Kapiolani Community College
Diamond Journal 2004

The Longest Month of My Life
Erin Yamane

My story begins on Tuesday, October 8, 2002. It was a beautiful sunny day and all was good. I spent the day running around with my good friend, Kenny, who was moving to Seattle. We took Kenny’s car to Matson to have it shipped, and then we went shopping for “omiyage”, the term us local Japanese use for the gifts you take to family and friends. We were done shopping around 1:00 p.m. and were starving. We decided to go to Hale Vietnam for some crispy, golden brown spring rolls and a big bowl of delicious hot Pho. After our yummy lunch, I took Kenny to his in-laws house in Halawa Heights where he would spend his last night in Hawaii. We said our good-byes, hugs and kisses were exchanged, and I left feeling sad because I knew I would miss him.

That night my stomach started to hurt and I just thought something I ate didn’t agree with me or more likely, that I was catching the stomach flu. I catch everything that goes around. In the morning of Wednesday, October 9, 2002, my stomach still hurt and I was feeling nauseous so my husband, John, called his doctor, Luigi Terminella, who prescribed some medication that John picked up for me before he went to work. I took the medication and felt a little better so I turned on the T.V. in my dark room and lay in my cozy, warm bed holding a pillow and Sammy, my cuddly stuffed dog, to my stomach. John called later that morning to check on me.

“ How are you feeling?” he asked.

“ Better.” I said, “I think the medicine is working.”

“ That’s good. I’ll call you later and see what you want me to bring home for dinner.” John was good about that. If I was too busy with homework, tired or not feeling well, he’d always pick up dinner. By the afternoon, however, I started to feel really bad. I was nauseous and had the kind of chills that make you sweat and give you goose bumps at the same time. My stomach ached, but it was not a stomach flu ache. It was much more intense. I called my husband around 5:30 p.m. as I was sitting on the floor holding the waste basket and buckled over in pain.

“ Please come home. I think something is wrong. I need to go to the hospital.” I said as the tears ran down my face.

“ I’m leaving now. I’ll call Dr. Terminella and let him know.” John said as I dropped the phone.

By the time John got home I could barely stand up and the pain was unbearable. He rushed me to the Queen’s Medical Center Emergency Room and I remember the car ride felt as though there were hundreds of speed bumps in the road, each one causing more and more excruciating pain. It seemed to take forever. We finally got to the ER and I remember some guy with a white shirt putting me in a wheelchair and taking me to a room where some woman started asking me questions. My husband wasn’t there and I was scared. I couldn’t concentrate and I was crying because the pain was so intense. It felt like someone had stuck a huge fork deep inside me and was turning it around and around twisting my insides. John finally came in and was rubbing my back and I remember him answering some of the lady’s questions and that is all I remember of that.

The next thing I recall is waking up in a dimly lit room with lots of machines on both sides of me, all of which were connected to me by skinny tubes and big tubes and a bunch of wires. There were tubes coming out of my mouth, my nose, my neck, both my arms, and even from between my legs. It’s really weird to have a big tube coming out of your “shi shi” hole. Must be sort of what men feel like, I guess. I don’t know how they walk around with those things! There were wires stuck to my chest, my neck and my arms. There were I.V. bags hanging off tall metal poles and all kinds of machines with lit up numbers and squiggly lines. I looked around feeling a bit disoriented and I remember seeing my parents and my husband. It was a comforting sight. I thought to myself, “Okay, I’m not alone.” I wondered what happened. I couldn’t remember anything. I was uncomfortable, but thank God the terrible pain was gone.

The room felt so strange and sterile, not like my cozy room at home with photographs of the family at my head and my favorite stuffed animals at my feet. The blanket was just a cold, rough, thin, sheet, not the comfy, warm, thick futon I slept with every night. The hospital bed sat high above the floor and had cold, metal bars on each side. It felt like I was lying on two pieces of wood with a crack in the middle that hurt my back. I tried to move to get more comfortable, but it was difficult with all the tubes and wires. I must have tugged too hard on something because one of the machines started beeping. A nurse came in to rearrange the tubes and the beeping stopped.

