Everyone has a story to tell. This is mine! This bumpy and challenging journey I have gone through actually began in Jan. of '96 when my Dad passed away somewhat unexpectedly.... It was a sad shock to our close family. My Mom was already showing signs of confusion when Dad passed away, and her doctor told us it was Alzheimer's Disease. She wouldn't (and probably shouldn't) stay alone and she needed more help with most things. My two brothers, Woody and Marvin and myself (my sister, Nancy, lived away so was not able to physically help too much) did everything we could for her, including taking turns staying nights with her and making sure she had meals, taking her on errands, just keeping her company, etc. Even though it was stressful at times being a caregiver, and it put a strain on our own family lives, we wanted to help her so much. We were glad we were able to be there for her and were frustrated that we couldn't do.

Looking at my background, I had a pretty typical life. I went to a local college for two years. Just before I went off to East Carolina University, I met the love of my life. I went on to ECU and finished school, came home and Randy and I got married when I was 24. I worked for 17 years as the Recreation Therapist/Activities Director in a nursing home in a job I absolutely loved! My health history, on the other hand, has always been a little unusual, ever since I was young. I had some unusual "female problems" that began when I was 6 years old, that resulted in a surgery then and another surgery when I was 18, which prevented me from having children. I had stomach problems, circulation problems in one leg and a lot of sinus and respiratory problems over the years. I knew I had some type of lung problem. When I was 18 and received a chest x-ray at Duke University Medical Center, (while I was being treated for my other problems), it revealed abnormal "mild fibrosis in my lungs". My lungs posed little or no problem for years but gradually, I could feel my breathing getting more difficult. In early '99, I was having a lot of health problems, a severe case of flu, skin rashes, bladder infections and stomach problems. I was loosing weight but more evident, my breathing was becoming much worse. On my 40th birthday, in April, I decided I had to attack everything head on. I had been in denial and trying to hide that my breathing was so bad. Others saw it but I didn't want to admit it. I was spending almost all of my free time taking care of my Mom. I was too busy to be sick!I went to a local pulmonologist and was misdiagnosed. He told me I would be fine, I had some minor problems and I needed more exercise....this was June of '99.I didn't have the energy or I would have gotten really upset about a pulmonologist not recognizing my real problem, however I just wanted to feel better and breath again.

Finally I was referred to an excellent doctor (and group of doctors) in Norfolk , Va. on Aug. 23rd, 1999, about an hour from my home. I went to him armed with all my tests and x-rays from the other doctor. He was shocked at what I had been told by the other doctor and told me on my first visit that he thought I had Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis and Secondary Pulmonary Hypertension and he thought I needed to get listed for a double lung transplant ASAP. He sent me for more tests that same day. A friend had come with me that day to my appointment and needless to say, we were both in a sort of shock on the way home. Thank goodness he directed me to the right track to get a lung transplant evaluation and then listing for lung transplant.

In the meantime, we are still trying to take care of my Mom. She didn't understand what was going on with me because of her confusion. I was still working full time, as the Activities Director/ Recreation Therapist at a nursing home, and trying to maintain my life as normal as possible, while I had a million thoughts running around my head about what lay ahead. At the end of the day, I was worn completely out by being so busy and struggling to breathe. I really missed my Mom now.... I wanted to talk to her about things and couldn't really because she didn't understand what was happening. On Sept. 23rd, 1999, I was admitted to Sentara Norfolk General, in Norfolk , Va. for an Open Lung Biopsy, (for a definite diagnosis) supposedly a simply procedure that tuned into a 27 day stay, including ICU. I developed a Staph infection and also a severe reaction to TPN, (a nutritional supplement I was being given by IV because I couldn't eat solid food) and this sent me into Respiratory Distress and into ICU. It was determined that I am allergic or cannot tolerate anything with Fat Lipids in it, which TPN has. I also got Pancreatitis on top of all this. I was put on the "big gun" antibiotics to try and clear everything up. This was when I knew my life would never be the same. For the first time, I was on O2 (oxygen) on a continuous basis, although I had actually needed it sooner. I knew I couldn't go back to work and it was recommended I apply for Disability. I knew that my family (my husband, my brothers and sister and my sister-in-laws and nieces and nephews and my husbands family) and friends and church would be supportive, but I never realized how much. They were absolutely Wonderful! During this hospital stay I was sooooo sick and so scared. I couldn't sleep, I was anxious, etc. Someone was with me almost all the time, because I was such a mess both physically and emotionally. Our home is about an hour from the hospital, so I was fortunate that I had lots of family and friends visiting. They went ahead and evaluated me for transplant while I was there, but I was so sick that the evaluation process was hardly even an issue to me. Mainly I just remember them taking a heck of a lot of blood (18 tubes one time) and doing a heart catherazation and a few other tests. My sister lives in South Carolina , and at the time her Congressman was Lloyd Spence, who had undergone a double lung transplant several years earlier. She did not know him personally but knew about his personality and gentle nature. She called his office and asked his secretary if maybe he could drop me a note of support and a word about how well he was doing. She said, no, I am sure he will want to call her and talk to her. He did, that same day. He was so encouraging. I could barely talk to him because I was so sick but he talked and I listened. He told me that he got his life back and I could too, but I would have to listen to my doctors and do just what they tell me too. At that time I didn't realize the importance of his words! I really thought at times that I was going to die while I was in there, I had never been this sick ever.... I remember I prayed out loud with family members about dying, about going on to a better place if that was Gods will. I had so much support from everywhere and so many prayers it was unbelievable and overwhelming.

