Two weeks later...

"Do you believe God can get you out of this bed?"

I stared into the eyes of the African girl taking my vitals in the middle of the night and nodded.

"Your mother can believe and your husband can believe, but nothing will happen if you don't believe it yourself, " she said. "I see a bright future ahead of you and I believe you are under attack to stop you from reaching your future. You have to believe God can get you out of this bed."

She finished taking my blood pressure and wrapped the soft cuff around the end of the hospital bed. 

This midnight revelation came at the end of my first week in the hospital.

I went to the hospital for breast pain and a fever, but not just any breast pain. My left expander sent waves of pain through my chest with every step I took. The pain was so bad, I had resolved to cuffing my breast, at work, in an attempt to hold it in place whenever I moved. Not to mention, I was just starting to feel crummy. 

I left work early to head to physical therapy. "If I have a fever, I'm going to the hospital," I told my physical therapist. 

The low grade fever popped up and I was headed across the street to the hospital. 

"It's too late to call your plastic surgeon," said my physical therapist. She later called me and insisted I go to the other campus across town to get out faster. 

The irony. 

What happened next was two weeks of x-rays, ultrasounds, blood work, vomiting and sleepless nights. 

It started with a soft-tissue infection around my expander. Then, the antibiotics to treat the infection sent me into kidney failure. Kidney failure prevented from being able to keep anything down and gave me high blood pressure. The IV that had been placed for two weeks gave me blood clot. It was a hot mess!

I mean, seriously, I feel like I left more broken than I was when I got there. 

The good news is I'm home and on the mend. 

New blogs will be coming slowly, but surely. 

I've got a story to tell.  Stay tuned.