Acute Infections and Emergency Rooms

Two weeks ago I had to wake up Mr. Amazing at 2:30 in the morning to take me to the emergency room.

We left the clones sleeping in their beds. They had already witnessed me, earlier in the day, struggling to breathe and it scared them. It scared me as well but I didn't do anything about it.

I should have gone in earlier but I didn't know. It crossed my mind a number of times throughout the day that maybe I needed to go to the emergency room. For one thing, I was getting ridiculously short of breath whenever I stood up. If I took more than one step, things became severe. I tried to go from the couch to the washing machine but half-fell half-slumped to the floor less than half the way there, gasping for breath. I couldn't lay down flat either. Mostly I just sat on the edge of things, in a triangle type pose, trying to breathe through what we all just assumed was an unprovoked panic attack on top of an acute infection. (The nurses at the hospital later told me that was exactly the right position to sit in to try to open up my airway a little, though at the time it did very little for me.)

Everyone else in the house had gotten this infection as well and it was mild for all of them. So it seemed like nothing to worry about.

Mr. Amazing drove me to the convenient care first but I guess that is not a 24 hour clinic so we tacked on another 20 minutes to get up to the hospital. I leaned forward in the seat, staring at the floor, not caring that I was getting car sick because motion sickness is relatively meaningless when you are pretty sure you are suffocating and going to die.

We got there and I tried to get out of the car, forgetting that standing was an issue. Mr. Amazing rescued me by picking me up and carrying me inside. He then got me a wheelchair and wheeled me over to the ER.

Triage asked me a lot of questions. Most of them I had trouble answering, not just because I was struggling to take a deep enough breath to enable me to say more than one word before needing to gasp again, but also because I couldn't think very well. Everything seemed blurry to my eyes and fuzzy to my brain. I later found out these are signs of lack of oxygen.

They asked me to pee in a cup before helping me. Mr. Amazing wheeled me into the bathroom and I got up but then I started dry heaving into the toilet, which is pretty awful on its own but even worse than you can imagine when you're short of breath. These two things really don't combine well at all.

Eventually I made it to my designated location, bed 19. My oxygen levels were down in the 80's so they put the oxygen tubes in my nose and blasted the oxygen in and things started to get a little easier.

"No wonder you are having a hard time," the ER nurse said.

I asked her if I was stupid to have come to the ER because I was still feeling like maybe I was just being really dramatic about something minor. She told me, "No. You absolutely did the right thing. You need to be here. Something is very wrong. But for the future, call an ambulance. That way you can get oxygen right away."

I felt less like a lunatic after that and more like I should have trusted my instincts earlier in the day.

Respiratory came and they started pumping me full of albuterol through an inhaler. Then my heart rate went sky high. 150 beats a minute. My body started twitching--and not like the myoclonic jerks I've grown accustomed to--and I said, "I feel really awful and weird."

Respiratory J kept his back to me and said, "Oh, I forgot mention...this might make you feel an impending sense of doom."

"That's an understatement," I said. And then I laid there thinking, for probably the fiftieth time that night, that I was pretty sure I was dying but this time I felt sure that the world was going down with me. I figured all the medical people around me would take care of me though, at least until the sky fell.

"Just try to calm down," Respiratory J said to me.

I kind of wanted to punch him. I was growing tired of hearing those words: "try to calm down." It wasn't really a matter of not being calm. Still, I tried to think of calming things like kittens and my children but that didn't help either. Probably partly because we left them at home and who knew what horrible thing might have happened in the time since we left. Maybe the house caught on fire or one of them woke up with a bad dream and tried to come to us in our bed but instead found no one was there...

I put my mind on my breathing instead. It wasn't easy breathing but it was easier than before and Thich Nhat Hahn would tell me to just focus on the air going in and the air going out. Breathing in I feel calm. Breathing out I am at ease. I tried to fool myself and wait out the racing heartbeat but it just kept going.

Next Respiratory J said he needed to do an ABG. I didn't know what that was so he explained that it was an arterial stick and that it would be more painful than having blood taken from a vein. He said, "Have you ever banged your funny bone? This feels like that only about 1,000 times worse."

That did nothing to lower my heart rate, let me tell you. I tried to fool myself again. It's just another blood draw. No. Big. Deal. But let's face it: anticipation is the worst.

He was right. Something about it does actually feel very similar to banging your funny bone but also worse. Not quite 1,000 times worse. Maybe more like 20 times worse.