During the listing process, of course they talk to your insurance company, and mine denied coverage of the transplant at first. My sister had kind of taken the lead in some of the paperwork and financial issues. She, along with some advice from the coordinator and financial person in the Transplant Center , appealed their denial. In just a few days they reversed it and approved it.... Hooray!! I really remember very little of this time frame even though they were keeping me well informed... I was just plain sick! I was officially listed for transplant in mid October of 1999, and came home from the hospital on Oct. 20. I was told to get my strength back, try to stay healthy, and hopefully I would have a new set of lungs in 18 months or so!

I was scared, tired, weak and stressed out. I was thinking about my Mom, my husband, my marriage, dealing with insurance (they weren't too crazy about spending the amount of money they were about to spend on me), dealing with no longer working, being on disability, and hauling O2 around with me for the first time. All the usual things a new person waiting for a transplant goes through. My life was completely different in a very short amount of time. It didn't even seem real. I kept thinking I would wake up from the dream I was having. I am generally a positive person with a good outlook, always, seeing the glass half full, but so much had changed so fast, this was quite a strain on me. The Transplant Center and my family recommended I go to a therapist to work on stress and coping management. I was worried about the surgery, I was worried about the ventilator, and I was worried about money. Heck, you might as well say I was worried about everything! As worried as I was however, I never once thought I was making the wrong decision about having the transplant. The only choice I had was do I want to live or do I want to die. I wanted to live, and knew that somehow I would learn to handle or cope with the stress of it. The sooner I got "the call" the better. Of course, we were still trying to care for my Mom, bless her heart. I felt so guilty that I was not able to help much. My brothers had to assume all of the responsibility for her care. I missed being with her. I couldn't go sit with her like I had before, because she was a smoker and she didn't understand about my oxygen. I was able to see her on a limited basis.

As hard as it was, I did try to stay positive. My transplant (tx) center and doctors were convinced I was a great candidate for transplant and thought I would do well with it. One day I would have my life back. However, they did stress that a transplant is not a magic cure all for my illness, but trading one set of problems for another set that is easier to deal with and manage. They also educated me to facts about survival rates for lung transplant patients, which I didn't really even pay too much attention to. I prayed and I tried to keep in my mind that things happen for a reason, and good things can come out of bad times in our life. I tried to read positive things to help me stay positive. The poems, "It's in the Valley's I Grow" and "Unfolding the Rose" were very inspirational poems someone had given me that helped me a lot. I kept thinking and believing He would get me through this ordeal. I did not understand what was happening to me, but I knew that as long as He did that was what mattered. I knew also to stay healthy I had to stay positive and could not drown myself in self-pity. Slowly I began to feel better and got some strength back. I participated in Physical Therapy for a while because I had gotten so weak in the hospital. My sister was such a blessing and stayed with Randy and I for a little while until I got myself going again. It was quite an adjustment learning to function around the house with the oxygen on at all times and taking an oxygen tank with you everywhere you went. I tried to stay busy and get out as much as possible. My husband was great about trying to help me not stay cooped up. We still went out to eat, out with friends, etc. I could still drive some around our little town, and do a few errands on my own, as long as I didn't have too far to walk. If we went to bigger stores or malls, I used a wheelchair or motorized cart in most cases. If I were in that motorized cart, you better watch out...nothing was safe!

