have bad complications and pass away before being able to seek medical attention. This doctor is practicing very negligent medicine. I immediately want her off my case.)

When the physician finally leaves, I am nearly shaking in rage. I tell my mom I am going AMA (against medical advice). I don't care if I am sick. I am not sticking around this hospital with this doctor from hexx on my case. I am going home!

My mom convinces me to stay. I agree to stay until 5 p.m. At 5 p.m. I will make the choice if I am going to stay another night. My mom departs for the hotel. I stew in my anger for several hours.


(Link to Part Ten, please click here)

Part Eight: Your new “private” room now with surround sound!

Around 11 a.m., my mom visits me in the emergency department (ED). I am exhausted form a night of little sleep. She brings me food. I eat some soup, but I am not very hungry. We pass the time, watching the clock on the wall tick off the minutes.

A nurse enters my room. She informs us they are going to be moving me to another ED room, one which has more privacy. I think this is odd as I usually am not moved once situated in the ED. The hospital has rules regarding being on a home ventilator. One of which is I am supposed to be in a room which has continuous monitoring of my vitals to a screen at the nurses' station.

When I am moved, my new "room" is nothing more than a tiny peripheral ED cubicle enclosed by curtains. The vitals monitor in the make-shift room is NOT connected to any exterior monitor. If any of my vitals signal an alarm on my monitor, the machine only beeps in my room. With having only curtains as dividers between the rooms, the area is extremely noisy. Conversations from adjacent rooms compete over each to be heard, machine alarms in rooms are going off and then there is the noise of people being moved through the ED on gurneys going to and from the ED. With all the noise, there is no way anyone would be able to hear my vitals monitor alarming.

Moreover, I am extremely sensitive to noise. Add to the noise a night without sleep and being very sick, my body cannot handle the stress. In no time, my dystonia roars its head. My muscles begin to spasm and twitch. My heart rate, blood pressure and breathing rate begin climbing higher and higher. Soon, I am shaking uncontrollably and my vitals monitor is blaring away, signaling my vitals are out of the normal range. Nothing happens. I have no call button to signal for my nurse.

My mom is in my cubicle. She is not sure what to do. I have never had a significant dystonia attack in front of her. What I really need is to get to someplace quiet. Ativan, a sedative, will also calm down my muscle spasms, but I try to avoid Ativan at all costs since it has bad side effects. My mom opens the curtain to my ED cubicle. Nurses peer into my room as they pass by. No one stops to ask if I am ok or asks if I need help. My mom is able to find my nurse and explain I cannot tolerate loud noise. The nurse tells my mom the hospital is full. This is the only place for me. My mom is not happy. I continue to worsen.

I feel terrible for my mom. She has never seen me in such an awful state. When I have dystonia attacks, I know what I need to do: get into a dark, quiet room. Noise, light, smells and vibration all contribute to an overload on my nervous system. If I can eliminate as many stimuli as possible, my body can better recover from the information overload. If I cannot find relief from all these stressors, every sound, light bulb, rumbling of a bed passing through a hallway, etc., all cumulatively add to up to too much chaos. My body cannot filter out the over abundance of information and responds by sending too many signals via my nervous system to my muscles. Spasming, twitching and very painful muscle contractions occur throughout my body. If the attack becomes severe enough, my diaphragm muscles seize up, and despite having a ventilator to breathe, my lungs are not able to inhale/exhale.

 

 My mom tries and tries to get help form my nurse. My nurse, however, is uninterested in helping me. After what seems to be an eternity, my nurse arrives at my bedside with a small dose of Ativan. The medicine helps my symptoms a tiny bit, but it also brings side effects. Ativan causes me to have hallucinations, which cause me to become panicked. This new anxiety only provokes more muscle spasms and rapid heart rate. My mom leaves my curtain open and treks back to the hotel to get her noise cancelling headphones. I am still having a high heart rate, rapid breathing and muscle spasms, but no one seems to care.

My mom returns with her headphones. By this time, my body is too exhausted to continue to violently react. My symptoms start diminishing. Shortly thereafter, a medical team arrives in my ED cubicle. They said they will be my team of doctors when I get to the floor. I should be transferred to a room very soon. After the doctors leave, my mom departs for the hotel. I continue to wait in my ED cubicle for a room. Eight hours after I first arrived in my new "private" room, I am finally transferred to a room upstairs. Eight hours of constant stress on my body leaves me in an extremely tired, sick state. As much as I want to go to sleep, my nurse continues to bother me with questions and administering medicine. Around 10:30 p.m., I drift off to sleep for a few hours.


(Link to Part Nine, please click here)