Incidentally, that deja vu effect - or the reflecting on the past - didn't stop at that. Together with A, we talked about how far I have come since my arrival at the intensive station. My mom recounted a few incidents for me that occurred within the first week that I have absolutely no recollection of. I was in such bad shape physically when I was admitted - I wasn't in a coma per se, but I don't recall the first week at all; nothing, nada.
Additionally:
- All my organs were failing
- I needed to have countless infusions a day
- My blood count was horrendous, requiring me to get blood transfusions and injections because my white blood cells ceased to exist and there was a severe shortage of red blood cells.
- My weight was dangerously low, resulting in a BMI of around 10.3.
- I was unable to move.
- All my joints ached.
- I was fed over the nasogastric tube.
- I did not consume proper meals.
The list goes on.
Reflecting on my progress, on my journey, and seeing how far I have come and what I have been able to accomplish leaves me feeling good.
The conversation about what I have been through since arriving at the intensive station with my mom and A was hard for me - hearing what I put myself and my body through - yet rewarding at the same time.
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