03.03.05 |
January 2002. I was rather exhausted. I had been "on the road" for what seemed like days and days.
Sure, they were short "day trips" ... an all day round-trip to Yuma in southwest Arizona and later that week, a drive to Tucson to give a presentation.
Time spent sitting in the car driving mile after mile across the Arizona desert. Sitting ... mile after mile.
I had a slight pain in the back of my left leg but attributed it to unstretched muscles and too many hours in high heels.
At the week end, the exhaustion had taken its toll. I simply was spent. Sure, many times before I returned home tired after these sales trips ... because, as I have said, I am not as young as I used to be.
However, I was not prepared for the next few days.
Every time I attempted to walk, even a few feet, I became winded and horribly fatigued. I would cough. I could not, for anything, "catch" my breath.
Finally, after the urging of my mother, I went to see a general care physician. Just getting to the car, from the car to the elevator, and then into the doctor's office was such an ordeal and struggle ... that even now, I get tears in my eyes thinking of the terror I was feeling.
I did not know this man. He did not know me. I presented to him with extremely low blood pressure and low pulse oxygen levels yet he diagnosed me with pneumonia and sent me home with a super-strength antibiotic saying that if I was not feeling better in a couple of days, to come back.
Coming back did not become an option.
My breathing became more and more shallow. I could not lay down as I could not catch my breath. I sat at the edge of my bed, head hanging to my chest ... struggling for my next gasp of air.
I knew I was in trouble but I was afraid to admit it.
Finally, due to the tears coursing down my Mother's face and the graven look of my friend Ray, I agreed to call "911".
While waiting for the paramedics, I asked my Mom for a hairbrush and a hand mirror.
Dear God, I was deeply cyanotic. My lips were blue, my face was paled to a grayish blue and my eyes were sunken deep with dark circles that even Max Factor could not disguise.
I was dying.
I am not being dramatic. Simply stating a fact.
The paramedics took one look at me and sprung into action. All my veins had collapsed and they stuck me time and time again attempting to get a line started. The lights-n-siren record pace ride to the Emergency Room did not help them "get the stick".
The activity in the ER became a blur ... oxygen masks, IVs in my ankles, EKGs, portable Xray machines, and the doppler on my legs that revealed a blood clot (DVT) behind my left knee.
Finally, the spiral CT confirmed the Emergency Room doc's suspicions: I had "thrown a clot" ... I had a Pulmonary Embolism.
Before they wheeled me to ICU, I heard the doctor tell my mother to call my family as probably I would not make it through the night.
I have had cancer and was told I may not survive. Twice. But at no time did I have the fear that I felt that afternoon in the elevator ... on a gurney, unable to breathe ... with nurses and a doctor as a support system escort.
I spent 3 days in Intensive Care and 13 days in Critical Care.
I learned that due to an existing medical condition, I am the "poster child" for unusual clotting and it was a miracle that it did not happen prior to this.
I surprised them all.
On my last day in the hospital, one of the phlebotomists (the lab techs who came to draw my blood literally every hour due to the heparin dripping into my veins and the introduction of oral anti-coagulants) told me that in the middle of the first night when she came in to take my blood, she knew she would never see me again. She was sure the PE had taken my life and it was just a matter of time.
My brother had flown in from Washington to be at my Mother's side. My family and Phoenix friends came to the hospital's waiting room to lend support. And pray. My internet friends S., N., and J. called the Critical Care Unit to check on my status. And pray.
Oh yes, I am a miracle.
But sadly, I am one of the very, very few who do survive a Pulmonary Embolism. Quoting Melanie Bloom, the wife of NBC correspondent David Bloom who died on April 6th, 2003, in Iraq from DVT/Pulmonary Embolism:
"I have learned that DVT occurs when a blood clot forms in a large vein, usually in a leg. A potentially fatal PE happens if the blood clot breaks loose, migrates to the lungs and blocks a pulmonary artery or one of its branches. It has rightly been called a silent epidemic. DVT affects up to 2 million Americans per year and PE causes up to 200,000 U.S. deaths annually — more than AIDS and breast cancer combined. While some call it the "economy class syndrome," it in fact casts a far wider net."
You see, David did not have the luxury of time ... he did not lose his breath and seek treatment. His death was quick and nothing could be done for him in the dusty deserts of Iraq. He had sat for hours and hours on end in the cramped spaces of his "Bloommobile". He had leg pain but wrote it off to unused muscles.
March is DVT Awareness Month.
Take it from someone who has been there ... and by the sheer grace of God, survived ... you need to read about and learn the symptoms.
Don't let it take your breath away.
[[PostScript: I now take Coumadin (anti-coagulant) daily and will for the rest of my life. I have my INR/ProTime checked every two weeks to see that my blood is neither too thick or too thin. Even on the meds, I do not sit for extended periods of time. My DVT/PE experience left me with permanent pulmonary/coronary issues. I learned. The hard way.]]
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