Cat Hoke Medical Emergency
Donation protected
Hi, I’m Cat. In prison, they call me Gangsta’ Gata (gata is “cat” in Spanish). Pre-COVID, I was an energetic, multi-sport athlete (including mogul skiing). I lived a super-healthy lifestyle and was triple vaxxed (Moderna). I'm 45 years old. Asthma was my only pre-existing condition, but it didn't interfere with my life, leadership, fun, and aggressive goals.
Getting COVID in April 2022 (my first and only bout with it) changed things. Within three weeks, I was unable to walk. I now need help getting to the bathroom and need care 24-7.
I feel so blessed to be at the Houston Methodist Hospital, which is a top-ranked hospital nationally. They have an excellent long-COVID program, where I was thankfully admitted on June 1st. I'm treated like family here by the doctors and staff. They’re keeping me at the hospital for 10 weeks for testing and an intensive rehabilitative treatment to give me my best shot at recovery.
I've now been diagnosed with dysautonomia, neuropathy, reflex sympathetic dystrophy, enthesopathy, a heart arrhythmia and palpitations, cough-variant asthma, costochondritis, and pleurisy.
I'll explain what these diagnoses mean for my life: Think of the brain as a central computer that controls the body's functions. The rest of the nervous system is like a network that relays messages back and forth from the brain to different parts of the body. I’m having serious nervous system issues, which leads to problems with my heart and lungs. I’ve had nine asthma attacks. I have blurry vision, swelling, bruising, blood pooling, excruciating pain, and localized spasms. It’s hard to sleep with these spasms that cause me to do involuntary “sit-ups.” I’m on a nice cocktail of meds that help.
It feels like my body has betrayed me. But I’m deeply grateful that my mind is strong and intact, and I generally sound fine—like my regular energetic, optimistic, chatty self. Interestingly, my memory has improved.
I've never been shy in fundraising for rehabilitating people in prison ... but asking for financial help for myself feels ... so humbling (and even shameful). I 100% know I “shouldn't” feel this way; but up until now, I've taken pride in being a fairly autonomous person. Today, needing to ask for just about everything—from help putting on my socks and shoes to asking for personal financial support—is really, really hard for me. As more pride is stripped away from me, I see that I'm on a journey of becoming a wiser, more compassionate human and leader.
I came into this medical emergency ill-prepared financially, having invested my life savings into my prison work. I've already incurred $80,000+ in out-of-pocket medical costs, which has put me in significant credit card debt—and doctors tell me I still have at least five more weeks here at the hospital. I have "great" insurance (a Platinum PPO), but they simply don't cover many expenses, including the five-week intensive rehabilitation program I just started at the hospital. I simply don’t know all the costs yet, but here are details on expenses I do have insight into.
Use of funds will include these three categories:
1. Hospital and Medical Costs
The hospital's rehabilitation program. Tests like my PET cardiac scan. Prescriptions not covered by insurance. Doctor visits. Cardiac therapy and neuro-physical therapy to help me walk again. Costs related to my stay at the medical center (which is attached to the hospital). I don't yet know all of the total out-of-pocket costs, but based on current data, I estimate the costs in this category alone, which cover 10 weeks at the hospital to amount to $120K+ of out-of-pocket costs.
2. Doctor-Recommended Services, ADA Living Accommodations, Moving, and Care Costs
Buying ADA equipment (I am now a person who has physical disabilities). Supplements recommended by doctors. The road trip back to CA (doctors say I shouldn’t get on a plane because my nervous system won't do well with the changes in air pressure). Possibly moving to a new place (the condo I currently rent has stairs). Hiring a caretaker. Other doctor-recommended services like acupuncture and mental health services (including "acceptance management therapy" to help me accept and adapt to my new limitations). Though I don’t yet have all the numbers for Category #2, it isn't a small one.
3. Unanticipated Health-related Costs
So far, new symptoms and more medical tests have been revealing more health challenges every week. (When I came to the Houston hospital program, I packed for 10 days. It's now turning into 10+ weeks.) Thankfully, I have been stabilizing and am responsive to my meds, so I hope/believe this trajectory is slowing down.