“ Try not to move around so you won’t pull on anything.” she said.

“ Easy for you to say.” I thought. “My back hurts. There’s a crack in the bed and its making my back sore” I said.

She adjusted the bed and brought me more old, deflated pillows, but that really didn’t make much of a difference. Everything smelled funny. Not stink or stale, but just different, like they were too clean.

Then I noticed my stomach. It was huge! I looked like I was five months pregnant! I thought, “When did this happen? Was I asleep for that long? Is that why I’m in the hospital? Am I pregnant?” I was tripping.

My mom and dad came over and asked, “How do you feel?”

I said, “I feel better because my stomach doesn’t hurt. What happened?”

My husband, John came to the bedside and asked me, “Don’t you remember?”

I said, “I remember going to the ER and the lady asking me questions and that’s about it.”

He asked, “Do you remember having a CT scan?”

“ Nope”, I replied.

“Do you remember saying that your dad and I were trying to kill you?”

“ What? I said that?” I was shocked at the thought!

“Yeah, you said you dad and I conspired to kill you. Do you remember saying the aliens were coming?”

“ No. I said aliens were coming?” Now I felt really stupid.

“ Yeah, you grabbed your sister’s arm really tight and said we have to go quick because the aliens are coming to get us.” We all had a good laugh. “Must be the drugs”, John said.

“ So what happened? What’s wrong with me? Am I pregnant?” I asked.

“ I hope not. You have pancreatitis.” John replied.

I was afraid to ask, but I had to. “What’s that? What’s pancreatitis?”

John said, “The pancreas is an organ behind your stomach and yours got inflamed. That’s why you were in so much pain. You’re really sick.” He said it very calmly, but I could see the concern and fear in his eyes and I could tell he wasn’t telling me everything.

“ You’ve been out for a couple of days now.”

“ I’ve been here a couple of days already?” I asked in amazement.

“ You’ve been sleeping most of the time, except for when you were freaking out about the aliens and stuff.” John joked. He’s like that. Very calm, laid-back and even- keyed with a slightly warped sense of humor.

I think it’s the pain medicine.” my mother said in a reassuring voice.

“ Don’t worry about anything. You’ll be okay.” said my dad as he leaned over to kiss my forehead. “I love you.” I felt so much better.

I remember the first few days of consciousness my mouth was so dry and I was so thirsty and all they would give me was some ice chips. I kept asking for more and more ice chips and when they refused to give me any more I would get upset. I think I irritated the nurses with my constant requests for ice chips. Except for Nurse Nikki, a cheerful, funny, short girl with a slight Chinese accent. She would always get me my ice chips, even if it was just a couple of pieces.

I remember when my sister, Cari, came to visit me. I asked her, “Can you sneak me a Waiola shaved ice? I really, really want a shaved ice, strawberry.” She said okay, but when she asked the nurse if I could have it, she said, “No. She can’t have anything to eat or drink.”

When the nurse left, I told Cari, “Just sneak it in and I’ll eat it when the nurses aren’t around.” I was terrible. I don’t even know why I wanted a shaved ice because I don’t usually eat shaved ice. Those must have been some mighty powerful pain meds because I sure was acting strange.

My sister told me, “You kept lifting my hospital gown over your head, and saying ‘Weeeee! Weeeee!’ I think you thought you were a flying angel or something”.

My mom added, “Yeah, even when the doctors came in you kept lifting your gown and I had to keep putting your arms down.” (I wasn’t wearing panties). How embarrassing!
She also said, “I was amazed at how strong you were. You would just push yourself up without any trouble.”

I don’t remember any of that.

My mother also said that whenever I was about to do something, like sit up or get a blood test or whatever, I would say to myself, “Okay…okay…okay.” I guess I was trying to convince myself that I could handle it. Now she says she catches herself saying that say before she tees off at golf. That’s too funny!

My best friend, Ann, came and brought me some flowers and a Mylar balloon with sunflowers on it. I couldn’t see very well because they made me take my contact lenses out, and with the affects of the pain medication, the sunflowers looked like huge cockroaches to me. I knew that Ann wouldn’t bring me huge cockroaches because she knows how much I hate cockroaches, but I couldn’t stand to look at the balloon and my mom finally had to take it out of my room. Yup, I was acting strange alright!

