Reflections: On Being Afraid of October
A new series - capturing important moments and seasons of my life, reflecting upon & writing periodic letters to myself at various ages and stages (in no particular order).
October 1st, 2016 was a Saturday. I wish I didn’t know this off the top of my head.
The following day, October 2nd, I woke up surprisingly early, feeling restless in my skin, in my body, in my bed. I changed and walked to the gym. I worked out, stopped at Target for some new fall decor, and picked up Starbucks on my walk back home. My now husband was traveling abroad for work, and I planned to spend the day cleaning the apartment and catching up on our DVR.
About two hours later, I received a phone call through Facebook Messenger - a feature I didn’t even know was available at the time.
It was an old friend, a sorority sister whom I hadn’t talked to in years. She didn’t have my phone number, but she knew she needed to reach me. Her words came out desperate. Frantic. Full of sobs and gasps for air.
The night before, a group of their friends, my sisters, had attended a wedding. And at that wedding, a fluke accident became an irreparable tragedy.
My closest friend, Jordan, had choked on a piece of steak at dinner.
And in desperately trying not to cause a scene, she bolted to the bathroom to try to perform the Heimlich maneuver on herself. Except - there wasn’t anyone else in the bathroom. And she wasn’t successful. By the time someone found her, she wasn’t breathing. Too much time had gone by without oxygen getting to her brain. They rushed her to the hospital, with paramedics performing CPR the entire time, but it was too late.
The friend who called me could barely get the words out, but she was adamant that I hear it from her rather than on social media or from anyone else.
For that, I’ll always be grateful.
Jordan’s death took away a part of my life for a long time.
You see, Jordan was very much a version of me, just two years younger. She was a highly functioning anxious person, determined to achieve straight A’s in Drake’s 6 year Pharmacy program, and making all the right decisions. Her freshman year she was adamant about shedding the skin that had made her vulnerable, gotten her bullied, and hurt her during high school and the previous years - and it took her a while at school to find her footing. I think about one not so forgettable moment in which she had tested her limits with alcohol, and her limits pinned her down. I was there for that. I was there in that moment, sitting beside her hospital bed. If I had any idea that our friendship would go on to last 10 beautiful years, and then I’d be forced to say goodbye to her for real, I would’ve tried harder to break down the stigma and the shame she experienced after that incident. I sure tried to be available to her in the aftermath - answering every call, every text, even supervising her at college parties - I wanted her to find safe again. I wanted her to know that we had an an unwavering connection, and as much as I needed someone who could over me that, I knew I could offer it too.
When Jordan died, I could barely get out of bed or function for weeks on end. My heart had never hurt so bad in my life. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t be alone.
[Authors note: Jordan was at the time the 3rd friend and 4th deeply loved person that I had lost. Perhaps it was the hardest to date knowing that her death was preventable? Perhaps the kindred spirit relationship we’d shared? Perhaps it was the feelings and the wishes and the what-if’s it brought up me?]
Losing Jordan made my world dark for a long time. I felt like I didn’t know how to live in a world without her. A few weeks after she passed, I got her signature tattooed on my ankle, so she’d be with me on every step I took moving forward through this life. And in the years since then, I’ve done everything I could to keep her memory alive in my heart and in the world around me.
JB - this is for that one time. for all of the times afterwards. for the dammit dolls and the random acts of kindness and the time you fell out of the bunk bed. this is for the nights you let me sleep in your crowded dorm room suite and for the days that you stayed by my side. I’ll never know which of us needed it more in the season that Jennifer died, but I know that together we got through it.
& ultimately, losing you will hurt for life. There was something about that moment that made me think deep and truly into my own heart and my own life. I wish so badly I’d bee there. That you’d have been less proud and less afraid to be embarrassed. I know you had no idea that running to the bathroom would be the last thing you’d ever do - and I always will wish I could have changed some of that. Thank you for the years of card and facetimes and visits, and for the last text you sent the night of the wedding that simply said “Love you”. Thank you for reminding me who I was when I got sick. Thank you for all that you were to me, and that you allowed me to me for you. Finally, thank you for leaving me with your love for Christine. I promise in the last 8 years I’ve done my best to love her the way you loved us both. I think we’d both have a much harder time in this life without each other. Life hasn’t been easy for either of us - and we just hope that you keep looking down and watching. Waiting for the moment when one of us can exhale again.