Should I have an early recovery (which I'm 100% aiming for!), I will VERY gladly donate any surplus of funding to Hustle 2.0 to fund scholarships for incarcerated men and women. I also promise all donors quarterly reports, transparency, and accounting of expenses.
With commitment, appropriate medical treatment, and lifestyle management, medical studies show that 80%+ of people with my diagnoses show improvement within five years. Some of my medical problems could present a “life sentence,” so I’m planning for the worst, and hoping for the best.
My favorite doctor thinks I can defy the odds; she said, “With your positive mindset and motivation, you could be doing light cross-country skiing in a year.” Now that's my kind of talk! But to optimize my recovery, every doctor here (I now have more than 10 of them!) has told me that my #1 order is to REST. They're teaching me the word “pace," which kinda makes me want to scream. If you've encountered me, you know how impatient I am for results and action! So ... I have a LOT to learn, and I’m thankful that my medical team is exceptionally experienced and devoted, and I feel hands-down the most protected, spoiled, loved, and cherished of my entire life.
Until recently, the things that were happening in my body were so alarming and painful that for 32 straight nights, as I went to sleep, I seriously feared not waking up. So, I became more intentional about telling people how much I loved and cherished them. My medical crisis has led me straight to gratitude. I'm SO GRATEFUL to be here today, sharing my journey with you. If you track my journey, I promise it won’t be a sob story. During the worst time of my life, God is truly doing remarkable work in me. I hope to find many silver linings, so that my pain (and healing journey!) can benefit you and the thousands of people I have the privilege of serving through Hustle 2.0. Oh, and it helps me (and perhaps you!) to know that doctors have told me that my diagnoses are not life-threatening.
I succeed in being positive 80–90%+ of the time (just keepin' it real). When I'm most discouraged, I engage my coping skills. I make time to cry and grieve my losses. I reach out to my support team and therapists. I'm finally painting again (my favorite medicine!) and am fulfilling commissions; the portrait I'm holding in my wheelchair photo is one I'm working on for my "adopted" son Jason and his bride! I also cope by helping others here at the hospital (lots of similarities with prisons ...). On my motorized wheelchair (aka Rollin’ Thunda’!!), I’m like my own rainbow parade float, which makes others (and me!) smile. I liberally hand out "YOU ROCK" tickets to myself and to people I interact with; this small gesture is shockingly effective. I'm dedicated to a daily practice of gratitudes, meditation, and yoga designed for people with dysautonomia. I've devised an awesome personal reward system to help counter my shame and negative thoughts.
I am scared, raw, and vulnerable. But thankfully, I'm an experienced fighter, dating back to my comeback-kid high school wrestling days. I have a track record of reinventing myself. So ... I know I'm uniquely equipped to now face my life's biggest challenge. I am, however, under-qualified in the departments of "resting" and "pacing" myself, so I'm following doctors' orders to fulfill my intense hospital schedule, do aqua therapy, and then ... paint! I remain sincerely hopeful about my recovery.
This experience is reminding me that life is so fragile, and so beautiful! I am faced with choices about how I show up in the world. Every day, my pain can (and sometimes does) push me toward rage, extreme sadness, and shame, leaving me feeling isolated. But on most days, I engage my healthy coping skills, and my suffering leads me to greater connection, joy, and thankfulness.
In each moment: The choice is mine. We’re all carrying some kind of pain. Is yours driving you to make the world a more joyful, loving place?
I am filled with immense gratitude for your consideration and help. Seriously, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for helping me get to the other side of this and back on my feet (literally!!). I promise to apply funds to do everything in my power to recover so I can continue living a life of joy, love, and service to others. Welcome to Cat 3.0!
Air hugs, love, and smiles,
Cat
P. S. I'll post updates, but please remember that I am not dying. :) They run a tight ship here at the hospital program, and my doctors and rehab appointments are scheduled every day from 8:30–4:00 p.m., and I'm exhausted when my day is done. Electronic detox is a part of my doctor's orders. So ... please don't mistake my silence for a lack of love or gratitude! Thank you!
