Extraction to Infection . Part 3
Welcome back! If you missed Part 1 and Part 2, I'd recommend starting there to get the full picture of how a routine wisdom teeth extraction turned into a severe infection and led to my hospitalization.
I talked about the initial surgery, the increasing pain, and the first emergency procedure that didn't quite solve the problem. Despite that surgery to drain the infection, things got worse, and I ended up being transferred to a bigger hospital.
Now, I'll share what happened next—how I dealt with recovery, the strange experiences in the ICU, and the emotional and physical impact on me and my family. From moments of confusion to finally going home and beginning to heal, here’s the rest of the story..
Floating Between Worlds
In the meantime, I was floating between worlds, not fully aware of reality at the moment and fully submerged in my own perception. The medical term for seeing things that "aren't" there is called delirium, and I experienced my fair share. Some examples of things I saw include:
Three women from the cemetery coming to pick me up.
Flying over mountains with a “guide” in a place that felt like the space between life and death.
Having an out-of-body experience where I looked at myself in the hospital bed.
Two souls of relatives who lost their lives on the 17th of July came to tell me that “it wasn’t my time yet” and “I’m going nowhere.”
Nothing seemed weird; everything made sense and just was. There were no questions about it at the time; all of those questions came later.
Despite the surreal experiences, there were a number of things I was very much aware of that happened in real life: the pain, visitors, and even what I wanted to have (some of the most random stuff). Outside of the pain and confusion, I have to say that during my time in the ICU, I felt supported and loved. Family, friends, my then-partner, and my family made sure that any doubts, conflicts, anger, or anything of that matter would not be discussed in the room in my presence. And I felt that. Even though I wasn’t fully conscious, I wasn’t fully in a coma either, so I did pick up on the energy they were upholding in that space.
Communication Challenges
I was unable to talk because of the ventilator. The hospital had given me a notebook and a pen to communicate, though I wasn't able to write whole stories or anything. With my eyes closed due to the swelling in my face, the person in the room would give me a pen, place my hand on the paper, and instruct me where to write. Mostly short sentences or words came out. I still have those notebooks, and it's pretty interesting to read what we were “talking” about or what I had to say. The crazy thing is that when I'm going through the pages and notes, I'm able to recall nearly all of those moments vividly. I'll list some of them below, and some are pretty funny, if I do say so myself:
"I was awake when they put a tube in my throat. Never had so much pain in my life."
"For how long have I been here already? REALLY? I thought it was still yesterday!"
"Don't cry; everything will be fine."
"Got a tube in my vajayjay" (catheter lol)
"Give me a lot of sedatives and more of that shit."
"It is ticking inside of me" (the ventilator tube made weird noises that I felt inside of me)
"I'm unable to sleep anyway with that sewage attached to me" (once again complaining about the ventilator)
"I hear voices."
"So thankful that you all are here. I love you."
"I can’t breathe."
"I want to go HOME."
"Ben & Jerry Strawberry Cheesecake" (cravings much)
"Put me in a coma already; I'm in so much pain."
"Holly is closing!" (club in Rotterdam called Hollywood Music Hall - Holly for short - where I frequently went as a teenager)
Further Surgery and Recovery
In the following days, another surgery took place to manually remove the infection in my chest, and more drains were placed in the infected area, this time on the right side of my torso. There was a high chance of me developing sepsis if the infection entered my bloodstream, so they aimed to reduce that risk with surgery #3. Ultimately, that procedure helped a lot, combined with the right antibiotics, which made the infection go down.
A little side note: My mom works in the same hospital in the exact department where all my samples and tests were being researched and done. She personally wasn’t working on them due to obvious reasons. They made sure that that wasn’t an option. But damn, can you imagine?
Slowly but surely, things started looking better after the third surgery and the correct antibiotics. I was still hooked up to the ventilator, and the doctors wanted to see if the swelling in my neck decreased to determine if I was able to breathe on my own. An inflatable balloon was inserted into the tube to check how far they could inflate it, which provided an indication of how much room there was for me to breathe. After being asked to take a deep breath, let me tell you how it feels to be able to breathe on your own. Never ever take that for granted. There are no words. I inhaled as deeply as I could, and it felt so refreshing. I felt alive and human. Breath is key. Since it was just a check, they hooked me back onto the ventilator afterward, which was a bummer. No lie told. Not long after, they unplugged me to slowly prepare me for regular care units. Luckily, no more ventilator, no more drains. I had started physiotherapy to regain strength in the muscles because there was nothing left. Even sitting up straight for three minutes felt like running a marathon.
Adjusting to Reality
It was August 5th, I believe, when I was released from the ICU and transferred to a regular care floor. The staff asked me to wave to my room or to say anything I wanted as my goodbyes. I reached my hand to the sky and put up my middle finger for a big "fuck you" and a "you’ll never see me again!" (And I meant that "fuck you" to the infection, not the staff).
