Almost dying....Part 2

Returning home, I set up camp, so to speak, in the living room. When I take ill I usually sleep on the couch. That way I can move around without disturbing J². Although, J² did sleep next to me in a recliner for the first few nights. He was overly worried that I might stop breath. He is my husband and he should be concerned, but there are times when I feel I’m not worthy for such distress. Now settled, I focused on another important task; showering. While I was almost desperate to wash the hospital from me, I ran into a problem. Standing. Not something I could do for very long. Then a thought crossed my oxygen deprived brain and I called J² who was picking up my pills. I had him purchase a shower stool. So helpful. I was all clean and I didn’t fall over. Big win.

I ended up taking three weeks off work. After shuffling back into work, however, I sort of wished I reconsidered. Since I was only there for an extremely short amount of time, I chose to leave my oxygen tank in the car. It was a little heavy and I didn’t want the attention.

Physical recovery basically consisted of rest and slowly introducing exercise. As I felt a little better, I walked a little more. Mentally was more of a deterioration. When I landed in the hospital my brain automatically focused on what was wrong, how to fix it, and healing. After a couple months, when I felt practically normal, the panic and thoughts started creeping in. Besides having my plate full with issues, one more was added during this time that was not only revealing, but also damaging. So everything was compounded into a nice ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach.

  

At random intervals, thoughts crossed my mind. The kind of dark thoughts you wouldn’t expect of someone who just had a serious health crisis. The accumulation of these thoughts spilled over the day we spoke with our fertility doctor. He didn’t give us bad news, quite the opposite. He still believed her could help us. Later that night, after J² had gone to bed, I felt the weight of everything. I panicked over the time we had lost. I panicked over the time I felt slipping from my grasp. Like, no matter how hard I could run, I would never catch up. Yes, chasing an intangible notion seems very reasonable. But, nevertheless, a relatable way to describe the particular weariness that came with the panic. I started to cry.

Then came the thought that I should have died. Why did I bother going to the hospital? What purpose did saving my life bring? How easy to ignore the symptoms. To clarify, I was not suicidal. I didn’t feel the need to hurt myself, but I just didn’t want to exist. I can’t even do a breakdown right. I understand it was a good thing to not be suicidal. But, the impression I’ve always gotten is that my feelings and experiences are not dire enough to warrant discussion. So it seems foolish mentioning it.

No matter the importance, I still felt like the visceral reaction to seek help was actually the wrong choice. I could provide nothing. I could offer nothing. I felt like I was losing It all. So why was I alive? Plain and simple: Luck. Many people die from pulmonary embolisms. I noticed an issue and looked to solve it. Deserving or not, it’s happenstance. No deeper meaning. Peace was not bestowed. Sorry if you thought I’d have some epiphany. I’m broken. In more ways than one.

Days passed by. Months. And now it’s been over a year.

I’m no longer in that mindset. I’ve accepted certain truths and what not to bother with anymore. We’ve continued fertility treatments. I did what I’ve trained myself to do; deal with it and move on. It’s what happens when you’re an in-between. This post isn’t meant to evoke anyone’s sympathy (not that I would presume it would). It’s better saved for others that need it.

As much as what’s in my head has hurt me, it also has saved me. 

Almost dying Part 1

In the midst, and slightly because of fertility treatments I was dealt a huge setback in May 2016. J² and I were restarting our baby-making attempts after our most recent loss in November 2015. We returned to the clinic and were planning on doing another IUI, or Intrauterine insemination.

Quick side note: I will use many abbreviations relating to the infertility community throughout this blog. I plan on putting up a chart that will break these down.

Well, as my luck would have it, my body refused to follow the plan. My cycle wasn’t being consistent and then in mid-March the nurse found a cyst on my ovarian. If you are unaware, an ovarian cyst is a fluid-filled sac. Cysts are resolved in four main ways: by absorbing into the body naturally, with the help of birth control, rupturing painfully, or surgery. They told me to wait a couple weeks to see if it would disappear. Near the end of March I had another scan. The damn thing was still there. This wouldn’t be the last time I felt like screaming during the year. So, my doctor prescribed birth control. It’s very common and usually a fine treatment. I would take the pill for roughly six weeks.

In the interim, J² had a conference in San Diego at the beginning of April and I decided to tag along. The first half of the week I hung out in a hotel room in La Jolla. As an introvert, I do enjoy my alone time and am very skilled at keeping myself entertained. I alternated my time between my peaceful hotel room and exploring the surrounding areas. For the second half, after the conference concluded, we stayed in a condo in Oceanside near to the beach. J² and I did plenty of beach strolling. I can walk for hours on the beach. The sand softly hugging my feet as the water sinks them deeper. We also went to an Angels game and a whale watching tour. A much needed getaway. I know I have digressed a bit here, but 2016 was rough and this was a really happy time.

The remaining four weeks were uneventful besides feeling excessively tired. While seemingly unrelated at the time, about a week before my six weeks were up, I felt as if I had a strained muscle in my right calf. This was odd since I hadn’t done anything in particular that would cause this. On the first Sunday in May, I noticed when I would climb the stairs I felt slightly winded and my heart felt like it was racing. Not extreme enough to be alarmed, but definitely enough be puzzled. Perhaps, I was getting sick. On Monday, I felt similar sensations when I walked up the stairs at work. How worried should I be?

After leaving work, J², his parents, and I headed out to run a couple errands. We also grabbed lunch. Every time I was out walking, I still felt….something. Something was off, but I couldn’t really described it without sounding a little weird. Finally, on our way home, J² and I stopped by a local pond. I mentioned I how I was feeling. AS we returned to the car the trail has a slight inclined before it reaches the parking lot. Seriously, it wasn’t that steep. No problem, right? Ha! By the time I reached the car, my heart was pounding and felt like it was in my throat. I couldn’t catch my breath and my head was spinning. J² noticed I didn’t look right. I leaned against the car and……..I was looking up at J² while laying on the ground. I had passed out for a few seconds. We got me into the car and headed to Instacare. The doctor did an assessment; my bpm was high and oxygen levels were low. She then did a few tests to eliminate a panic attack or a heart attack. A heart attack? At 34? Oh please, no. I almost felt embarrassed. But, it wasn’t that. The doctor was concerned about one more thing, but unable to test at the clinic. So we were sent to the ER. And we sat there and waited for a bit. Finally, back in the exam room, on oxygen, the ER doctor wanted to do a CT scan.

The results? I had bilateral pulmonary embolisms. Translation: blood clots in my lungs. A large clot was in my right pulmonary artery and several small clots were in my left lung. I was admitted and immediately given a strong blood thinner. The next day, an ultrasound revealed another blood clot through my whole right leg. I was asked if I had any pain or swelling in my legs. The only answer I had was that pulled muscle feeling. I spent two days in the hospital. The doctor switched my medication to Xarelto and I was put on oxygen at home. Nose tubes for the win. And the recovery process begins. 

Nothing like playing doorbell ditch with death.

Since this post has been long, I am going to split it in two. I have some heavy thoughts and feelings that I don’t want to get lost in this part of the story.