How did I know I was having a pulmonary embolism? Well, it wasn't like I was feeling under the weather and decided to take a stroll on over to the ER just to check it out. I couldn't breath. Someone had shut off the air. My left lung had dropped off line. There was no debate. There was no, "maybe we should wait and see," or "Are you sure you need to go to the hospital?" It was more, "try to get her to the car before she passes out again," and "We can't wait for an ambulance."
I find it odd that people think I would go to the hospital without it being absolutely necessary.
I knew I was having a pulmonary embolism because I couldn't breath. I knew I was having a pulmonary embolism because my heart was on the edge of failing because I had lost all function in my left lung and it was struggling to keep me oxygenated. I knew because I was turning blue. I knew because I kept passing out and waking up on the ground in a new place. I knew because I was dying.
I don't know how people can smoke. After loosing that much lung function I would pay $6 a pack to never feel that way again. What is wrong with air that you would want to deny yourself any?
I went up the stairs to go to bed, I've done it a thousand times before. I reached the top of the stair and immediately got dizzy. I stumbled to bed with the thought in my head that I would lay down and catch my breath. I startled awake when I couldn't breath, face down on the bed, not sure when I laid down. I was not ok, I needed help. I got out of bed. The light was still end, I hadn't changed for bed, I was not alright. There was no air. I tried to go for the door and the world shut off again. I remember seeing the floor come up under me before it went dark again. Dreams, unrecognizable dreams. Loud dreams. Awake again. Maybe? Yes, awake again. Less air. Struggle out of sweatshirt. Shout help, no reply, shout more. Watch dad walk by, shout for help, he doesn't react. Kick the wall. He can't hear me. Am I awake? Pull towards the stairs. Sit up, no air.
Help me, help me, help me.
Mom looks up the stairs at me and grows pale. She hurries up. Help me, Help me. She screams for my father. He doesn't wake easily. I slide step by step down the stairs. I can't breath. I don't know what's wrong. I lay on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. Someone helps me with my shoes. My chest hurts now. My breath is fast and labored. I can't slow my heart. I can't slow my breath. They lift me up and we struggle towards the car.
Loud dreams. Flashes of colors. I wake up on the ground. I see my fathers face looking down at me. He is high above me. The sky is purple behind him. My mom is getting ready to call an ambulance. The phone is in her hand. I try to reassure them. I don't remember being scared. I am lifted off the ground and we make it to the car. We speed to the hospital. I remember being concerned about how reckless my father's driving seemed. But I understood he was scared. I was dying. I knew that.
We drove past the emergency entrance twice. They started yelling at each other. This isn't the time. Mom runs in for a wheel chair. They wheel me in and everyone looks concerned. I can't breath. There is no air. There is no stopping, there was no check in, I was wheeled straight in. I thought that was odd, but I wasn't going to argue. I couldn't even if I wanted to. I am put on a stretcher. The doctor asks me questions. My health, my allergies, when, where, how? Mask over my face. Still so hard to breath. CT scan. Don't breath. Sit up. Ambulance. Richard and Andy in the back. We're rolling. Jeez Andy. Mask won't stay on. The ambulance goes fast. Watch things disappear in the flashing lights. Highway ramp was closed, I knew that. We have to go around. Ambulance is flying. Overdose rolling in at the same time. We aren't waiting.
Roll into the ER. Ambulance waits with me. I have their crash gear attached to me. Can't stop my heart from racing, breathing is still labored. I am covered in people doing a number of things. IV's going in, vitals being felt up, reassurances given. Concerned looks all over. Heart rate is up, blood pressure up, oxygenation low. Bad situation. It calms. The people leave. I vomit... EVERYWHERE. Start to feel better. Oxygenation starts to improve. Blood pressure normalizes. Heart rate still high.
Wheeled to IR. Have intravenous catheters put in to attack the clot in my lungs. I am awake through the procedure, more or less. They let me sleep if I can. I must hold my breath when asked. I am uncomfortable, and am wrapped like a mummy. I am sent to ICU to recoup. Allison takes care of me. Then Jennifer. Then Allison. Then Jennifer. They are so good to me. Catheters out. Stable. Can finally sit up. Feeling normal. Taken to Telemetry. Unpleasant room mate. She's scared and angry. No one listens to her concerns. No one understands. I sleep. I wake. I am recovered much faster than I thought. I am sent home.
I'm luck to be alive. I am lucky to be alive. I am so lucky to be alive.
