Maybe I'm being dramatic... Maybe I shouldn't think about it as much because it's over... Maybe I really shouldn't have read that wikipedia article about pulmonary embolisms... Maybe I should stop letting my hormones control my emotions... maybe... but tonight I cried.
For those of you who maybe missed it on Facebook (where I attempted to update the world once a day instead of constantly answering the same questions through text messages - yes, it advertised my own health problems for my 900+ friends, but it also let people know quickly and easily what the latest developments were, without them bothering me as I was either resting or just trying to catch that next breath), a recap:
Sunday, 10/4 - 5a-ish - I woke up unable to breathe. It was sudden. It felt like someone took a knife to the left-most portion of my chest (under my armpit) every time I tried to take a breath. It was, to say it lightly, painful. It was scary. However, Dr. Eaic and Dr. Trazy diagnosed this pain as "a high gas bubble" for which the obvious treatment is a good dose of Pepto Bismol and some yoga. Surprisingly, it soothed my pain and after a good bout of flatulence, I was able to rest a little until my alarm went off. I went into the city and shopped with a friend at an annual flea market for plus size people (the Big Fat Flea).
Sunday, 10/4 - 4pish - I tried to lay down and take a nap. Considering I hadn't gotten much sleep from the night before, I thought perhaps a 20 minute nap could refresh me and allow me to finish my homework. However, for about an hour, I tossed and turned. The nap wasn't happening and the pain had returned in full force. At that point, I turned to the trusty WebMD. Something was written about laying on the side of the pain to take it away. I tried it and thought I was literally about to die. At this point, WebMD searches turned to Urgent Care center searches. I absolutely despise emergency rooms. Still convinced it was something as simple as gas, there was no way I was going to go to an ER for that. Unfortunately, there is only one urgent care center open on Sunday after 6p on Staten Island. Eaic came home from the gym and away we went.
Sunday 10/4 - 7:05p - 5 minutes after arriving at the urgent care center, an EKG is ordered. 5 minutes later, we're receiving paperwork and being advised by the doctor to go to an emergency room immediately for fear of blood clots.
After arriving at the ER, it became apparent to me that my situation was serious when I was moved from a stretcher in the hallway to a private room way before other patients ahead of me. I was hooked up to an oxygen monitor and a heart monitor. I also got oxygen while they attempted and failed 10 times (not an exaggeration) to get an IV into my veins. Seriously - they even failed with an ultrasound machine locating the veins! They thought they got one and instead pumped dye into my arm while I tried to get a CT scan. Finally, at around 4a, a beautiful nurse came in and nailed it... right in my dominant wrist. Whatever. At least we could get the CT scan. A quick scan and thirty minutes later, it was confirmed. My lungs were hosting blood clots. Both lungs, even though only one of them hurt. Big ones, according to the doctor. Serious ones, according to the look on his face.
The next steps - painful, extremely painful shots of Lovenox in my belly (at that point, after not eating since 1p, I wanted a lot of things to get in my belly, but this shot was NOT one of them). Continued monitoring, lots of fluids, lots of tests and of course, not a lot of rest.
The next couple days are a blur. People kept coming in while wearing lab coats and introducing themselves. They'd give me a pill or take my blood pressure or draw blood (from a separate poke, mind you, not even from the IV!)... They'd tell me something and then someone else would come in after an hour or so and tell me something different.
Finally on Tuesday afternoon, I was moved upstairs. I had been admitted before midnight on Sunday/Monday, but it took more than 36 hours to get a bed upstairs. This is how busy they were! Finally, I met with the pulmonology team. I also got to finally meet my doctor. Everyone kept having that same concerned look in their face. I just kept waiting for them to finally let me out. I was dirty and tired and missed the freedom of being able to use my right hand (have you ever had to pull up your pants with only one hand? it's harder than it seems! I started to dread using the bathroom!)
Finally, after discussing in depth the fact that I did not want to administer self-injections, I was discharged with Xarelto (a new pill blood thinner) and a book to read with instructions for following up. When I got home, I did a Google search for pulmonary embolisms. What I found astonished me. Plain and simple: I'm lucky to be alive. In the hospital, I just rolled with the punches...
Okay, you're going to attach a bunch of sticky things to me to test or monitor my heart. No big deal.
Okay, you're going to inject dye into my arm and it's going to swirl throughout my body and make me feel all warm and tingly inside (no joke). No big deal.
Okay, so I have blood clots. Y'all are gonna get them out, right? Great. No big deal.
Oh, look! Strawberry shortcake with lunch! Best lunch ever!
Okay, so I need a little more oxygen in my life. No big deal, there's a tank right there. Hook her up!
Okay, so I have to keep getting these painful shots in my belly every 12 hours. They must be good for me because I can breathe again.
No
big
deal.
Then today, I ventured out into the real world. I saw some of my friends. Everyone looked so scared and so relieved to see me. And then, some of them shared stories of people in their lives who had passed away from blood clots. I went home. I saw my handsome, loving, wonderful fiancee and realized OMG, he almost lost me. He, who stood over me as they poked big ol' needle after big ol' needle into my arm, hoping to catch a vein. He who wiped my tears after each failed attempt as gigantic bruises started forming throughout my forearm. He almost became a man without a fiancee. A man who buried his love before she took his last name.
So, as I sat in the living room while he napped this evening, I hope he forgives me for just allowing him to sleep peacefully. He's been through a hellish week. And please forgive me if I get a little weepy whenever I look into his eyes.
Maybe I'm being dramatic... Maybe I shouldn't think about it as much because it's over... Maybe I should continue to live my life every day remembering that it was a gift and on 10/4/15, I was spared from death yet again.
Live your life well, my friends. It will end too soon.
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