With me not working, and we had bought a new house a year before, and the huge cost of pre and post tx care and medication, money was a big worry. Randy had also just started a new job just a few months earlier. I remember someone told me "don't worry about money" and I thought, are you crazy??? It's a big concern... you have to pay for portions of the hospital care, meds, and bills, travel, and etc, etc, etc. And although I was getting Disability it was not nearly my regular income. The community rallied around me in an astounding way, planning fund raisers, and other forms of assistance. I just could not believe the generosity I was seeing. I was so thankful for them for all they were doing for me. God put some wonderful people in my life!

We had to put my Mom in a rest home not too long after I was discharged from the hospital. It was such a difficult decision, but my family had too much on them with providing care for her and me also. Plus they were having their own issues they were dealing with. (My brother Marvin had a lot of flooding damage from Hurricane Floyd that he was trying to get straight and my sister and other brother were dealing with her own health problems.) I was feeling bad because I could no longer provide any help except emotional support (and I myself was a wreck). Mom hated the rest home and didn't understand why she was there (oh the stress and guilt). I would go to see her with my O2 tank and she would beg me to take her home and ask me why I had that tube.

I hated imposing on people.... I was used to being the caregiver to my Mom and at my job, now I was the receiver of the care, but with the help of my therapist I slowly learned to be gracious and accept peoples acts of kindness more easily.

For Christmas of 1999, my family got me a computer, which was a great thing for me! I joined Secondwind Lung Transplant Support Group and saw that others were going through the same thing and saw that some others were worse off than I was. Best of all, I saw that there were many people who had already had transplants who were doing great! This was such a positive for me! The computer was good also, because it was company for me, I could research things, play games and occupy my time. I had never before had so much time on my hands.

I had been going to rehab at my transplant center, Norfolk General, 3 times a week, to help maintain my strength for my transplant. However, besides Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis, I also had Secondary Pulmonary Hypertension. This caused pressure in my lungs, and it was increasing, causing stress to my heart. They made me stop rehab and I was told not to exercise any... just take it easy as much as possible... this was Jan of 2000. I hated stopping the rehab. I knew I needed to be in good shape for the transplant, but they said the exercise was becoming detrimental to me. I also hated to stop because I had met other people there who I had become friends with whom were also waiting for a transplant, including my young friend Stephan who was 18.I could see myself getting worse off and weaker, I was having stomach problems, which caused reflux. They were trying to get me to gain so I would be stronger at the time of my transplant, and I was losing. I was drinking Ensure along with high calorie meals, but it was so hard to eat, I had to force myself. They told me at one point that they may consider me for a Heart/Lung Transplant if the pressure in my lungs didn't improve. They thought I might be doing permanent damage to my heart.

Everyone could see I was getting worse fast and the tx center said this happens sometime because IPF (my disease) is very unpredictable. The waiting list was not moving.... I was later told that at this point some people really thought I would not make it long enough to get the call as I was declining so rapidly. I felt like I was knocking on Heavens door. I was in the hospital a couple of times for various reasons, at one point I really thought I was having a nervous breakdown. And to top it off, my dog, that was like my child, of 15 years, died!! I was still trying to visit my Mom, who was much worse. She had broken her hip on Christmas Eve, she wouldn't eat... on my visits I would try to feed her. She rarely recognized any of us. I kept on moving slowly, dragging my oxygen tank around with me. My family didn't like me driving myself places alone, but knew it was important for me to keep some independence. It was very difficult for me to get the oxygen in and out of the car by myself.

My Mama was admitted to the hospital again for a subdural hemotoma with bleeding of the brain from a fall....she was there a few days and went back to the nursing home. Despite all of this I still tried to be positive and up beat, although I was scared to death, tired and stressed out. What else could happen???? On March 1st I was admitted to Norfolk General, with all kinds of symptoms, throwing up, stomach problems, breathing problems, etc.... I stayed there until March 9th. On the 16th the rest home called. Mom was lethargic, and was sent to the hospital again, and given 24 hours to live, but she hung on. My brother Marvin was away on a well-deserved cruise, so we called him and he got back here as quickly as possible. I was going to see her as often as I could, having to go in a wheelchair and someone to help me because I couldn't walk that far anywhere. On March 23rd I had an appointment at Norfolk with Dr. Burke. My brother Woody took me. My lung pressures were even higher... they told me to REALLY take it easy... Well, easier said than done. Mom died the next day. This was like the second time I had seen her die. Once I witnessed the slow death of the Mom I knew, from the process of Alzheimer's and again now. I felt awful that I couldn't help my brothers and sister with arrangements... I just showed up for everything and felt like everything was in a haze. Just getting ready to go somewhere was an ordeal for me and wore me out. Those few days were not good. Yet... I kept thinking.... I am going to get through this. I kept praying for the Lord to get me through. It seems every time I thought it was at all I could do, I found I could do more. I had surrendered everything to Him and told Him I was tired and He would have to sustain me and He did! He helped me through every single storm, one day at a time, with the help of a lot of Guardian Angels I had acquired! At this point, although I was still stressed, tired and weak... I had come to terms that I was failing fast and may not make it to transplant. I just trusted in the Lord to do what was best for me. The therapist I was seeing told me he could see that although I was stressed I was not as scared at this point (there is a difference). I was still not sleeping well at all and had to be in a wheelchair for most places I went. I was able to walk around the house and short distances. My family, husband and friends were so concerned and I hated to see them worrying about me.

