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Somehow I always forget...
... that the ability to compartmentalise in a crisis doesn't mean you don't have the emotions. It means you postpone them.
It's such a weird thing. Yesterday through last night all the terror of Wednesday's medical misadventures hit me in a rush.
I spent a lot of time verbally rationalising. Both why it was okay to be afraid - you know, the experience I went through being legitimately terrifying actually - even though it was two days later, and also why I wasn't in serious danger at the time.
Because the whole thing would have been genuinely life-threatening outside of a hospital situation, but I was in a hospital, so it wasn't.
They had oxygen tanks on hand. If I'd needed a transfusion they would have had the supplies on hand and I was already cannulated so they wouldn't even have had to mess around trying to find a vein. There was a doctor right there. There were nurses right there. Guaranteed if they needed to call the crash team that will have been something they could do in seconds, and hospital crash teams don't fuck around. (We had to call one for my mother once. They turn up astonishingly quickly.) They had a pulse oximeter on my finger pretty much as soon as the problem started and they were watching my saturation levels very closely.
I was fine.
And on some level, for all that I was, in the moment, clear-headed and outwardly calm, on some deeper level I was also absolutely terrified and that's okay too. That was a scary thing to experience.
It was, mind you, a lesson in why that kind of compartmentalisation - which my parents do, too, I have no idea if it's genetic or learned or what - is generally speaking a very good thing, I think.
Because if I'd been feeling that terror in the moment? If I'd panicked? That would have made the situation so much worse and I might in fact have had to have the really unpleasant outcomes. If I'd started hyperventilating I would have been in so very much more trouble.
It's such a weird thing. Yesterday through last night all the terror of Wednesday's medical misadventures hit me in a rush.
I spent a lot of time verbally rationalising. Both why it was okay to be afraid - you know, the experience I went through being legitimately terrifying actually - even though it was two days later, and also why I wasn't in serious danger at the time.
Because the whole thing would have been genuinely life-threatening outside of a hospital situation, but I was in a hospital, so it wasn't.
They had oxygen tanks on hand. If I'd needed a transfusion they would have had the supplies on hand and I was already cannulated so they wouldn't even have had to mess around trying to find a vein. There was a doctor right there. There were nurses right there. Guaranteed if they needed to call the crash team that will have been something they could do in seconds, and hospital crash teams don't fuck around. (We had to call one for my mother once. They turn up astonishingly quickly.) They had a pulse oximeter on my finger pretty much as soon as the problem started and they were watching my saturation levels very closely.
I was fine.
And on some level, for all that I was, in the moment, clear-headed and outwardly calm, on some deeper level I was also absolutely terrified and that's okay too. That was a scary thing to experience.
It was, mind you, a lesson in why that kind of compartmentalisation - which my parents do, too, I have no idea if it's genetic or learned or what - is generally speaking a very good thing, I think.
Because if I'd been feeling that terror in the moment? If I'd panicked? That would have made the situation so much worse and I might in fact have had to have the really unpleasant outcomes. If I'd started hyperventilating I would have been in so very much more trouble.
no subject
You weren't fine; you were coughing a terrific amount of blood, which you correctly recognized as dangerous. You were just coughing a terrific amount of blood in a situation where you also correctly recognized it could be dealt with safely, besides which it sounds as though keeping a clear head in a stressful situation is a natural reaction of yours anyway. I believe it can be taught as a skill, but I think it's also idiosyncratic. It still isn't quite real to me that I almost died of anaphylaxis in 2017, because at the time it was so weird and annoying.
no subject
Anaphylaxis is very weird and annoying, I agree. Allergic reactions always give me a sense of unreality, too. They have no right being life-threatening.
I am glad you did not die.
no subject
Thank you. Likewise!
no subject
Also for both of these situations: your brain when short on oxygen does not do well with measuring threat / risk. It has taken me years to learn that 'everything has gone a bit weird and I have no clue what it going on' is an asthma attack and I need to find my ventolin (which becomes insurmountable as a problem unless I can break it down into tiny pieces). At my previous workplace, co-worker with asthma was absolutely able to spot it and tell me to use the ventolin because I would stop responding sensibly, and this was significantly before I was able to work through to that.
Which is to say 'your brain was busy surviving and gave up on risk assessment'.
no subject
Like, the doctor and nurses were very concerned about my oxygen intake but I was just, like, "No, I can't breathe through my nose because it's full of blood, I need to blow my nose please," and it's not that I wasn't right but I think were my brain more functional I'd have recognised more urgency about it.
They switched to the full mask, anyway.
no subject
Indeed - brain was busy on one small detail, while the situation required much more. And all that.
So glad that you had people dealing with it while you head wasn't quite there.