Rachel Wood: An Autobiography - Dealing with a life changing illness.

This is an autobiography, and a story to help open your eyes to something you might be able to understand, but don't quite yet. Give it a read, it'd be great to hear from you all.


3. The start of the PICU

I was sent from there to another hospital called the Royal Marsden - which I loved. I had my own room, a drop down flat screen T.V and food so good it could have been made in a restaurant. I began to recover when they gave me a course of steriod. They then spoke to me after running lots of tests - several weeks later, after many humiliating tests had been done on me and my bodily fluids, I was told I didn't have cancer. They had it wrong, and I was to go home because I was cured. So off home I went, beaming smile on my face, though at this point I had been so ill that I couldn't walk on my own. I got home, and saw the boy I thought I loved, along with his best friend as they came to my house together and sat with me and talked to me. My best friend wasn't there, but this boy was, and I thought I loved him for it. Four days later, I was rushed back into hospital, coughing up blood with Oxygen Saturation of 72%.

I was told that anything less than 92% and I was meant to be on Oxygen. They placed a mask over my face, and anyone who was in proximity of me was forced to wear an apron, mask and gloves in case whatever I had was contagious. They had no idea what was wrong. That night they sent me on my way to another hospital - St Georges again. On arrival at St Georges I was sent to the PICU unit, (ICU for children). Here I had a green balloon which pumped air into my body - too much air, so much it hurt.

This is where they told me they were going to put me into a medically induced coma, just for 2 days so they can run some more tests and my body could cope. 6 weeks later I began to wake up from the coma. I will admit, I don't remember much. I remember being naked, and having no pubic hair still from the last time I'd shaved. I thought everyone was having a joke with me, it couldn't have been 6 weeks, it just couldn't. I still had my God damn pubes.

The nurses explained to me that non-essential body parts (hair, pubic hair, nails etc) don't grow when the body comes into a state of crisis. I still didn't believe them. I text the boy I had a crush on to ask him what had gone on, and if it had really been 6 week, and I got a very emotional text back, confirming that it had indeed been 6 weeks. My parents seemed alien to me, I didn't believe it, I couldn't believe it. I'd been gone for 6 weeks and I didn't even know it? It felt like waking up from a normal bloody sleep! I didn't understand anything, I was on a lot of drugs, so my mind wasn't quite working as normally as it should have done.

Soon after, I fell asleep for a while, and woke up again. This time, there was a gaping hole in my neck, with a pipe shoved inside it. I had a tracheotomy.

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