Regarding my relatives, you could just notice the relief. For them, the horror ended. I was getting healthier. No more question marks, no more uncertainties if I was even going to make it. A victory! For me, the horror had just started. Sedatives were fully gone, and I started to slowly get back into reality. There was a moment, probably the same day or the day after I was released from the ICU, when my partner at the time and my mom sat down to tell me what happened. She asked how long I thought I had been in the ICU. Well, probably a day? Two, maybe? Nope, about a week and a half. They went on to tell me what happened, how, and why, even to the point where they had photos for me to visualize. YO! Let me tell you... hearing what happened, with no recollection at all, seeing pictures of yourself in such a state, hooked on 10+ cables, as a sort of lifeless meat sack? I beg your pardon? I was in utter shock. What the fuck just happened to me? Wait… did I nearly die? So, you’re telling me I could’ve been dead and never would’ve noticed that I wasn’t a part of life anymore? The fuck?
Little side story: right before all of this happened, I had just graduated from school, where I studied to be a professional dancer for 4 years. To a month after graduation, see myself in a mirror, fucking confused, stitched up, and in so much pain. Unable to walk on my own, unable to talk, unable to eat, unable to do the bare minimum of existence.
The switcheroo was heavily activated.
Homesickness and Hospital Struggles
Honestly, I was lost. Being in a hospital, where you are "alone" most of the time and confused about what happened, is crazy. Sure, there were nurses and other patients, but everyone was so busy with their own situation, as they should’ve been. I wanted to go home so bad. This was a level of homesickness that I had never experienced in my life before. I had to stay in the hospital for about 3 more days. In the meantime, I had to attend numerous appointments with physiotherapists, a psychologist, and a psychiatrist. I experienced so much fear that they gave me tranquilizers to calm me down. The bad thing about it was that I reacted so badly to it that from the moment I got the drug, my whole body started to progressively cramp. After mentioning what I experienced, they said "this could not be the case." But what do you mean? You give me stuff to relax, but it only makes me more uncomfortable.
And then tube feeding. I experienced this horrendous pain in my stomach. To the point where I wasn’t able to keep any of the food in. Apparently I’d also complained about abdominal pain in the ICU, where tests were done to see if anything was wrong. They weren't able to find the reason. Fast forward to one of the days on the regular care unit when I mentioned to the nurse: "It feels like I've had soft ice cream on an empty stomach." After mentioning that I'm lactose intolerant, they double-checked what type of food I had been given all that time. It turned out that the whole time I had been fed by a tube, there was lactose in it.
What the actual fuck is going on? If you know from your own or someone else's experience how the body reacts when it can't tolerate lactose, you already know the pain and consequences. Not one meal, no no, we're talking 10+ days of lactose in my body. Well, at least it explained my abdominal pain. But what the fuck though? I got a different type of formula, but it was too late. My body had to recover from the horror by leaving my stomach alone for at least 48 hours.
Heading Home
Eventually, it became Friday, the 8th. In the days leading up to it, I nearly begged the doctors to send me home. They didn't release patients on weekends, so if it wasn't Friday, it would have to be Monday. A lot was at stake here! With the promise of good care and rest, taking my antibiotics for another six weeks, and an appointment in the following week to check how everything went over the weekend, I was finally allowed to go home. A WIN!
The first time I ever saw my scars, stitched and wounds from the different procedures was back home. I had seen the open wound in my neck where the drains used to be. That place was covered with gauze and had to grow back organically. I also learned how big the scar on my side was. The second photo was taken so I could see the length of that monster—about 26 cm long. Smaller stitches mark where the drains used to be. The moment that photo was taken, minutes after being home from the hospital, was the first time I saw what had happened. Only thing on my mind was disbelief and shock. Something that quickly brought me into a disassociated state.
Recovery and Reflection
Reality remained strange, and a full sense of what had happened still hadn't set in. Recovery was intense. Mentally, it was very difficult, and I was left with PTSD. With the necessary professional help, I was able to deal with the biggest part of the traumatic experiences. But every year, especially in July and the beginning of August, I reflect on what I and my relatives went through.
Physically, due to the condition of my body after dancing non-stop for four years, I was able to bounce back pretty quickly. It took some hard work and dedication, though. About two or three months later, I was back in the studio doing auditions, teaching classes. And in December of the same year, I performed again on stage on national live TV.
There has been so much that I have gained and learned from this experience—as a person, about life, death, faith, spirituality, the power of music, you name it. I came to the conclusion that I really enjoy writing. Waving at you, Jupiter in the 3rd, best believe I'll continue to do so. I can go on and on and into more detail and depth, but I think there is a clear view of what happened in the summer of 2014. I'll save my takeaways on earlier mentioned topics for another time.
In part 4, I'll go into the astrology of this whole situation. Know that I'm by no means a medical astrologer, but there are a lot of interesting connections that can be made in retrospect. So keep an eye out for part 4 of Extraction to Infection: Planetary Insights.
Share your thoughts, or maybe even some of your suspicions on what planet or house could’ve been impacted this experience.