6. The Plunge

My second week in hospital was the worst. Medically, I was stable, but I was plagued by awful dreams. The plots of the dreams weren't scary, in fact, they were quite amusing, but they were long, and tedious, and made my skin crawl. I laugh a lot about them now, but at the time it wasn't nice. (In one my night nurse and I were transferred to New Zealand, and my mum had fallen asleep on my bed so she came too.  We stayed in a girl scouts' lodge, laid out across some jungley hills. My friend and his mum came to visit with jet packs, but had come via China). I always knew they were just dreams, but they felt so vivid that when I could use a letter-board I spelt out 'hallucinations'. I cursed myself for making my family worry about something factually incorrect, but I didn't know how else to describe what I was experiencing succinctly. As soon as I told my dad, and he put it on his blog, they stopped.

One nurse also talked to me about anti-depressants as she said there might come a time when my family couldn't come to see me, and they might help. I agreed because I felt so hounded by bad vibes in the night. I never had to have this medication however, as my family always came, and they always told me who was coming, and I always felt reassured I would be ok. This nurse also told me she knew I was a fighter, and that I was going to walk back in a year later with red streaks in my hair. I agreed with her but doubt about the hair.

At some point, my right side got even weaker than it had been. I had made scribbles with a pen when I first woke up and could do a thumbs-up/thumbs-down and an 'ok' hand gesture. (To my aunt's confusion and then amusement). However, as time went on, this was reduced to just being able to squeeze for yes and no. (The left side was always paralysed). I was also experiencing massive shaking in my right side which was basically muscle-spasms called clonus. On the 2nd October I had an EEG. (Which no one told me about, I just remember being hustled off). This measures electricity in the brain and indicates epilepsy. The results came back negative.

During the three weeks I was in Sheffield, I was consistently visited by friends and family. (And have been ever since). My former housemates Adam, Cameron and Fran had to be politely dissuaded from coming all the time to allow room for other visitors. (They were the first at the hospital when I was taken in, but weren't allowed to see me as they weren't family). Former housemates Mary and Tash flew from where they were doing their years abroad in Germany and Honduras respectively, and my friend Anna flew from where she was doing her year abroad in Senegal. (I'd been admitted on her birthday. Great present). My final ex-housemate, Celia, couldn't come from where she was attending a conservatoire in Madrid, but she composed a harp piece just for me. There were other hugely moving words and songs and messages for me. (This included my friend Elise opening up the Bible because she knew I liked that, and reading me the crucifixion). I had so many greetings from people I know in far-flung places, that I feel bad for not mentioning them all.

My favourite memory is when Mary visited me, and etched into my memory is her commenting on my 'spitty family'. (Well, we were all crying). I asked recently what she meant and she was baffled. I don't think she said this, but the question of what she meant kept me going.

I knew I was being melodramatic when I spelt that out but it got the point across.