He left and an Internist came in, Dr. B, who started questioning me thoroughly. I told him all about what proceeded my arrival at the ER and also about the past 5 years. He said, "I won't begin to guess what is happening chronically. It's not my place to figure that out but I'm looking into the condition of your heart." He said it wasn't the albuterol that was making my heart race. I guess it had been beating pretty hard all along. But I thought it was kind of ignorant of him to assume this had nothing to do with my chronic issues.

He ordered an EKG. Some girl stuck little things all over my body and hooked them on to some wires and then her machine did its thing and it was over in a matter of minutes and all I had to do was lay there. Then she took the wires off but left all the sticky things on my body. They don't seem to care too much about removing those kinds of things.

Following the EKG they took some more blood but fortunately they took the blood straight from the IV line that was already inserted in my arm so I didn't have to be stuck again.

Dr. B left for a little while and I had to pee but I couldn't make it to the bathroom (with or without oxygen) so the nurse wheeled a portable toilet into my not-so-private room right up next to the bed. She unplugged me from a couple of machines but not the oxygen and then pulled a curtain behind her as she left. Mr. Amazing helped me from the bed to the little toilet and I sat there in my flapping gown feeling like a decrepit and feeble lady. I could hear all kinds of doctors and nurses and aids talking on the other side of my curtain and felt completely exposed and dependent and small. And I thought, this is a low point in my life.

After crawling back into my bed and being hooked back up to all my machines, the nurse threw two more warmed blankets on top of me because I was freezing. My feet and half way up my legs were like icicles. By then I was covered by about 6 blankets.

My nurse told me that I was negative for the flu and pneumonia which she said was shocking to her considering how sick I seemed. I laughed and told her I'm really good at passing all these kinds of tests and having nothing be wrong with me when something is clearly wrong.

She asked what I meant so I told her my story and she patted my arm and said "5 months is a long time to be sick. I hope we can help you."
And I said, "If I said 5 months, I misspoke. It's been 5 years."
And she said, "Oh My God," and I said, "Yeah."
And then she left because we were in the ER and they have a lot of people they have to take care of.

I tried to sleep a little because I was exhausted and had been awake almost 24 hours but I couldn't sleep because the machine that was monitoring my heart was constantly beeping because my heart rate was too high and had been since the moment I arrived and probably before that.

Dr. B came back in and said that I was showing signs of pericarditis which is just a fancy way of saying there was a lot of inflammation around my heart and he said that I needed to have an echocardiogram and that they were going to admit me and take me upstairs to the floor where they put people while they try to figure out what is wrong with them. And he said that depending on how the echocardiogram looked, I might have to have a CT done of my chest because they were starting to wonder if I was having a blood clot or something. Then he made a big deal about not wanting to expose me to radiation because of my age and putting me at risk for breast cancer and I tried really hard to listen to everything he was saying but all I kept thinking was I am older than this doctor. I could practically be his mother.

After he left I told Mr. Amazing to just go home. He looked so tired sitting over in the corner in what looked to be an incredibly uncomfortable chair. It was almost 9 a.m. by that point and I knew the clones were up by then and probably wandering around the house wondering where in the world their parents were. Mr. Amazing looked like he didn't want to leave but he also looked like he didn't want to stay. And I felt bad because he was tired because he had to drive me to the hospital in the middle of the night when he should have been sleeping. And I knew he couldn't just go home and go to sleep. The clones both had orthodontist appointments before lunch.

I felt awful about the whole thing. I have really bad timing when it comes to things like this. Not that there is ever a good time to need to go to the emergency room. But if there is a worst time for me to have an issue, that's probably when I'll have it.

So he finally left and I went back to trying to will my heart rate down and fall asleep.

My nurse came back in to check on me and then some guy came in and stuck more sticky pads all over my chest and hooked some more wires up to them. Then another lady came in who was wearing some kind of overpowering perfume and she was leaning over me because she was trying to fix one of the machines I was hooked up to that wasn't putting out an accurate reading and at one point her phone started ringing in her pocket, right next to my ear. When she finally finished fixing the thing she pulled back and said to me, "Your phone is ringing."

I didn't even have my phone with me. I didn't think of it at 2:30 a.m. when we left the house.

"It's your pocket, actually," I said.

"Oh," the lady said and grabbed her phone and started talking loudly into it as she casually walked out of the room.

My nurse mouthed "I'm sorry," at me as they left and I smiled at her and shrugged because I didn't really care about anything much anymore except breathing. Breathing is a wonderful thing.

