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Or relax and enjoy a typical Turkish bathhouse, the hamam. Opening hours are unrestricted and you can party round the clock. Who ran interference with family and friends through countless texts and calls, who held it together like a warrior even as she was breaking inside. Photos of April Tickets Make sure to book your tickets to the parties in time. New York New York, the city that never sleeps.
Good Marching – Experiences in autism and the rest of life
To learn how to breathe again. Three months later I still tire quickly, and am working abbreviated days for now.
It is one of the party and play capitals of Europe. Many bars, clubs and parties seem to have a darkroom. And I hold tightly to the countless moments of grace I experienced amid the pain and disquiet of this illness.
You have to be there, at my wedding. It took days for me to fully appreciate the impact my illness had had on those who love me, how close they came to losing me. But the price for such escape is too high. Sometimes I long for those first, tremulous weeks back home, safely cocooned in the blanket of recovery, my weaknesses indulged, nothing expected of me but to care for myself. The innumerable ways my friends nurtured my husband and daughter during the most frightening time of their lives.
What everyone agreed on, however, is that it quite possibly could have killed me. The nurses had, in fact, initially told Andy that I probably did have the flu, that oral swabs like the one my internist had taken in her office were often inaccurate. Friends and co-workers came, too, murmuring words of encouragement to my unconscious form, sitting with Natalie in the waiting room, asking questions of the medical staff.
What had at first appeared to be a bad flu or perhaps a simple pneumonia was proving much more serious. He provided a timeline, a picture of how dire my illness had been. It will take six months or more, my internist warns, to truly feel whole again.
Preparing to call Andy, he instead wasted no time in addressing the next legal authority listed on my intake form. As hours and then days passed, though, the mood shifted from concern to palpable alarm. For the first time since Sunday I had started to improve. But this is a story I need to tell. Apparently my condition was so tenuous that even the shift from hospital bed to ambulance gurney was dicey.
My condition remained unchanged for two and a half days. It's very difficult to get bored in this thrilling city.
Nine days after my initial call for paramedics, Andy and Natalie were called to the hospital to provide familiar faces as they pulled me from the coma. My heart, though, heard it loud and clear.
His admission, voice breaking, that he feared he would lose me. Darren, my soon-to-be son-in-law, grabbed an Uber and rushed to Evanston, joining a vigil no one could have anticipated just days earlier.
As awful as those first days of recovery were, I had missed the worst of it. And I will be there for her. On the way he recounted the stats of my illness as it had progressed, the first glimmers of hope when hope was yet a rare commodity. Fortuitously, my close friend Marla arrived minutes later, embracing Natalie as she related the latest news. Even with the ventilator and massive antibiotics, begun intravenously when I first arrived at the hospital, I was not improving.
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