During all of this, I was dealing on an almost daily basis with insurance issues, Disability paperwork, etc. I tried to take care of these things myself as much as possible because although stressful it gave me something constructive to do. Taking care of insurance was (and still is) almost a full time job. My sister and sister-in-law were helping me in these areas as well. I would have trouble at times with phone calls, because talking a lot even with the O2 made me very out of breath. My brothers and some of my friends were busy taking me to Norfolk to appointments. Randy was not able to take me on many of the out of town appointments because it was hard for him to get away from his job. He had started a new job with Lance, Inc just a couple of months before I was diagnosed.

During this period, several different groups were doing fundraisers for me. This was so appreciated, but also difficult for me. I didn't feel like I was worthy of all the attention I was getting and all that people were doing for me.... Ruritans Club, my church, VFW, my Beauty Salon, friends, and even people I didn't know, etc. They raised over $15,000.00 for my transplant fund that we had set up, to help pay bills, meds, expenses, etc. We sat up a Transplant Trust Fund to hold the monies that were donated. With my trust fund, a family member or myself could not be the trustee of the fund, and my wonderful friend and another of my many Guardian Angels, Sherree, agreed to manage this fund and paid my bills out of it when needed.

My father-in-law was also having health problems. On May 10th, he had a "5 bypass" open-heart surgery and he came home on the 16th of May. That same day Guardian Care, where I use to work, gave me a special award at a banquet, for my work there. This was very emotional. The next day, May 17th I had no energy, and slept almost all day. I think I was physically and emotionally drained. On the 18th I had another bad day. That evening I went out on the porch with my O2 tubing trailing behind me, to try to read some. I ended up coming in and sitting on the couch crying. Randy asked what was wrong. I said to him..." I can't do this any more, I am tired, I don't think I can keep this up, I want something to happen one way or the other."

The next day, the 19th was our 16th wedding anniversary, and I was feeling some better. Randy was bowling in a league that night and I was going to try to meet him about 8 pm to eat supper for our anniversary with him and some friends. At this point I hardly ever went out alone but I wanted to meet them. I was getting myself ready, switching from my concentrator to the portable O2 tank when the phone rang and it was my transplant coordinator, Brenda. She asked how I was, how I was feeling, had I had any fevers in the last few days, and was I alone. I told her I was doing ok and yes, I was alone. She said, "I think we have some lungs for you if you are ready for them". I was shocked! They told me I wouldn't get this call for a year and a half at least, and it had only been about 7 and a half months.......!!!!!I told her YES, I was ready for them! I was crying by now... she told me to calm down, and how long would it take us to get there. I told her I thought an hour or two at the most, she said that was fine. I called Randy and he was home in minutes. I called my family and a few friends. I was feeling every emotion in the book and thanking God, and already thinking about my donor and the family. I was crying, laughing, nervous, etc, etc, etc!

As it turned out, the reason I got my call sooner than expected, was all a strange situation and a miracle. There is a little confusion about this but I remember being told and my family also remembers being told that I was not first on the list for my blood type (A) and lung size. A terrible thunderstorm northwest of Norfolk was going on (terrible as in, torrential rain, lighting, wind, etc). We were told that there were actually 2 others ahead of me on the transplant list. One potential candidate had some complications going on which excluded him/her from being transplanted at this time. The other candidate was in an area a few hours into the thunderstorm area, and they declined because of the weather. It seemed almost like those lungs were destined for me! It turned out that they didn't do the surgery that night. My donor was "in house" at the same hospital I was at and still on life support, and with the storms, the doctors from other hospitals were also having trouble flying into Norfolk to retrieve the other organs. So I was admitted and had a fairly good nights sleep and everyone in my family went back home except Randy who stayed with me. They were all back bright and early the next morning.

