The Day My Head Exploded

On April 9, 2014 my head exploded. 

It started out like any other normal day.  I got up and went through my usual morning routine and headed off to work.  I spent the morning finishing up some last minute paperwork on a grant we had been working on, and starting to sort through the piles of paperwork that had been building up on my desk while I worked on the grant.  At about 11am I had to go to the bathroom.  I had been constipated that morning, and didn't really want to be in the bathroom with several stalls, so I walked approximately 250 steps to the private bathroom near the main entrance to the building. (I had been counting steps earlier for a fitness challenge, which is the reason I know about how many steps it was.)

As embarrassing as it is to talk about being constipated, that played a big part in what happened next, and if sharing my story can help someone else, then it is worth the embarrassment. 

So I'm in the bathroom, doing some pushing, trying to get things taken care of.  I hit a point where I suddenly know that I am straining way too hard and need to stop, but I can't get my body to stop pushing.  My hearing did this funny thing, where it was like the noise from the fan blanked out then fuzzed back in, and then my head went boom!

Many of us have had a throbbing headache at some point in our lives, but this one was the worst I have ever had.  Suddenly my head is pounding like a huge bass drum.  I knew I was in trouble.  I managed to get out of the bathroom and walk the 250 steps back to my office.  I don't think I even wobbled on the way back. The teachers started talking to me as I walked back in - I am the director of an on-campus child care center.  I heard what they were saying, something about keys on the shed roof and needing a ladder, but I ignored them and went straight to my desk chair.  Allyson, our cook, looked at me and said, Are you okay?  Do I need to call 911?   I said no, can you just bring me some ibuprofen.  She stepped out to get the ibuprofen, I sat down, and my whole neck and shoulders locked up.  Any movement caused excruciating pain.  I started shaking and sweating profusely.  Allyson stepped back in and handed me the Ibuprofen, which I took, and just as I reached for the garbage can to start throwing up, she said, I'm calling 911.

Even though I knew I was in trouble, I was not quite ready to call 911 for myself, so I am very grateful someone was there who saw I was in trouble and made that call for me.  If I had been at home when this happened I probably wouldn't still be around to talk about it.

 I was still pretty coherent through the whole event, asking Allyson to call Richard at Master Muffler and let him know I was on my way to the hospital.  I couldn't quite get out my phone passcode, so I just asked her to call Master Muffler direct.

The EMT's got there quickly, and started with whatever it is they do.  They checked me out, gave me some medicines, and got me on a stretcher to get me to the ambulance.  One of the medicines they gave me was Benadryl, which makes me fall asleep, so even though I stayed conscious for most of the rest of the day, I did start to feel drowsy. 

 We got to the hospital quickly - it was only about a mile away from work.  Richard was already there waiting, and had given them my information to get me checked in.  They had me get out of my clothes and into a hospital robe, and got me in for a CT scan.  As soon as they saw the blood on my brain they called for the helicopter, and within about 15 minutes I was being loaded up for a life flight down to Salt Lake City University of Utah Medical Center. 

At this point the Benadryl came in handy, because I was conscious but kind of out of it.  I would probably have been feeling very claustrophobic without the Benadryl.  The gurney fits tightly into place in the helicopter, sliding you under a shelf up to about your chest.  Your chest and head have space, but that's about it.  One of the EMT's sat on one side of me, and there was some piece of equipment between us.  The EMT would shift a little bit, and then I would shift my shoulder a bit so the equipment was not poking me quite so hard.  I could see out the window, but not much, since moving my head hurt quite a bit - I was holding my head as still as I could.  I may have fallen asleep on the ride down, I don't really remember. 

We got to the hospital, and at this point everything was kind of blurry.  I know there were some tests.  They moved me from the bed to the platform for a CT scan, and back to the bed.  Then they said something about an angiogram.    Next thing I remember is hearing someone say - She can't stay awake.  We have to keep her awake so she can hold still.  Then it went kind of like this:

Janet, wake up.  Janet, take a breath.  Hold it...Hold it...Hold it... Now breathe.

I found out later that was the angiogram, where they inject die and take pictures of your brain. 
The rest of the evening blurred, and I think I finally fell asleep.  It wasn't until the next day that I heard the term sub-arachnoid hemorrhage, which is what I experienced that morning, and I began to find out just how lucky and blessed I was!