A couple of years ago, I broke my ankle, shattered it, really, and ended up having to have surgery on my foot. It was dangerous because of my CTEPH lung condition. A lot of people with CTEPH have trouble coming off the ventilator after surgery and end up needing to be trached for life. It’s always a risk with any surgery, but more so with the lung condition. After I fell but before I had surgery, I ended up going into a 3-day coma in the hospital. We’re not sure why it happened, but it was likely from the adrenal insufficiency and the damage done to my body with there not being enough natural steroids to heal and keep me conscious.

That said, I drifted off into la-la land in the hospital one night. It started when I was talking to my daughter on the phone and not making any sense to her at all. She kept asking me to repeat myself and I couldn’t do it. Then I told her I had two words that described her. I told her the first word, but I never said the second word (which she is still upset about and wants to know what it was going to be!) She asked several times what the second word was, but I never answered. Lynn took the phone, and my daughter asked if I was okay. Lynn said, “No, no she’s not.”

Now, I know they say you’re not supposed to be aware of anything when you’re in a coma, but that’s not true for me. I remember the doctors and the nurses coming in and from a place that seems so far away, calling to me, “Michelle? Come sit up and talk to us, Michelle….” they used my first and last name a lot, and I remember thinking, don’t call me Mrs. so and so… I hate that. They used my real name. It’s not my name anymore, I never use it, don’t call me that. I was angry about it, such a small thing, but I kept thinking I wanted to sit up and tell them to stop calling me that name!

I also was angry that they wouldn’t leave me the hell alone. I wanted to drift where I was, and never wake up again. That’s what I have to tell you about. Where I was. I call it the ‘Waiting Room.’ I don’t know why I call it that, but it feels right to me. The Waiting Room was where I found myself when I wasn’t present in the hospital room. I don’t know if this was a construct of my mind or if my consciousness was actually in this room or what, but it felt so real. I felt like my body was there, floating if you will–at least, I wasn’t standing or sitting on anything, I was just there.

The first thing I noticed was there was no pain. I never DON’T hurt. I always hurt, somewhere, always, and I had a shattered ankle that should have been killing me, but I felt no pain in the Waiting Room. There was a sense of peace and calm and everything was still and quiet. The room was white but not bright, but not dark, it was just lit perfectly and I was alone but I felt like there were people with me in some way. I can’t really explain that part–I was alone, but I wasn’t.

And there was a voice that talked to me in my head, not out loud, but inside my head and it wasn’t like words but more like just instant understanding. The voice welcomed me and told me I could stay in the Waiting Room as long as I wanted to stay, or I could go back to the hospital room and live my life, or I could move on. I was told I could come back to the Waiting Room any time I wanted, that I was always welcome, and I could stay in the Waiting Room for as long as I wanted. But I was told that I had to choose to stay or go or move on. I had to choose. It was up to me.

It was comforting to know that I get to choose. I don’t know why that makes such an impact on me, but getting to choose was important.

I stayed for a while, it seemed like minutes to me. In reality, I was in and out of the Waiting Room for three days before I finally came back to the hospital room with all the pain of real life.

But I know it’s my choice to be alive today because I didn’t have to be.

The nurses wouldn’t leave me alone while I was in the Waiting Room, and they kept trying to wake me up. Lynn would try too. Over the three days, I have some memories of them calling to me, coming to for a brief moment, and then slipping back to the Waiting Room. It’s strange and disjointed memories, but I do remember the noises in the room and Lynn, in particular, talking to me.

The takeaways from this were that I was told I could come back to the Waiting Room any time I want and I could stay as long as I wanted. It felt so real and safe and peaceful.

And I felt loved. So much love and peace and quiet stillness. I could have floated in the Waiting Room forever and been happy. I felt larger than life and so small all at the same time. I didn’t care about petty things, and things just seemed…. right. Things just seemed right. I was sad to have to leave the Waiting Room, but I was happy to be alive. I knew that I had gotten to choose to live. I chose to come back to life, to my life, and that choice is powerful to me.

I know I want to live because I had a chance not to live, easily and peacefully to slip to whatever is beyond this world, and I chose to come back to the pain and suffering of this world and fight to have a life.

So what caused the coma? Probably adrenal insufficiency, as I said before. And what brought me out of it was Lynn giving me bootlegged steroids to wake me back up because the doctors wouldn’t listen. Once I came to, they started to listen and pay attention. I was transferred by ambulance to the downtown main facility where I could be monitored by my doctors, and they took care of me. That is the last time I call 911 and go to the nearest hospital again, though, if I can help it. I will do whatever it takes to go to the downtown facility, even though it is an hour away and I was in a lot of pain.

Was the Waiting Room real or was it a construct of my mind? I’m not a religious person, so there was no heaven or hell or anything like that, but there was a voice, a warm, loving, caring voice in my head that welcomed me. And I felt so much love and peace while I was there—what was that? Was that heaven? Was that a Waiting Room to get into a heaven? Who knows? I was there, and I don’t know.

But I know I’m not afraid of death anymore. If it’s anything like the Waiting Room, death will be amazing. I am still afraid of the dying part.  All the dying leading up to death is scary. I can only hope when I die, I’ll go as peacefully as I slipped into the coma, and I won’t have any memory of the pain and the dying part of it.

Who knows?

Have you ever had a near-death experience, a coma, anything like this? Tell me about it! What are your thoughts about my experience?

Love and stuff,

Michy