The end of my drinking days

A week ago, I was doing something I normally do on a weeknight: Drinking a beer while watching Jeopardy! After the game show was over, I got up off the couch and started walking to the kitchen, planning to cook dinner. On the way, I started experiencing chest pains. I have not been sticking to my heart-healthy diet lately and, in fact, had been drinking heavily the last few days because I have been so depressed, so I have been experiencing chest pains every once in a while. Usually, I was able to manage the pain or it went away after a while.

This kind of pain did not go away. In fact, it got worse, and seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

I went into my room to lie down and soon my kids were in there with me. I told them about what was going on, clutching at my chest and wincing in pain. The pain was so agonizing. I was also feeling nauseated and, at one point, I vomited. My son used my phone to get a hold of my husband to let him know about this and my oldest used hir phone to double check the symptoms I was experiencing. After I answered questions, it was decided that I must be having a heart attack, so my oldest called 911. Soon the paramedics arrived and they at first talked to me then asked me about what hospital I preferred to go to.

Next they helped me out of the bed and led me through the house. I was in terrible, horrible pain. The pain was mainly in the middle of my chest but it radiated into my back. I was in tears because it hurt so much but also feeling faint. On the way to the stretcher, I lost my strength and fell into the arms of the medic who was guiding me from the front. They helped me into the stretcher, strapped me in and guided it to the ambulance. My oldest was allowed to ride with me – maybe because ze is able to sign and helped them to communicate with me. At this point, my husband arrived and my youngest rode with him in the car behind the ambulance.

In the ambulance, the EMT sat up the IV and took vitals and continued asking questions about what had happened, my health status and family health issues. Then we arrived at the hospital and I was placed in a bed. Nurses and doctors swarmed around me to help and work with me. They gave me pain medicine and I kept vomiting so they also gave me anti-nausea medicine. They asked for information and I admitted to have recently been drinking heavily for the past few days. They asked how much I had had to drink for each day. They ordered an X-ray and, later, I was told that my pancreas was inflamed. I soon learned that I was diagnosed with pancreatitis. They said that drinking too much alcohol can cause pancreatitis to develop. I really did not know that.

I was admitted because they wanted to keep an eye on me and help me manage the pain. I was also put on a 24-hour fast to rest my pancreas. (That turned out to be a 48-hour fast because my pancreas was in such bad shape that it needed more time to recover.) I was allowed to have water and ice chips, however, which helped my dry mouth a lot.

After a while, they finally had a room for me, so I was taken upstairs.

I was constantly in pain and therefore constantly given pain medicine. The medicine was so strong, however, that I kept throwing up. So that meant they gave me more anti-nausea medicine. Finally, I just requested Tylenol for the pain instead. I didn’t throw THAT up and, fortunately, the Tylenol worked perfectly.

Unfortunately, I was still feeling miserable. I was very weak and just “out of it” for so long. I fell in and out of sleep. It was a cycle of having my vitals checked, pain medicine, sleep, bathroom, vitals, pain medicine, etc. There was also someone coming in every morning to draw blood, then someone giving me a shot of heparin in the stomach. My first night at the hospital, I barely slept because there was constantly a nurse coming into my room and poking me, getting information or doing IV stuff. I am not complaining, though. They really took good care of me and they were genuinely concerned about me. I had to go to the bathroom A LOT because of the IV and, for a couple of days, the nurses took turns helping me walk to the bathroom. Finally, I had enough strength to walk on my own, though it took longer to get enough strength to get out of bed (I would say that happened on the third day).

My husband and kids visited me often in the hospital. My oldest brought me my writing notebook and the current novel I was reading but I was not able to mentally focus on any of that for a while. I could not even read the captioning on the TV. My head was a little spacy and I was feeling pretty weak. By Friday, I was put on a liquid diet, as I started experiencing less chest pains.

