My eyes opened wide and aware— not the usual slow groggy return from the void of anesthesia I had experienced in the past.
This was definitely not a single nurse in a softly-lit, quietly-reassuring recovery room. Noisy. Bright. People on both sides of my gurney surrounded by an array of boxy machines sporting all manner of dials and tubes. It was still the OR
Anxious faces stared down at me. The gastroenterologist, who must have been sitting to be at eye level with me, held me in her direct gaze. Disappointment in her eyes preceded her words. “I can’t tell you anything. I couldn’t complete the procedures. You stopped breathing.” The smiling, curly-haired, blond nurse next to her blurted out “You turned blue!”
The inadvertent outburst was quickly followed by the observers’ professional facial expressions clicking back into place. I could sense the concern of the anesthesiologist and the other nurse standing at his elbow. They all began to reduce the palpable aura of fear, anxiety and relief with their usual well-practiced, straight-from-the-left-brain explanations of what had happened.
My colon had been unexpectedly blocked by diverticula preventing the colonoscope from moving far enough into the colon to complete the check for a cancer recurrence.
The doctor then turned to the endoscopy procedure that had also been ordered to investigate an outsized hiatal hernia. I was told it took all the team members to lift, roll and place my body into an awkward convoluted position so the camera on the end of the scope could get a good view. The positioning caused the outsized hernia to push on my heart and left lung preventing blood and oxygen flow.
I stopped breathing sending those well-laid diagnostic plans awry.
The pivot to emergency recovery procedures was obviously effective as my breath returned and I went from blue, (which has never been my color) back to a pinked-up normal hue.
The professional staff folded their feelings of surprise and terror back in their place out of the way of the serious business of medicine. They went on to the next patient.
My husband and I, both having mastered the art of dignified calm in crisis, effectively suppressed our emotions too. The shock of a near death event was nowhere in evidence as we proceeded to a nearby restaurant as if nothing unusual had happened. I needed something to eat and drink after the 24 hour purge and fast of the colonoscopy prep.
It took a meal, some mindless TV and a good night’s sleep before I could even begin to process my rather blatant Momento Mori.
My intention in creating THE END’s inSIGHTs is to learn how to make friends with death. This is an arduous and complex journey of reading broadly and deeply. It also means seeking others on a similar quest who want to have honest and vulnerable discussions about death. These activities and my writing are my way of discovering philosophical, ethical, and personal insights. As this is a project that I view as a long-term effort, I never dreamed that I would have a face-to- face encounter so soon and be so ill-prepared to be ready to receive the insights on offer.
In this moment, I shrug and revisit the words of Marcus Aurelius:
“Death smiles at us all, all one can do is smile back”
Smiling has always come easy for me. Not being physically striking, disarmingly charming or particularly funny, I started learning as early as preschool that smiling not only signals friendliness but is also a great portable protection device that I keep with me always.
My smile is often used as a mask or even armor that obscures vulnerability and insecurity from view. With this near-death event I learned that I can indeed smile back at death. The insight that I was given is that I have a way to go before smiling at death is less a mask and more a sign of authentic and abiding friendship.
Caroline, your ability to turn every life event into a learning is so inspiring! I love this intention… To be able to smile at death. We know so little about what will come afterward. I know I cling to this body in this life that is so precious and I hope that when the time comes, I will embrace the mystery… Maybe even smile at the Mystery death will bring. Thank you so much for sharing such a scary experience and turning it into a lesson for us all. I love your writing and I love hearing your voice. Thank you so much for your huge learning curve that allows you to bring us inspiring story🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻
I hope you're doing alright now, Caroline.
Puts things in a whole new perspective when you have an experience like that, doesn't it? Just makes it a bit more real.