The aneurysm

I am just returning to the world after a close call with death.

I didn't know I had an aneurysm developing. It ruptured in March. My school called my emergency contacts (my parents) when I didn't arrive at work. I guess that is what perfect attendance will earn you - a concerned phone call). I have no recollection of the event. I don't even recall the day prior. I think I hung out with Wes, but I'm not sure. I spoke to my sister on the phone until midnight, but I only know that because she told me that while I was in the hospital.

I don't recall anything until I woke up in ICU. This, apparently, was after a couple of weeks. I had had surgery the first day and then again a week or two later. The first was to clamp the bleeding aneurysm; the second was to replace the chunk of skull bone they had ripped out to find and stop the bleeding aneurysm.

I don't recall much of the ICU. I don't remember who visited me. I spent most of the time unconscious.

I remember going in for brain scans.

I remember feeling like I could have made a mental decision to die there and escape the pain I felt even while unconscious, which didn't seem logical overall. I almost made peace with leaving my mortal coil behind. What made me want to live was when I became aware that nurses had placed restraints on me. This only brought out the fighter within. I think I decided at that moment that I would not be letting anything or anyone make my decisions for me.

I recall moving into my room on the rehabilitation floor. I was not pleased about sharing the room with a woman whose family couldn't be quiet. Therapy started soon thereafter. It was painful to move, think, and, even, to rest. My therapists were fairly understanding of my plight, but they wouldn't let me use it as an excuse to get out of any work. While I wanted to rebel, I recognized that what they were doing was actually good for me.

I had trouble keeping sequential things in order, especially my days. I can't tell what's happened first, second, third, and so on. It's really frustrating. I also don't interpret visual input well. I have left visual neglect, which outpatient therapy is going to really help with. I just started seeing faces in everything. They aren't always pleasant, human-looking faces, though, which, at night, frightens me. I feel like a stupid and scared child. I am hating almost every second of recovery, even though I know it is leading to my return to full health.