The days were long, but the nights were even longer. And the most frustrating thing was just as I was able to fall asleep, which often took a long time, someone would come in to poke me again or take my blood pressure or something and wake me up. It was mostly quiet in the ICU ward, often times too quiet, but now and again I could hear moans or cries from other rooms and a couple of times I knew something really bad had happened in another room because I could see all the nurses scrambling around outside and then no one would be around for a long time. Once in a while I could hear the nurses and doctors talking outside my room, gossiping or hitting on each other. That was pretty funny.

Most of the nurses in the ICU were really friendly and it was funny how they were all into doing some kind of craft like beading or making those yarn leis that are so popular now. I realize now how important a part the nurses play in your recovery and what a tough job they have. Some nurses are more business-like and others have more motherly bedside manners. Those are the ones I really liked because the nurses were the only ones that you could talk to or look to for comfort when everyone else had gone home. I must admit I have such a low tolerance for pain or discomfort and I’m very nervous and insecure in unfamiliar places, especially if I’m by myself.

The drugs took away the pain, but they also made it hard to sleep at times because I would have these weird, terrifying dreams and even when I got up I felt like I was on acid or something because sometimes the room would turn colors or get small, then get big again like in Alice in Wonderland. I finally had to ask the nurse to give me some milder pain killer because I thought I was hallucinating. They gave me morphine that I could release into the IV every 15 minutes or so with the push of a button. That was cool.

I also remember them trying to take blood and not being able to get any out of my veins. Several people came in and poked my arms and hands in different places, but no blood was to be found. A blood transfusion was ordered and it ended up that I received two. I felt so much stronger after the transfusions –sort of like Popeye after eating his can of spinach. It was kind of scary that they couldn’t figure out why I was losing blood, but the main thing was that I was feeling better.

My stomach kept getting more and more bloated and after about a week I looked as though I was now nine months pregnant with twins! It was a most uncomfortable feeling. I have genuine sympathy for all those pregnant women who have to carry that weight around with them. Not only is it uncomfortable, but you feel ugly and freakish. Even my face, arms, legs and sadly, my butt were swollen. And to top that off, I had this red, irritating rash all over, like tiny, red goose bumps. They thought I was having an allergic reaction to the antibiotics so they changed that, but the rash did not go away. In fact, it got worse. The nurses told me not to scratch, but how could they expect me not to? Turns out I was allergic to the “feed bag”.

You know how people say that there are no atheists in the fox hole? Well, I think there are no atheists in the ICU either. You either pray to God to let you die or ask him to let you live, but one way or the other, you pray. One night, I think it was early in the morning, I saw three ghosts swoop down at me from the ceiling. It scared the sh_t out of me! They were white and whispy and I could see through them, but they had no faces, just dark eyes. I pulled the blanket over my head and pulled Sammy tight to my chest. It’s a good thing I had that “shi shi” tube or I would have pissed in the bed. As I laid there with my eyes shut tight, I prayed.

“ Dear God. Please don’t let them take me. I’ll be good. I promise. I don’t want to die yet.”

The only person I told about this was my sister, Cari. I knew she would believe me, especially since I wasn’t on pain killers anymore. John would look at me like I was nuts, but Cari’s very open minded about these things. She has a friend who apparently can see if someone is going to die. He’s done it many, many times. It’s a gift (I think). He will see the person in a dream wearing a dark hooded cape, and he knew they were going to die. Cari talked to her friend about me and the ghosts and he told her not to worry. He did see me in a dream, but I didn’t have the hooded cape on so I was going to be alright. He gave her some kind of prayer that she said for me the next day at my bedside. My eyes were closed, but I could feel her waving her arms over me from head to toe, like those “Healing Hands” people do. I know this sounds creepy and strange, but hey, when you are in that situation, you think, “Whatever works.” The ghosts never came again. I try to keep an open mind to alternative methods of healing and spiritual beliefs.

