Four years ago today — Tuesday, January 11th, 2011 — I was newly-separated, feeling chills, and having difficulty breathing. By that evening, I wound up in the ER of St. Joseph’s Health Centre in Toronto, and in “droplet isolation” in the the ICU by the next day.
My throat had swollen so tightly shut that they hung this sign over my bed:
While I was lying in that ICU bed, I made myself a few promises. I promised myself that I’d not just survive, but go on to meet someone new, and hey, if the situation allowed for it, maybe even relocate.
Four years later, I’m living in Tampa and a little under two months away from getting married. I’m pretty pleased with how things turned out.
Go read My Hospital Week, my story about my time in the ICU. You’ll laugh and you’ll cringe as I talk about bedpan negotiations, foot-long Q-tips and where they end up, accidentally disconnecting my emergency call button, and the reality of being sponge-bathed by a cute nurse.