Texas (1400 miles from my parents and two/three hours from the ex-boyfriend I moved there with)

I spent the entire day on the floor--needless to say praying to and bargaining with any power who would listen (I'm not religious). As my body was growing cold and I was just a few minutes from giving up (I was choking on my own saliva--so passing out was not an option), my landlord (more on that pleasant story later) eventually gave into the pleas of my parents and my ex-boyfriend and checked on me and ended up calling 911. I was life-flighted to a hospital in San Antonio, where I spent two and a half weeks and passed my thirtieth birthday as a paraplegic--honestly I don't remember much--I was pretty high on morphine for about two months. I do remember the nurses bringing a cake (really for my parents because I was on tube feed) and singing to me. I was also on a respirator.