Getting COVID in April 2022 (my first and only bout with it) changed things. Within three weeks, I was unable to walk. I now need help getting to the bathroom and need care 24-7.
I feel so blessed to be at the Houston Methodist Hospital, which is a top-ranked hospital nationally. They have an excellent long-COVID program, where I was thankfully admitted on June 1st. I'm treated like family here by the doctors and staff. They’re keeping me at the hospital for 10 weeks for testing and an intensive rehabilitative treatment to give me my best shot at recovery.
I've now been diagnosed with dysautonomia, neuropathy, reflex sympathetic dystrophy, enthesopathy, a heart arrhythmia and palpitations, cough-variant asthma, costochondritis, and pleurisy.
I'll explain what these diagnoses mean for my life: Think of the brain as a central computer that controls the body's functions. The rest of the nervous system is like a network that relays messages back and forth from the brain to different parts of the body. I’m having serious nervous system issues, which leads to problems with my heart and lungs. I’ve had nine asthma attacks. I have blurry vision, swelling, bruising, blood pooling, excruciating pain, and localized spasms. It’s hard to sleep with these spasms that cause me to do involuntary “sit-ups.” I’m on a nice cocktail of meds that help.
It feels like my body has betrayed me. But I’m deeply grateful that my mind is strong and intact, and I generally sound fine—like my regular energetic, optimistic, chatty self. Interestingly, my memory has improved.
I've never been shy in fundraising for rehabilitating people in prison ... but asking for financial help for myself feels ... so humbling (and even shameful). I 100% know I “shouldn't” feel this way; but up until now, I've taken pride in being a fairly autonomous person. Today, needing to ask for just about everything—from help putting on my socks and shoes to asking for personal financial support—is really, really hard for me. As more pride is stripped away from me, I see that I'm on a journey of becoming a wiser, more compassionate human and leader.
I came into this medical emergency ill-prepared financially, having invested my life savings into my prison work. I've already incurred $80,000+ in out-of-pocket medical costs, which has put me in significant credit card debt—and doctors tell me I still have at least five more weeks here at the hospital. I have "great" insurance (a Platinum PPO), but they simply don't cover many expenses, including the five-week intensive rehabilitation program I just started at the hospital. I simply don’t know all the costs yet, but here are details on expenses I do have insight into.
Use of funds will include these three categories:
1. Hospital and Medical Costs
The hospital's rehabilitation program. Tests like my PET cardiac scan. Prescriptions not covered by insurance. Doctor visits. Cardiac therapy and neuro-physical therapy to help me walk again. Costs related to my stay at the medical center (which is attached to the hospital). I don't yet know all of the total out-of-pocket costs, but based on current data, I estimate the costs in this category alone, which cover 10 weeks at the hospital to amount to $120K+ of out-of-pocket costs.
2. Doctor-Recommended Services, ADA Living Accommodations, Moving, and Care Costs
Buying ADA equipment (I am now a person who has physical disabilities). Supplements recommended by doctors. The road trip back to CA (doctors say I shouldn’t get on a plane because my nervous system won't do well with the changes in air pressure). Possibly moving to a new place (the condo I currently rent has stairs). Hiring a caretaker. Other doctor-recommended services like acupuncture and mental health services (including "acceptance management therapy" to help me accept and adapt to my new limitations). Though I don’t yet have all the numbers for Category #2, it isn't a small one.
3. Unanticipated Health-related Costs
So far, new symptoms and more medical tests have been revealing more health challenges every week. (When I came to the Houston hospital program, I packed for 10 days. It's now turning into 10+ weeks.) Thankfully, I have been stabilizing and am responsive to my meds, so I hope/believe this trajectory is slowing down.
Should I have an early recovery (which I'm 100% aiming for!), I will VERY gladly donate any surplus of funding to Hustle 2.0 to fund scholarships for incarcerated men and women. I also promise all donors quarterly reports, transparency, and accounting of expenses.