Another meaningful moment I remember is the day my brother came and I was sort of sleeping. He grabbed my hand in his hands and put them against his forehead. Then he kissed my hand and said “I love you.” I was so touched. He is usually unemotional and unfeeling and sometimes even grouchy. You know, a typical straight banker type. But he let his feelings show and it was the most beautiful moment I have ever shared with my brother and one I will always cherish. It’s funny how different people handle situations.

My poor husband went through many stages during this ordeal. The first was his normal, unemotional, strong phase. Then he went through a mad phase, which I think was actually his frustrated and scared time. I remember one day we had this stupid argument.

I said, “When I get out I’m going to eat healthier and drink less sodas and coffee and stuff.”

John replied with an angry tone, “What do you mean? You aren’t going to drink anything but water.”

“I can drink stuff other than water.”

“ No you can’t. You better not drink anything but water. That’s all you can have.”

“ Who do you think you are? My nutritionist? You aren’t my nutritionist!”

“ Don’t tell me I’m not your nutritionist! I’m the one standing here watching you die!”

I was crying, but he didn’t care. It was a stupid fight, and at the time I thought he was being a total control freak and jerk, but now when I look back I know he was just letting out some of his frustrations because he was really scared that he was going to lose me. I know he was really tired and the stress was starting to take its toll.

When I was moved out of the ICU ward to Pauahi he seemed to be better and was more humorous and normal again. Poor guy actually went through more than I did since he was conscious during the whole thing and knew exactly what was going on where as I was not. I was kept in the dark about a lot of things. Just recently we were discussing the whole scenario because it was my one-year anniversary of coming out of the hospital. He asked me, “Do you remember when you were hyperventilating and saying that you felt you were going to die so you wanted me there and the doctor called me at work?

“ No, when was that?” I asked.

“The first or second day you were in the ICU. The hospital called me and said you were upset and hyperventilating and I had to cancel my depo and I rushed over to the hospital.”

“ Why did I say I was going to die? Was I dying?” I asked.“You said you saw the angels and you were scared. You were dying, but you didn’t know that.” My poor John. He had gone through so much.

The best day in the hospital was the day they moved me out of the ICU ward and into the Pauahi Tower because I got to take a real shower with running water and soap and shampoo! Even though Nikki washed my hair with the dry shampoo in ICU, it was still matted and oily and smelly. I’m not used to being so ungroomed and I don’t like it. I must have stayed in the shower for almost 30 minutes. You don’t realize how much the small things mean to you until they are taken away. That was the one thing I looked forward to everyday.

On a particularly bad day, I went to take a CT scan and the stupid nurse (who was one of those traveling nurses) argued with me about unhooking my “feed bag”.

I said, “The doctor said not to let anyone take me off the feed bag”.

She said, “You are just going for a CT scan. You won’t be off it that long. It will be easier without it.” and she took me off the “feed bag”.

So they wheeled me down and parked me in the hallway outside the CT scan room. I was freezing and feeling so bad by the time they were going to start the CT scan so I told the technician that I didn’t feel well and I thought it was because the nurse unhooked my feed bag and the next thing I remember is being back in my room with one nurse slapping my face and saying, “Lori wake up.” and another nurse shoving sherbet and orange juice into my mouth and yet another nurse attaching an I.V. to my arm. Everything seemed so chaotic. There were nurses everywhere. I had blacked out in the CT room. I had gone into a diabetic shock because the stupid nurse who thought she knew everything disconnected my “feed bag” and my sugar level went too low. My husband came to my room a short while later and I remember Dr. Terminella coming to check on me.

“ How are you feeling?” he asked.

“ Better. I told the nurse not to take off the feed bag, but she wouldn’t listen.” I replied.

“ I’m really sorry about that. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. In fact, we had a staff meeting and I yelled at them. I said, “Do you know who her husband is? If you killed her, do you realize how many zeros they would have added to the number when they sued our ass?” I thought that was pretty funny, but the funnier part was how the nurses and nurses aids came into my room and asked me questions like, “Are you feeling better? Do you need anything? I got you your juice when you asked me to, right?” or “Can I get you a jello or anything? I treated you good, right?” or “I did everything you asked me to, right?”