I had started to feel better by Saturday, though, and I was hoping to go home, but the doctor said my white blood cells were too high and he wanted to wait another day. He did allow me to eat solid foods at this point. That same day, I took my first shower since Wednesday. That shower helped me feel human again! A nurse helped me with this shower because I only had enough strength to do so much. She even washed my hair, which was very dirty and matted, and also combed it. By the next day, I was able to shower just fine by myself. And comb all my hair by myself, too.

Then the next problem flared up: I started having breathing trouble. This happened on Friday evening. Out of nowhere, I just started having trouble breathing. I requested an inhaler and a nurse stayed with me while I used one they got for me. (I didn’t have my own inhaler.) The next day, a respiratory therapist came to see me and asked about the breathing problems. I told her I have had breathing problems every once in a while since childhood but have never been officially diagnosed with asthma. It was assumed that I probably do have asthma and I made a mental note to see a doctor about it. However, the breathing problems started up again later in the day. I had 2 episodes in one day! And also a tightening pain in my chest. They did an X-ray of my lungs but everything was normal. After some time and examination, the RN attending to me decided I must be having panic attacks. She gave me a small dose of Ativan and it helped me a lot. No more pain in the chest and the breathing problems stopped. I have had panic attacks in the past but never this bad. The nurse figured my stress must have caused it to flair up.

Sunday arrived and I was able to go home. But before leaving the hospital, the doctor had a good long talk with me about how my drinking had affected my health so badly. (They did have a social worker visit me while I was in the hospital and she gave me information on local resources for help. There was also another nurse who talked with me about my drinking and also why I was so depressed lately. It’s pretty much because I feel like such a failure in life because I can’t seem to do anything right and I can’t get a job to help support my family.) The doctor said that after this, I can’t drink alcohol ever again. If I do, I’ll end up right back in the hospital. It would only lead to trouble. He also put me on a low-fat diet and encouraged me to start taking charge of eating healthier foods.   

Well, believe me, after this, I am DONE with alcohol. Seriously. This was the kick in the pants I needed to get alcohol out of my life FOR GOOD. My drinking days are over. The entire time I was in the hospital, I was feeling so guilty because I brought this on myself and my family. I was disrupting their lives. I had been stupid to give in to my depression and wallow in it by drinking so much. I am glad that I was the only casualty because of that, but this was a very scary experience for my kids to go through and it was hard for them to cope with me being away from them and in the hospital. (As it is, my youngest acted out while I was hospitalized. He confessed he was upset over the situation.) I apologized to them and even to my husband (though they all kept insisting I didn’t need to apologize) and I promised to do better from now on. Take better care of myself and try not to stress over how long it’s taking me to get a dang job.

I was happy to finally be able to go home from the hospital. I wanted to say goodbye to all of the wonderful nurses who took such good care of me but, unfortunately, that was not possible. I did say goodbye to some, though. And the doctor, of course. They were all good, amazing people. I will never forget any of them for the amazing care, dedication and genuine concern for my health. They did not ever judge me or condemn me for my poor choices. They recognized that I knew that I had messed up but they only focused on helping me to get better. That really meant a lot.

Today is the third day since I got home from the hospital and it is still slow going. I am doing what I can to take care of myself. I am definitely choosing healthier foods to eat when I DO eat – my appetite has not yet fully returned. I am also drinking a vitamin shake every day to make up for the vitamins, minerals and calories I am unable to get in not being able to eat much. I still deal with pain, but I’ve got the Tylenol and it helps take care of that. I sleep a lot and that seems to help too. I don’t have my strength back 100% yet but I am getting there. Baby steps.

At least now I know where I am going. And it seems that just maybe, things are now looking up. I contacted a company who was interested in interviewing me for a job last week, and they’re still interested. My job interview is next week. Here’s hoping that’s the start of things finally going in the right direction. For now, I am going to enjoy life. I am grateful to be alive. And I am grateful to all the people – including my kids – who saved me.