Your death was untimely and unfair friend. And I’m heartbroken you had to face it alone. I wish I had been there. I wish it had been me, too.
One year later, to the exact day and time, I was in the hospital due to a significant Crohn’s disease flare. I was on a patient controlled pain medicine pump, along with several IV medications in trying to avoid needing a small bowel resection (surgery to remove part of my intestines). A miscommunication error between my doctor, the resident, the nurse and the pharmacist caused me to be overdosed on medication that nearly took my life. There are 36 hours that I don’t and never have been able to remember.
What I do remember is opening my eyes on October 2nd to a room that was unfamiliar (I’d been moved from my hospital room to the ICU), separated from the next patient by just a thin curtain, hearing all sorts of noises - beeps and whirrs and talking and crying, but also hearing the TV blaring from every monitor in the room - the continual news coverage about the Las Vegas Route 91 Harvest Musical Festival shooting which had happened at the exact same time as my own medical crisis. I was intubated and on a ventilator, which had been breathing for me, and I was alone. I couldn’t find a call button and I couldn’t call out. I have never been so scared in my entire life.
I was extremely lucky to physically recover from what occurred, but mentally, it still affects me to this day. And the irony is when I came to, when I was extubated and when my now husband arrived on scene - all I could think of was the timing. How was it possible that two October 1sts in a row, the world turned completely, terrifyingly upside down? How was I supposed to trust the universe, how was I supposed to survive Octobers, after I had such evidence to the contrary?
It took months before I could sleep through the night again. It was even longer before I could sleep in our bed. I had to take a leave of absence from my job, increase my therapy and therapeutic medication, I had to be treated for post traumatic stress disorder, and I had to find an entirely new medical team at a different hospital, as I could never walk back into that hospital again.
We filed a medical malpractice lawsuit against the hospital so their negligence didn’t go unchecked, but I won’t ever forget how I almost lost my life because of it.
It’s been seven years since that moment in time, and I still live in a world where I don’t trust the universe in the month of October.
Let me also say, I don’t believe in coincidences.
I honestly believe that the night I almost died, Jordan sent me back to earth. And I know that everyones beliefs about the aftermath, about what happens after human bodies take their last breaths differ - but what I’ve believed I’ve believed for as long as I can remember.
When I came home from that hospital stay, I was shattered.
And in all of the time since, I approach October silently. I watch and wait as September rolls to a close, and I then I text all of the people that are most important to me and remind them to be extra careful, to look both ways before crossing the street, to pay closer attention while they drive, and to be cautious all around.
As a sidenote, and without much detail today, I also don’t believe it’s a coincidence that the first friend I buried, Lauren, who died due to heart failure after damage from chemotherapy passed on October 29th, 2003. We were 17 and literally still children, wildly unprepared for how to go to school the next day and pretend that the lights hadn’t been turned out. With both her death and Jordan’s, the only silver lining was standing within the tribe of people who lost what I lost. Some of my closest friends today are people from both of those circles of friends.
So, let’s be super honest…
There’s something about October that feels wildly unsafe.
Trusting the universe is hard, if not impossible, and trusting it when you have all this proof to the contrary - it’s somewhat unfathomable. October to me will always come with hypervigilence, extra mental health support, more writing, distraction, honesty, space for grief and for reflection.
In writing through this, I can be honest in saying that I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling this way about October’s. I think it impacts how I feel about Halloween and the holiday season too. But I think that there’s a degree of normalcy in that. How could you go through what I’ve been through and not feel a sense of heightened awareness?
During other October’s I’ve had significant disease flare ups, semi-emergent surgeries, physical injuries, emotional breakdowns, and the list goes on and on.
I don’t know how to feel differently. I don’t know how to feel hyperaware. What has happened in October, or on October 1st, specifically, feels like it’ll always bear heavy weight as the seasons change, and as I try to find my footing all over again.
Have you ever experienced any wild and significant coincidences like this? I’d love to know I’m not the only one.
