I woke up in August and thought it was February. When I tried to eat Cheerios or my grandma’s chicken noodle soup, I was unable to bring my right hand to my mouth.
I had to let my parents feed me as if I was an infant again. How was it Sunday when my open heart surgery was Thursday? I couldn’t figure out what was happening to me, what happened to four days of my life, or why I couldn’t do simple things I once took for granted, like feeding myself or having the ability to easily recall the day of the week and month of the year.
I remember asking, “Mom, what happened?” I can’t recall if any other family members were in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit of Johns Hopkins Hospital with me, but they already knew what my mom was about to tell me,
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