The most insane thing about it all was that they assigned the nurse that almost killed me to take care of me again. She made me very nervous, not to mention I was still angry at her, but I tried to be civil and didn’t say anything until I found two needles lying on the floor at the foot of my bed. I was so angry and that was the last straw. I called in the head nurse and told her I absolutely refused to have that nurse in my room. They said she cried and went home because she felt bad that I didn’t want her taking care of me, but she never ever apologized for what she did to me and the needles on the floor was so dangerous because I was walking around my room barefoot.

My favorite nurse in the Pauhi ward was Nurse Suzanne. She was in her mid forty’s (I would guess) and she was tall and dark and had curly brown hair. Suzanne was the only nurse who could give me my insulin shots without it hurting. Since I didn’t look, I’m not sure how she did it, but I do know she pinched my skin before she put the needle in. She was hip. She had tattoos on her front and back of scenes from “The Lord of the Rings” and although I don’t like tattoos, I found it kind of neat because I’m a fan of “The Lord of the Rings”. She was going through a rough time being a single mom and trying to take care of her mother who had Alzheimer’s. On Halloween she gave me some delicious black grapes since I couldn’t have candy and she was one of the few nurses who dressed up for Halloween.

I don’t think I realized how bad off I was until the end of my hospital stay when the doctors finally felt I was able to take the news and I don’t think it really sunk in until months after I was out of the hospital. I left the hospital a diabetic and had to take my blood reading three times a day. My fingers were so sensitive and I had a really hard time finding a new spot to poke. I was on a very strict diet and went down to 102 pounds. That was the only good thing about this whole ordeal. I lost a lot of weight, but this is definitely not a diet I would recommend. The recovery has been a long and slow one. In March I had my gall bladder removed because I was having pains from the gall stones. This may have been the cause of the pancreatitis. I was in the hospital for exactly 30 days, but it felt so much longer.

This episode of my life is something I will never forget. When I was in the ICU, I believe after one of the blood transfusions, my husband said, “You know honey, if you survive this, you should think about what you really want to do because I don’t think you’re happy being a paralegal. You should go to culinary school since you like to cook so much” and this is why I am here at KCC in the culinary program at 44 years old. I survived and took my husband’s advice. It’s a difficult and different experience being a student this time around and my attitude is totally better and more focused. I have a better attitude now and am a better student this time around.

Since I am still recovering from the pancreaitis, I have to watch my stress levels, my weight, my diet and exercise more. This is definitely a good thing because I never really thought about any of these things before. I also was one of those who would pop a pill for a quick fix for anything. Now I hesitate to take any kind of medication. So I guess I am taking better care of myself now and that definitely is a good thing. Although I don’t exercise as much as I would like to because I just don’t have the time, I do exercise more than I used to. I’m one of those people who hate to exercise, mainly because I hate to sweat. It is such a dirty feeling. But you gotta do what you gotta do, right? So having almost died twice has opened my eyes and taught me many things.

As far as life goes in general, I don’t sweat the small stuff as much as I did before and I get over things faster than I did before. I used to really hold grudges, but now I look at it as “life is too short” and even in traffic, I just turn up the radio and drive with “Aloha” because you never know when your life will be over.

I think the whole experience brought my family closer and made us appreciate each other more. I know it made my relationship with my husband a much stronger one. Everyone close to me went through hell and for that I am sorry, but I never felt more loved in my life. My “gang” of high school friends made me an album of well wishes and photos and my good friends, Joy and Nolan, made me a DVD that was so touching it made me cry. I am so lucky to be alive and have so many people who care about me and love me and this is what this experience made me realize – I am really, really, really lucky to have my family and friends and my hubby, John, who really love me.

I have been given a second chance at life and I am taking it. I always had this feeling that I was going to die early. I don’t know why or where that feeling came from, but I never felt scared of dying until I almost did. Now I realize what I would be losing or missing when I am gone. This experience has taught me to appreciate things, even the small and simple things like being able to take a bath and sleep in my own bed, and especially my family and friends. Although I feel bad for what I put them all through, I believe this ordeal has made us realize that life is fragile, so we should make the most of every minute.