On the evening of last years superbowl, I almost died.
Not figuratively speaking. Literally.
I had had major surgery, and everything had gone very well, but not long after I woke up, I felt that something was not right. I was excessively thirsty, and, over the course of the next day, I got weaker and weaker. I was assured that that was quite normal after a major surgery -- until the nurses couldn't measure my bloodpressure, and couldn't find a vein to put a needle in.
Suddenly things became very hectic. Lots of nurses, doctors, technicians. Racing through the hallways to take an xray. The technician said, "Hold your breath," and I thought that then I might not be able to start breathing again. But I was very calm, and not afraid. I could feel that my life was slipping away, and I felt mostly curious about what was happening. A lovely young nurse stayed by my side, telling me everything would be alright. I felt sorry for her. What a way to start your shift! I was bleeding into my belly, they said.
And then they brought me back. No white lights or tunnels, just slipping away, and then coming back. Julia had said to me just before the surgery that I should stay away from any tunnels or blinding white lights, please!
When I woke up, Alexis was sitting at the foot of my bed, knitting. She smiled, and said hi. What a beautiful sight! Then Julia sailed into the room, bringing life and sunshine with her. I had four blood transfusions. Alexis said she was almost certain that some of the blood came from George Clooney.
O.K., that's better.
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