Eventually two sweet young ladies came in to my room and started messing with all the wires and machines that were attached to me. They told me they were there to transport me upstairs. I asked if I was going to have to get on a different bed or into a wheelchair or what and they laughed and said, "No one wants you to move. We'll just wheel you up on this bed."

They put the rails on my bed up and unhooked me from the blood pressure machine and the heart monitor but they somehow kept the oxygen flowing into my nose. They unlocked the wheels on the bed and then started wheeling me down the hall through the emergency room. And then I got kind of excited because I suddenly felt like I was on one of those hospital shows on TV.

When we got to the elevators I got a little nervous. I hate the way they go up a little too far and then go back down just a little because it always makes me feel nauseous and motion sick. I felt bad enough already. I didn't want to deal with motion sickness now that I could breathe again.

I said, "I hate elevators. Can we take the stairs?" And the young ladies laughed genuine hardy laughs with me as they pushed me into the elevator. And up to the 4th floor we went but I didn't even feel the elevator move. Not even a little bit. So I guess hospitals get the good elevators. But it did make me wonder why everyone doesn't go ahead and splurge for the kind that work so smoothly. Or why the elevator makers even bother to make the motion sick kind in first place...

They wheeled me out of the elevator and I really did feel like I was on a TV show except I was actually sick and not just acting. I was put in room 444 which I thought was pretty great because that's the kind of number I can remember, even when I'm sleep and oxygen deprived. But then it occurred to me that it didn't really matter if I knew what room I was in because I wasn't going to be leaving my room and probably no one besides Mr. Amazing was going to be looking for me anyway.

Another guy came in and peeled a couple of the previous sticky pads off of me and started sticking new pads on me and I thought about feeling self-conscious for a second but then I remembered that at least seven people had already seen most of naked-me and there were bound to be at least seven more to come so there wasn't really any point. And then I started having flash backs to when I was at the hospital to give birth to my two beautiful clones.

After he left, the nurse came in and she asked me if I was doing okay and I told her I was and she said, "Your heart is beating awfully fast," and I asked her how in the world she knew that since I was no longer hooked up to the machine I was hooked up to in the ER and she said, "All these little pads all over your chest are monitoring your heart and it tells me out at the desk." And as soon as she said it I realized that I could in fact hear a beeping coming from the hallway that sounded very much like the beeping that was driving me nuts down in bed 19.

I said, "Oh, that's me beeping at ya, huh?"
And she said, "Yes it is."
And I said, "It's been doing that since I got here."
And she said, "Well hopefully we'll figure out why."

A little while later a phlebotomist came in to get more blood and I tried to offer her the IV line again but she said she had to take it from a different location so I gave her my other arm and asked her to please not hit a nerve because I still worry about that ever since it happened last year. It was a pretty unpleasant experience. She promised she wouldn't and said she'd never once done that to anyone in all the years she'd been doing her job so I relaxed and tried not to worry about it.

After she left another woman came in with her fancy machines and started prepping me for the echocardiogram which turned out to be a pretty cool test. Basically, it is an ultrasound like when you are pregnant and get to see your baby growing in your belly like a little alien. Only this alien was my heart. And it beat in it's rapid erratic way and looked all ugly and I laid there thinking about how we always attribute all these feel good feelings like love to the heart and that it's kind of silly since the heart is actually such an ugly looking thing. I tried to pay attention to all the things the woman was telling me--she clearly loves her job, which is awesome--but I discovered that I'm still not very good at physiology. I mostly didn't understand a word of what she said but I went ahead and acted like I got every word.

After that a cardiologist came in and told me that my blood showed elevated troponin which is apparently something that shows up in your blood when your heart has been damaged, like when you have a heart attack. But I was so tired and, frankly, delirious at that point that I thought he told me that I had had a heart attack which, I'm not going to lie, totally freaked me out. He told me I had to have my blood tested again to see how the number had changed since the last blood draw in order to help them determine what was going on. "You may need to stay for 3 days," he said.
"Can I argue with you about that?" I asked.
"No," he said. "At the very least, your oxygen levels aren't stable enough for you to go home today."
"Who said I wanted to go home today?" I asked.
"We'll check in tomorrow," he said.
"Can I argue with you then?" I asked.
"I won't be here tomorrow," he said.
Well, it's going to be kind of hard to check in with me tomorrow then isn't it?, I thought. But I just smiled at him and nodded that I understood.
He left and another phlebotomist came in.

