From Within So Without Part 3: In Comes the Cannabis

The next thing I remember, I was in a hospital bed with my head, neck and right arm/hand wrapped like a mummy. I could groggily see through the two slits that were meant to be openings for my eyes, and I could feel my right arm bandaged. There was a slit for my mouth but all I could do was breathe through it because it was wrapped loosely, but firmly in place. So I did not have a lot of movement, but even if I had, my mouth was practically swollen shut.

When you are immobilized and cannot even talk or write to communicate your thoughts, you are stuck with them. You know how when children are bickering, you stick them in a room with each other? I was stuck inside my head with myself. Having grown up in a very positive household (See the post "White Clouds"), I stayed mostly positive, and I was mainly wretchedly sorry that I had caused my family so much grief. I did not know about the screens; I thought it was my fault.

I could not eat because I could not open my mouth. Daily, they would bring me food, I could not possibly eat. I still find this hysterically funny. The only thing I could have even attempted to eat would have been something through a straw, but I could not write or talk to tell anyone this. I could only nod my head yes, or no.

One day, a few days in, my food was delivered. It was some sort of pasta, pudding, and something else there was no way I could eat. Keep in mind, my mouth was so cracked and swollen shut, I could barely fit a straw in there. And I did not have arms or hands to feed myself. My lower left arm was bandaged, and I could move it; however, I was not skilled at feeding myself with my left hand, or with only one hand, and the stuff they kept bringing, was still impossible to eat, even if someone tried to feed me!

I had not eaten in days, but in some ways this whole thing was like an out of body experience; I was there for parts of it, but entirely absent for most of it. So, I found the food situation funny. How can you run a burn hospital and serve burn patients food they cannot possibly eat? It goes beyond reason and common sense to me! Besides, I got into this mess, because I am picky about food! The hospital food, did not look or sound appealing to me, even if I was hungry.

Then it got better. My dear husband asked if I was hungry, and I nodded yes. He asked if I would eat it. Motioning to my mouth, I shook my head no. He said, "Can I have it?" and I nodded yes, thinking, "Why would you want to eat that?". So he ate it! I found it hysterically funny, but could not laugh, or tell anyone the joke! I didn't care, I could not eat it anyway. The poor guy had been by my side the entire time whenever the hospital would let him. He would have slept in my room if they let him. For all I know, he did. He would have gotten me any food I wanted if I had asked, in fact, he brought me options that I would not eat. I just wanted to pass out to avoid the pain.

I do not remember much about the hospital, but I distinctly remember my siblings arriving. I was in so much pain, and would ask the nurses for more pain meds, specifically the ketamine Kyle gave me on the helicopter (I do not know how they understood me, but for some reason they could). They said they could not give me ketamine, and they could not give me more of whatever they were giving me for x or y number of hours. An interminable amount of time when your skin is on fire and itches to the point that you want to scratch it off, but you can't because you are wrapped so thickly you look like the kid from "A Christmas Story"; so bundled up that your arm could not be lowered if you wanted to. We are talking deep discomfort from the above as well as being immobilized. As the pain meds wore off, the itching worsened, sometimes the pain meds caused an itchy feeling! It's all you can think about. I tried meditating and praying, and that helped a little, but the pain and discomfort were always there. You want to wail, I could not. I could not open my mouth.

At some point in my hospital stay, they took me in for surgery. I remember my family being there as I was wheeled out of the room and when I woke up again. Surgery for a burn victim entails placing either fish skin, pig skin, or stem cells on the burnt skin. Apparently, the nutrients from these skins/stem cells go into the burnt skin and reinvigorate it. Pretty cool, right? I had all three. The stem cells were on my face. The fish skin was on my neck and hands, and feet and left arm, and right armpit. The pig skin was on my right arm. I still get skeeved out by it. Maybe because of the feliculitis and not the pigskin, but, my arm was the grossest thing to watch heal! ICK.

I remember trying to ask for my phone because I wanted to take a picture, and no one would give it to me or take a picture. Who knows if they even understood what I was asking? It's all a haze. I knew then, I would want it now, but I get it, they were protecting me from getting scared and keeping me positive. I am NOT a selfie person. I just wanted to have the memory for later, but could not explain that to anyone.

I heard later that my father, the strongest, most positive, upbeat person I know, besides my mother. You know, "White Clouds", was shooed out of the room by my mother because he broke down when he saw me.

I have never been a pot person. Sure, I smoked pot when I lived in Italy in college, and maybe a handful of times after that. It just never appealed to me. I have friends who have smoked pot for years, but it was never mine or my husbands thing. One brother from Michigan, Ryan, and a sister, Sterling, from Florida showed up with a myriad of pot options.

When Ryan was in high school he volunteered at Young Life a teenage Christian camp, that he had previously attended. He was doing laundry with the other volunteers (boys) and they were trying to go fast, so they would try to grab the sheets out of a spinning dryer before it was finished spinning. This was NOT A GOOD IDEA. The spinning sheet first wrapped around his arm and then flipped him around and practically tied his arm in a knot! At the time, when we got the call regarding what had happened, we were told, he would probably lose his arm.

He had to have 33 surgeries to sort of put his arm back together; he cannot fully straighten it and he is very limited in the movement you would make to turn a key. He has had to learn to swing a golf club one handed, and has had to improvise in other areas as well. We are all thankful that he did not lose the arm! Pot played a huge role in treating his pain, and helping him to heal. Seeing as THC/CBD had been miraculous in his healing, he knew it would help me as well.

So, in came the cannabis.

They asked the nurse if I could take it, and she looked at me and said, "By all means, go nuts, it's much better for you than the stuff we are giving you." So I did. Thank God I could fit the gummies into my mouth and I could chew! Within a few days of arriving home, I was self medicating with gummies alone. It was one of the number one ways I made it through this ordeal.

Stuck inside my head, with the pot taking away the pain, I was able to look at what I had to be grateful for: I had loving parents who would do anything for me; siblings who flew in at a moments notice; an outpouring from friends and family, too numerous to count; excellent surgeons who assured me and my family that I would not only be ok, but look ok; excellent nursing care; and a husband who was constantly by my side. And, with the cannabis... the pain subsided, and I could actually think (I cry at the memory of the relief)! Despite my predicament, I was in good hands.

But, Kristin, you said you smoke pot? I do, and I will get to that along with the part about the body and the Ferrari.