I almost became another soul remembered on All Souls' Day
This time last year, I was in the strangest situation—I watched myself struggle to breathe through an airbag in a hospital bed.
I couldn’t understand what was happening.
The clock on the wall says it was a quarter before noon. "I should be home by this time," I thought to myself.
"Where am I exactly? That's me on the bed fading away and this is also me ‘seeing’ everything."
Suddenly, a voice said, "Let’s intubate and put her in the ICU."
And then, darkness.
The next thing I remember was waking up feeling extremely tired and heavy—as if concrete blocks were pushing against my chest.
I could hardly open my eyes. But somehow, I saw my husband and my sister standing in the corner of the room… while my Lola, my favorite uncle and other departed relatives hovered above them. They were all just looking at me.
I shut my eyes and pictured my daughters’ faces. I had no idea what was going on. I silently prayed that I could get back to my girls soon.
I could hear people talking. I wanted to talk back but there was something attached to my mouth and nose.
They must have noticed I was "awake." I heard someone say I was in the ICU because of complications.
It was supposed to be a minor procedure—a hysteroscopy—to address months of extensive bleeding. My OB-GYN said the whole thing would take less than an hour. We would start at 7.30 a.m. and I’d be home well before noon.
What happened
Water happened. Too much of it.
Water is continuously used during hysteroscopy so the doctor can see through the blood. Our bodies are expected to naturally expel it, but mine apparently did not.
Out of the 12 liters of water used, I only discharged 3 liters. I absorbed around 9 liters of liquid literally turning me into a Michelin (wo)man!
A lot of the water got into my lungs. Hence the difficulty in breathing and the need to intubate.
I was later told by the pulmonologist that my lungs looked like I had drowned AND had the worst case of Covid at the same time. Imagine that.
I had to stay in the ICU for a week. Needless to say, they were the longest and loneliest of days.
Thanks to my sister’s insistence, I was only intubated for 24 hours. But I was strapped to machines and a breathing apparatus the entire time.
I was unbelievably parched—I was so thirsty that I would see faucets and glasses of water when I blinked. I had to make do with drops of water from wet cotton balls that the nurses would gently rub on my lips.
The nurses were heaven-sent. They took care of me and encouraged me every day.
Aside from the nurses and my doctors, my husband was the only one allowed to see me. I couldn’t be more grateful to have a spouse so "nonchalant."
He would come in every morning after bringing our girls to school (he took over mom duties and didn’t allow them to miss class). He’d look at me the same way he did every day, like we were just home about to have coffee.
I could only imagine how unsightly I had become. My Mom would have been crushed seeing me in that state. I was glad visitors were not allowed.
Still, that did not stop my best friends Lara and Danii from sneaking in during my first hours of confinement. I panicked when I saw them, realizing how they braved hours of traffic from Laguna and Alabang to get to where I was in Greenhills. Their presence concluded that I must really be in deep s**t.
Everyone who will do my eulogy was around.
When they left, I was all by myself. But not alone.
One is never alone in the ICU. The glass walls ensured that the nurses could monitor me from outside while I also got to observe life "outside." New patients being wheeled in, and priests and nuns arriving. Family crying, relatives arguing. What I found most interesting—a uniformed maid bearing folded flannel pajamas.
Just with my thoughts, I endlessly wondered which of my faculties would be most affected. Will I still get to talk? Will I ever walk again? Will my memory be affected? Why did this happen? Why me? Why now? Why am I still here?
Not a few asked if it could have been medical malpractice. We did think about that too. I talked extensively to my doctors. I did my own digging. In fact, I read about this complication the night before my procedure. I just didn’t think it would happen to me. My OB-GYN and I were anticipating possible blood loss, but not fluid overload.
In the end, there seemed to be no conclusive explanation. I just got "lucky."
'Final' hours
I asked my doctors about the "scenes" I observed during what I thought were my final hours.
They did confirm some of the details. My anesthesiologist and friend Maik was the one ambu-bagging me. My OB-GYN, Dr. A, was the one who declared I should be intubated and moved to the ICU. Everything transpired around noon.
All the doctors were one in saying that the heavy drugs I was given may cause hallucinations.
Was it an OBE (out-of-body experience)? Maybe. But they were all certain it was NDE (near-death experience). At one point, my oxygen dropped to 40/30. My doctor admitted she feared my mental abilities would be compromised.
It took about a month before I could move on my own again, two months before my throat healed, and four months before my lungs cleared.
And what do you know, a year has now passed.
November 2nd will always be the day I had a second lease on life. I could have been another soul remembered on this day—but thankfully not just yet.
