Stabilize

* Just a TMI warning!!!! Everything surrounding my hospitalization and surgery is pretty gross, so if you don't want to know really inappropriate details about my body, I would stop reading!


Hands down, hearing the words "bleeding to death" and "blood transfusion" aimed at me was the scariest moment of my life. I didn't know much about getting a blood transfusion. My mind raced trying to remember anything and everything I could about it, but I was coming up blank. When I was younger I was an avid blood donor. Between the ages of 18 and 23 I donated more than 12 times. I knew plenty about donating, but nothing about receiving. All I felt was panic. Was it safe? What would happen if I declined? Could I decline? Were there any other options? What were the cons? Did the benefits outweigh the possible risks? After asking as many questions as I could think of I did the only thing I could in that situation: I consented to a blood transfusion.


I was hooked up to an IV and given saline and a pain reliever. They loaded me into an ambulance and took me to the Custom's dock where a private water taxi was waiting for me. And off we went to St Thomas.


In the ER of Roy Lester Schneider Hospital they took my vital signs and another round of blood work. They explained to me that the normal range of hemoglobin for a female my age is between 12.1 and 16.1. My hemoglobin levels were at 6.4. I had lost almost half of my blood over the course of 5 days. They also told me that normal blood pressure is in the range of 120/80. My blood pressure at the time was 84/46. I was in dire need of a transfusion right away. They started a second IV in my arm and started the transfusion process. I received three bags of blood over the course of six hours. They checked my temperature, blood pressure and pulse every 15 minutes during the transfusion to make sure my body wasn't having an adverse reaction to the blood.


I didn't get much sleep that night. I was tired and uncomfortable and scared. But looking back on it, that was the easy part. They admitted me into the hospital to observe me to make sure that my hemoglobin levels and blood pressure stabilized over the next few days. They drew blood every 4 to 6 hours and took my vitals sign every other hour for the first couple of days of my stay. Meanwhile they kept antibiotics, saline and pain relievers flowing through the two IV sites in my arms. I remember looking down at the six hospital bands, two IVs and the countless band-aids from the needles pricks on my arms and feeling frustrated and disbelieving that I was living this. On top of that my IV sites would become painful and sore, and my veins would become inflamed so the nurses would have to find new sites for the IVs. My arms took a lot of abuse that week and I think it'll be some time before all the scars and marks finally fade.


At that point I was still bleeding when I went to the bathroom. But the doctors were adamant that they needed to get me stabilized and stronger before they could figure out what was wrong and from where I was bleeding. All I knew was that I was sick of hurting, sick of being in the hospital, sick of being poked and prodded, and more than ready to go home. Unfortunately that was still a few days away...