In March of 2021, I was admitted to Stanford Hospital. A few days later my mind was gone and the rest of my body was following.
Three years on, I am still alive and have most of my mind and body back. Or more accurately, mine and another’s.
This is a story of accepting and improving a terminal life.
There is a surfboard on the door in front of me. Do I surf?
I turn my head slightly to the right and can look out a large window. There is sunlight… twilight. Not enough light for me to recognize anything outside, or maybe my vision is a bit blurry. I feel like I am just waking up, but I don’t remember going to sleep. Or dreaming.
I turn my head a little to the left and can barely see an analog clock on the far wall. The big hand is pointing near six.
Someone comes into the room from around curtains on the far-left side. They are in a black shirt and pants. Or maybe dark blue or grey. They walk around a bed, past the clock that now looks more like seven, and over to the right side of my bed. I track them with my eyes and with small head movements, but they disappear beyond my movement range. I can hear them moving right next to my head and a loud ‘squelch’ sounds in my ear. After another squelch, they start walking back to the curtains, shaking a red vial.
Two people in identical clothes come in and move over to my right side. They are discussing something, but I can’t process their words. After some discussion they come around to the left side of my bed, within my movement range. One of them speaks.
“Hi Mr. Fussell. I am your daytime nurse, Anna. I will be back after we finish the shift change.”
The two nurses depart through the curtain area. The room is big and white. There is a bed a few feet away to my left, but it is unoccupied. There seem to be storage and tables along the far wall beneath the clock. The surfboard is on a door beyond the foot of my bed. The light outside is much brighter, and I can see an outer wall with windows extending toward the distance. There is also a courtyard out there, which has some kind of movement in it.
Anna comes in and raises the back of my bed.
“Hi Mr. Fussell. Can you put your hands out?”
I put my hands out in front of me, palms down.
“Put them out as if to say ‘Stop’” I raise my hands with the palms forward. Anna watches for a moment and then pushes on them.
“OK. You can put your hands down. We told your family you are awake, and they will be around later. Do you need anything?”. She is putting the back of my bed back down.
“Water?” I choke out. My mouth is very dry, and my voice is scratchy. I don’t feel that thirsty but my mouth being so dry is very unpleasant.
“I will see what I can do about that”. She then heads over to my right side and spends some time over there. I feel like I can turn my head a bit further to the side, but not enough to watch what she is doing.
Anna leaves beyond the curtain. The clock says nine something.
A large group of people with white cloaks and stethoscopes comes around the curtain. They are chattering to each other and one of them is pushing a cart with a computer on it. That person does not have a stethoscope. The group comes to the left side of my bed and the back raises me up again.
A doctor starts: “Good morning. Do you know who you are?”
“I am Mark Fussell.”
“Good morning Mr. Fussell. Do you know where you live and what year and month it is?”
“I live in Palo Alto, and it is 2021. I think it is March. At least it was when I came into the hospital.”
“The hospital? Do you know what hospital you are?”
“I believe I am in Stanford, but I don’t recall coming into this room. I came into Stanford ER with my family a few days ago and I thought I was in M5, but I don’t seem to be there anymore.”
“Very good. Can you put your hands out in front of you?”
I put my hands out… first palms down and then palms facing forward.
“Now push back on me” and she pushes on my hands with her palms. She wins. “Good. You are getting better even if you don’t feel it.”
The entourage leaves in bulk.