I offered her my arm and told her that unused veins were beginning to run short but that she should just pick one and even if it didn't look like a good one to just use it. I told her, "trust me, they don't look great but once you get that needle in there, the blood will flow right out like it was a perfect vein for the job." So she picked a pathetic looking vein that she could hardly see and stuck her needle in and sure enough, I was right. The blood came flowing out and filled up her vials quick as a wink.

She smiled at me.
"I've been through this a few times," I said. "I'm like a professional. I have blood tests done every couple months it feels like."
She raised an eyebrow and said, "That's no fun."
"I always pass," I said. "No one is better at getting negative test results than me."
And she laughed which made me feel good. I could almost pretend I had only come to the hospital just to spread some sunshine.

After that people started coming in less. I mostly started seeing aides who came in to check my vitals every so often. We shared jokes and short stories but they didn't stick around long. There was a whole wing of people who needed their vitals checked. I chatted with some women who came in to clean the bed next to mine after my roommate was discharged. They were so fast and efficient at everything they did. I wished I could clean my house as quickly and efficiently as they worked. "You've done this a few times, I take it," I said. They laughed and wished me well on their way out of the room. I saw respiratory a couple more times, whenever my breathing got to be too strained again, but they were careful not to give me as much albuterol as the first time.

I pushed the nurse button every time I needed to use the bathroom because they made me promise I would. No one wanted me walking by myself. I figured their fears of me falling or passing out were not unfounded. Just taking the four steps from the bed to the bathroom made me struggle to breathe, even though I took the oxygen with me. In fact, just going from a semi-reclined position to an upright position in the bed left me exhausted and winded. I kind of felt like I needed help with everything. If I could have had someone chew my food for me, I would have. Instead I ate a few pieces of fruit that I had to chew myself and then I was too tired to eat any more. So they offered me liquid food that didn't require chewing but more than anything I just wanted to sleep.

Everyone was so tender and caring, saying things like, "You actually have the harder job of the two of us," when I said that I thought they all worked so hard. I was truly surprised that nearly everyone I met was so pleasant and kind. I started growing attached to all these people. I wished they could just come in my room and keep me company.

In the moments between, it started to get pretty lonely though. And there were too many moments between.

The next time Dr. B came in he told me that the cardiologist had been wrong about the troponin in my blood. He said the first blood draw and the third blood draw were both at zero for troponin which meant the elevated levels in the second blood draw were a false positive. Of course I was relieved to hear that my heart was not damaged but I also was not surprised that my one positive test result was reversed. I mean, I am a master at getting negative test results. Seriously. It's reached a level of absurd I never could have imagined.

And then much later after that, when Dr. B returned again, he turned my oxygen off and told me I had to get up and go for a walk without it to see how my levels held and that if they stayed above 92 I could go home. Naturally, of course, my levels during my walk were pretty good even though I was completely exhausted and winded afterward. I didn't really feel ready to go home but I also didn't want to stay in the hospital any longer.

Then he started prescribing a bunch of medications. Steroids, anti-inflammatory's, a special med to help make sure I never get pericarditis again...

I thought it was kind of ironic, seeing as how I just wrote a blog about taking medications. I wasn't thrilled about this situation though. I happily take the med that helps relieve some of my chronic symptoms but I'm still not a big fan of pumping a bunch of stuff into my system. I still worry about side-effects. I still feel like less is more. Of course, I also feel like not being in the hospital with heart and breathing problems is a good thing.

When my nurse came in she said, "Too bad you're being discharged. You're our best patient."

I beamed at that. Though I was a little sad about being discharged as well. I truly had become attached to these people. I didn't necessarily want to be in hospital but it was really nice having people to talk to throughout the day. I enjoyed making people smile and laugh and connecting with people. I enjoyed hearing their interesting stories during their moments in my room. And I knew I was going to miss the oxygen. I already missed the oxygen. Even though my saturation levels said I didn't need it anymore. I'm pretty sure the oxygen saved my life and I was really afraid the whole thing was going to happen again when I got home.

When I got home, Mr. Amazing set me up in the bedroom with everything I'd need right next to me. And then he went back to keeping the house running and keeping everything together and I was alone in my own bed still too sick to do anything. And I wondered how long this was going to last. I flipped through channels on the TV and felt the spiral of depression come and begin to swirl around inside my head and settle in for the long haul.

But we'll save that part of the story for another time.

Comments

  1. 💗💗💗 You are an amazing writer....your story just flows. I wish this was only fiction and not reality. My heart breaks for you having gone through this. Hugs and love....mom

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