Marginal lungs???........Dr. Quaranta, one of my pulmonologist', came in early and had a very frank talk with all of us. The lungs had started to deteriorate some. Did I want them?? They weren't in great condition and not what they had expected, They called them "marginal", however they still felt they would be ok. If I did not take them, and took a chance on waiting, I was in such bad shape, they said, you may not "make it" for the next set of lungs. They felt I should take them... at least I would have some chance. If I waited, I may have no chance, however they knew this had to be my decision. My sister later told me if this had been her, she would have been hysterical if she had been told this and had to make that decision. You would think.... What a decision! I talked briefly with my husband and family and they felt I had come this far I should go ahead with it, as I agreed. I had my mom on my mind and asked my brother what would she tell me to do and he said she would say to "go for it" (and I knew too that is what she would say). So when my doctor came back in I said "let's go for it, I am ready!!" And I was... like I had said the night before, I wanted something to happen one way or another, because I was tired and didn't think I could continue the same way any longer. Although I guess I was still very nervous, I didn't really feel scared. I was realistic however that I may not make it through the surgery, but I was at peace that what ever happened was God's will, and I would be ok. I remember my coordinator giving me a pep talk right before I went in, that things were going to be fine! My family and I, and my husband said our good byes and "see you soon's". It was very emotional. My sister was saying scripture as they wheeled me into surgery.... "The Lord is my Shepherd....".I remember going into the OR and talking briefly with a few of the nurses and docs and then I was off to la la land !

That was May 20th, 2000 a little after 10am. My family was updated throughout the day. They were told I was put on the Heart/Lung Bypass machine during the procedure. The doctors finally finished up about 9 hours later. They came out and talked to my family at about 7:15pm and were very pleased with how things had gone. My sister later told me how pleased the doctors were that everything had gone very well. She expressed how she could see and feel their genuine elation. She said they seemed as excited as if the had just won the Super Bowl! The next thing I remember was waking up surrounded by my family... I thought this was maybe the next day.... well no, it was 6 days later, May 26th. They had me in a drug induced coma for various reasons. I remember coming to a little and everyone talking to me, with their masks on, and me trying to talk to them, and everyone was very happy. They told me how well I was doing. I remember Randy, my husband, was not in the room but outside waving at me through the window and giving me the thumbs up sign. They told me he had a little cold and the doctors thought it best he not come in since I was so highly immuno-suppressed at this point. I also remember the walls of the room looked like it had spiders on it, they assured me it didn't! The medications were causing me to hallucinate. Everything seemed like a fog. (I remember only bits and pieces of the next couple of months and most of what I am writing now is based on what I have been told from my family, my sisters journal and the tx team and doctors.) I'm not sure but I think they had taken the ventilator out at this point (according to my sister they took it out on the 26th when they brought me around), but it didn't stay out long at all. The next thing I really remember, only very vaguely, if at all, was on June 1st, them telling me that I had some coagulated blood surrounding my lungs. It was keeping me from progressing and was causing me problems and they were going to have to take me back to surgery to remove the blood. They opened me up again in the same scar as when they did the transplant. They suctioned a lot of blood out, by going down through my ribs. They didn't have to open my ribs up this time. So here I go again, trying to recover from surgery #2. At this point, I still had not even been out of bed since I went in for the transplant on May 20th. After the surgery I was very restless and couldn't concentrate. They said I was having hallucinations due to some of the medications and I remember having really strange and realistic dreams. I was just generally tired and weak and restless and it seemed a zillion IV's and treatments. They did take the vent out again at some time during this period, I think for a day or two but I was not doing well and they put it back .Physical and Occupational Therapy began working with me again going very slowly. Physical Therapy was just getting me to sit up on the side of the bed and had to physically lift me to a chair to gain some strength by sitting up. When they did try to get me to stand that first few times, my body would not cooperate. As much as I wanted to stand and "do good" I couldn't. My knees felt like they had cinder blocks on them. They would just buckle. My ankles and knees were swollen huge. Even my eyes were swollen. At this point, they just worked mostly on exercises in bed, to try to help me gain some strength so I could work up to standing. I assume I was so weak during the recovery process because I had been extremely weak before the transplant and then ended up with the second surgery on top of the transplant. Occupational Therapy had me trying to do things like brushing my teeth, or holding a washcloth to wash my face. This was all very hard on me.... I had no idea how fast I would lose all of my strength but they reassured me that I was doing "great" and encouraged me to keep trying. I felt like a baby learning to do the simplest of things again. If not for my wonderful support system of my husband, family, friends and my doctors and nurses (my nurses and therapists were like angels....I never had a bad one) and all the encouragement they gave I am not sure I could have mentally and emotionally made it through this period. (My hospital has a few guest suites upstairs on one floor for out of town families to stay in for $15.00 a night. It is a regular room with a bathroom. My family rented one of these rooms early in my stay and kept it almost the whole time I was there, so one of them, be it my husband, brothers, sister, sisters in law or a friend, could stay and be close at hand at all times. My brother Marvin was there so much I think everyone at the hospital knew him. They still had to abide by most of the visiting hours in ICU but my nurses and doctors knew they were always somewhere around and it was very comforting to me because I became a big baby and wanted someone with me as much as possible). It would have been so easy to give up, but I was stabilizing well and they moved me to a step down unit I think on June 5th, just 5 days after surgery #2.I do remember the day they moved me to the step down unit. I had gotten so used to my wonderful nurses in ICU and I was afraid to move, but I did and my brother Woody was with me for support when they moved me. I was very nervous and anxious, but tried to be positive that this was a big step, showing I was progressing.

