© Mary E. Gale

In ICU I fell into a trance. The second night I dreamed. A snake squeezed itself down my throat. In horror, I watched its rattle at the tip of its tail twitch. I yanked hard at its big black body. But each time I almost pulled the slimy reptile out a hand jammed the awful creature back down. For four days that animal made me gag and gag as it slid around my mouth. I wiggled my tongue to thrust the reptile against my cheek. I couldn’t breathe.

~

Seven days earlier I had sat on the edge of my bed at 6:15 AM. All night I had panted to get enough air. Why was my breathing so short? That new oxygen tank or the long cord must have been the problem, I thought. I called Claudina, my best friend and next-door neighbor, who raced right over. Immediately, she phoned the company that sent the oxygen. They claimed their equipment was fine, that I was just anxious. While she was still in the room I called my houseman, Jose, to come care for my Yorkshire puppy. I told Claudina to take her children to school so she would not know how ill I really felt. After she left the house I called 911. Short minutes later the medics and I were off to JFK where they left me in ER.

Claudina and Jose arrived. The hospital staff moved me to the Pulmonary Floor. I lay in a bed staring at the ceiling. Two days inched by during which my breathing settled to normal.

And then! Oh, no, that scary breathing again! A rush of words left my mouth. "Nurse, this is what happened at home! This is what–."

Blackness, not sleep but real nothingness, seemed forever. Could I be dead? I saw no white light or tunnel to God, just nothingness. I heard voices but my eyes wouldn’t open. I had to be alive to hear voices, didn’t I? But why wouldn’t my eyes open? Why couldn’t I see? So scared. Abruptly, my eyes did open. Some lady I didn’t know smiled down at me with a "Hi, there, you’re mine today."

~

I tried to say hi back but nothing came out. Someone had finally found a way to shut my mouth. Since talking was out of the question I had to put my mind to other pursuits. For five days my mind danced with thoughts that came and went.

On the fifth evening my feet hung off the bed. Two nurses braced me, one on each side–why? I don’t need help to go from bed to a chair. Oh, yeah, right! As my once strong legs found solid ground I buckled. All the memories of little Meggie, CP person, rushed back. I half slid into a chair. Then the two nurses situated me comfortably. Oh, my God! My body had some new learning to do.

A new phase in the journey–putting me back in bed. The two nurses reappeared. One took my feet, the other my shoulders, and in an instant I was on the bed. I was embarrassed. At this moment I had an epiphany–I was fat and clumsy. I had stubbornly remained with my own comforts. I had been in such denial for years. I hated the yucky diets forced on me. I thought I needed cigarettes to ease boredom and tension.

Earlier that day my nurse had said that if I relaxed for two hours that "snake" would be out. I had a time frame. Now I could do this and I did.

When my night nurse arrived he took such pride in my improvement that it boosted my morale. I didn’t want to sleep. I felt he had a story to tell and I wanted to listen. He told me of how a wealthy man who did a lot to rebuild Palm Beach’s life brought my nurse with him. They got separated and my nurse ended up working in ICU.

By re-inserting that snake each time I pulled it out he had saved my life. Now he had a fresh anecdote to keep his patients’ minds off their troubles. He had kept alive a member of one of the founding families of the town of Palm Beach–no, not Flagler. My mother’s grandfather, Charles Bingham, was the friend who journeyed with Henry Flagler from St. Augustine to settle this wilderness by the Atlantic Ocean.

When my nurse told me the next step was physical therapy, I reacted with "Physical therapy is not new to me." At nine years old I used to stumble down my parents’ stairs dragging my left foot and clutching a frozen fist against my neck. The Crippled Children’s clinic and my seven-year-old brother’s persistence had taught me to hold a fork in my hand when cutting my meat. To walk. Even to run. With only a slight limp. Now I would face rehab again, only this time alone. The will to live a full life keeps me pushing for strength.

Getting back to the snake. I’ve heard that many snakes help the environment by eating vermin. Now I know the ICU snake does more than that. It gives life in the hands of this wonderful, patient, medical staff at John F. Kennedy’s ICU. God bless you.