With commitment, appropriate medical treatment, and lifestyle management, medical studies show that 80%+ of people with my diagnoses show improvement within five years. Some of my medical problems could present a “life sentence,” so I’m planning for the worst, and hoping for the best.
My favorite doctor thinks I can defy the odds; she said, “With your positive mindset and motivation, you could be doing light cross-country skiing in a year.” Now that's my kind of talk! But to optimize my recovery, every doctor here (I now have more than 10 of them!) has told me that my #1 order is to REST. They're teaching me the word “pace," which kinda makes me want to scream. If you've encountered me, you know how impatient I am for results and action! So ... I have a LOT to learn, and I’m thankful that my medical team is exceptionally experienced and devoted, and I feel hands-down the most protected, spoiled, loved, and cherished of my entire life.
Until recently, the things that were happening in my body were so alarming and painful that for 32 straight nights, as I went to sleep, I seriously feared not waking up. So, I became more intentional about telling people how much I loved and cherished them. My medical crisis has led me straight to gratitude. I'm SO GRATEFUL to be here today, sharing my journey with you. If you track my journey, I promise it won’t be a sob story. During the worst time of my life, God is truly doing remarkable work in me. I hope to find many silver linings, so that my pain (and healing journey!) can benefit you and the thousands of people I have the privilege of serving through Hustle 2.0. Oh, and it helps me (and perhaps you!) to know that doctors have told me that my diagnoses are not life-threatening.
I succeed in being positive 80–90%+ of the time (just keepin' it real). When I'm most discouraged, I engage my coping skills. I make time to cry and grieve my losses. I reach out to my support team and therapists. I'm finally painting again (my favorite medicine!) and am fulfilling commissions; the portrait I'm holding in my wheelchair photo is one I'm working on for my "adopted" son Jason and his bride! I also cope by helping others here at the hospital (lots of similarities with prisons ...). On my motorized wheelchair (aka Rollin’ Thunda’!!), I’m like my own rainbow parade float, which makes others (and me!) smile. I liberally hand out "YOU ROCK" tickets to myself and to people I interact with; this small gesture is shockingly effective. I'm dedicated to a daily practice of gratitudes, meditation, and yoga designed for people with dysautonomia. I've devised an awesome personal reward system to help counter my shame and negative thoughts.
I am scared, raw, and vulnerable. But thankfully, I'm an experienced fighter, dating back to my comeback-kid high school wrestling days. I have a track record of reinventing myself. So ... I know I'm uniquely equipped to now face my life's biggest challenge. I am, however, under-qualified in the departments of "resting" and "pacing" myself, so I'm following doctors' orders to fulfill my intense hospital schedule, do aqua therapy, and then ... paint! I remain sincerely hopeful about my recovery.
This experience is reminding me that life is so fragile, and so beautiful! I am faced with choices about how I show up in the world. Every day, my pain can (and sometimes does) push me toward rage, extreme sadness, and shame, leaving me feeling isolated. But on most days, I engage my healthy coping skills, and my suffering leads me to greater connection, joy, and thankfulness.
In each moment: The choice is mine. We’re all carrying some kind of pain. Is yours driving you to make the world a more joyful, loving place?
I am filled with immense gratitude for your consideration and help. Seriously, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for helping me get to the other side of this and back on my feet (literally!!). I promise to apply funds to do everything in my power to recover so I can continue living a life of joy, love, and service to others. Welcome to Cat 3.0!
Air hugs, love, and smiles,
Cat
P. S. I'll post updates, but please remember that I am not dying. :) They run a tight ship here at the hospital program, and my doctors and rehab appointments are scheduled every day from 8:30–4:00 p.m., and I'm exhausted when my day is done. Electronic detox is a part of my doctor's orders. So ... please don't mistake my silence for a lack of love or gratitude! Thank you!
Organizer
Catherine Jackson (Formerly Hoke)
Organizer
Truckee, CA