That first night in the step down unit, something happened. As I was told, a very observant nurse, Maria, recognized that when she did my IV's in the middle of the night, I was not just sleeping soundly, I was out! She tried to rouse me and I couldn't. From what I can understand, my CO2 level had risen to an unsafe level and I became unconscious. My brother Woody was upstairs and they called him down in the middle of the night. My understanding and from my brothers' memory of it, is that I was very critical for a while and things did not look good, but thankfully they stabilized me. Woody called my husband and other family members to tell what was going on and that I had been moved back into ICU and back on the ventilator. One of the wonderful Respiratory Therapists, Steve, later told me, "I spent almost the whole night with you trying to keep you alive". Again all of this is not really clear to me but it seems that it was determined that the CO2 problem arose from a Yeast-type fungal infection that was surrounding my pleural cavity. They worked a while (a few days??) trying to resolve this in several ways. They were placing and replacing chest tubes to try to drain this infection, however this was not working. (When I look in the mirror now, I count 13 chest tube scars. This view is my right rib cage area with 8 scars. Looks like a shark bite!) I really remember nothing during this time except tiny bits and pieces, like frames of a movie. So around mid-June, here we go again, Surgery #3 took place. They decided it was crucial to open me back up again to physically remove the yeast from around my lungs. It was keeping me from breathing on my own and progressing. And (at some point in here) I also developed Sepsis (which is a blood infection that is often fatal), staph and pneumonia related to all of this. I was not well at all. (Later when I got home I looked up Sepsis and had a much better understanding of all that was happening to me.) They did the surgery, opening me back up in the same scar and this time opening my ribs up again. They removed a liter and a half of yeast.

The next day, they did a tracheotomy and also put in a stomach tube, as they felt my recovery was going to be very slow at this point with so many infections and complications going on. They put the trach in so I could have the ventilator in my throat instead of my mouth. I'd had the vent for so long. The transplant team thought any longer may cause damage to my vocal chords and a trach would be more comfortable for me.

In my sisters words in her journal she was keeping she said. "Things were not looking very optimistic ".However, from what I remember, everyone was very positive to me and kept rallying around me. I still don't remember much, except it seems I fell asleep and when I woke up I had another surgery, and a trach and a feeding tube. At some points, I think they put me back into a drug-induced coma. Every time I would wake up, I didn't know if I had been asleep for an hour or a few days. My mind was mush! It was hard for me to stay positive but Lord knows I was trying too even in the state of mind I was in. Again the meds were playing havoc on me, I was still hallucinating and having really strange and bizarre dreams again, that seemed so real. I was having crying spells, and at times resisting care. They had to suction my lungs a lot. At times I didn't even know why I was in the hospital and was begging my family to please let me just go home. I couldn't see much progress but they insisted I was making progress. Physical and Occupational Therapy started working with me all over again. I was right back to square one. I wanted to get better so bad, but Physical Therapy was soooo hard. I cried everyday on and off. I was so weak and tired and they kept telling me "you can do it!" Sometimes I thought it would have been so much easier to just give up, but something made me just keep trying. The nurses and docs and my whole team, and everyone were just so encouraging to me. Dr. Garnett and Dr. Quaranta were there to see me every single day, sometimes several times a day. Everyone told me about all the prayers for me... people I didn't know, churches I didn't know, friends of friends all over the country... it was overwhelming... I never realized the magnitude of what was happening (and the power of prayer).