Then, on Monday of my second week at the new job, I started noticing a shortness of breath which I put down to my past history with asthma. I took a puff of Ventolin and when that didn't help, I borrowed my friend's nebuliser for a hardcore dose of the drug. But it wasn't asthma, I still felt short of breath.
The symptoms continued and I experienced chest pain as well, particularly after walking up a flight of stairs or hurrying to catch a bus outside work. I felt like an old woman. I started taking the lift and reluctantly let public transport pass me by instead of sprinting to catch the departing vehicle.
I was concerned by the symptoms but being the second week of my new job, I didn't want to take time off to go to the GP. Instead I soldiered on, trying not to grimace too openly when I sharp pain erupted in my chest.
By Friday, the symptoms had disappeared but I still made a GP appointment for the following day, just in case. I described my symptoms to the GP, and expressed my concern that I could perhaps have a blood clot? My Mum had blood clots in her lungs in 2009, which caused a heart attack and stroke, which led to epilepsy and dementia. Mum had had a bumpy ride health wise and I didn't know if I was suffering from hypochondria or spot-on-ism.
My GP dismissed my fears, saying that I probably had some sort of virus but if I experienced any of the symptoms again to come back and see her.
Fast forward to two weeks later on a Saturday night and the symptoms were back. Again, I thought I had asthma and when the Ventolin didn't have any effect, I started to worry. I felt pretty average on Sunday and considered calling in sick on the Monday but I decided not to. The main reason was that my boss was due back from her holiday and I didn't want her to think that I was prone to taking sickies. What a bad look it would be for me to call in sick on her first day in the office with me. So I dragged myself into work.
From the get-go that day, I knew something was definitely not right. I had pain breathing in, so my breaths were shallow. Part of my role is executive support to a professor and he asked me for assistance with collating his new book for publication. I had a lot of work on that day but wanting to help, I set about the task with a fierce determination to complete it - the total absorption in my assignment helping me to ignore the pain. It got to mid arvo before I realised that I had worked through lunch, hadn't eaten a bite and now couldn't stand to work any longer. I put on a vague out of office message and went to tell my boss that I needed to see my GP.
I guess I looked pretty pale and sickly because she almost pushed me out the door. I told my stunned colleagues I was leaving to go the doctor. I guess I'd been quiet that day but I hadn't really complained much about the pain, so they seemed a bit confused when I left.
I called the GP and told them about my symptoms. They said to come straight in and see whoever was available. I saw a different doctor this time who was quite concerned about my symptoms in light of my Mum's medical history and the fact that I had recently gone back on the Pill, after a long hiatus.
He tested my urine which was infection free, although I was a bit dehydrated. Then he ran some blood tests, including a D-Dimer test to see whether I had any blood clots, and an ECG. The D-Dimer test is interesting because if it comes back negative, you definitely don't have a blood clot, whereas if it comes back positive you may have a blood clot or you may not.
After the tests, my GP told me to make an appointment to come back the next day to get the results. However, if my symptoms got worse, I was to go straight to the emergency room.
Lying in bed that night, I couldn't get comfortable. The pain down my left side was horrible, so I could only lie on my right. My lovely boyfriend tried to distract me with watching an episode of a favourite TV show but the pain kept clutching at my chest. Then my mobile rang. I didn't recognise the number and I was feeling too shit to speak to anyone, so I let it go to voicemail.
A nagging thought that maybe my Mum wasn't well, made me play back the message. Ever since we nearly lost Mum a few years ago, I am hyper-vigilant about taking random phone calls. But this time, it wasn't about Mum.
"Hello Elizabeth, this is your Healthscope pathologist calling. I've received the results of your D-Dimer test and it has come back positive. Due to your family history and the fact that you are on the Pill, I'm quite concerned that you may have a blood clot and I'd like you to go straight to emergency tonight. Please give me a call back to discuss."
I was stunned. I couldn't get the words out to tell my BF, so I played the message back for him instead. His eyes widened and we both climbed out of bed, silently getting dressed to go the hospital. "Which hospital?" he asked. There was only ever one answer that I could give to this question.
THE AUSTIN
Once I got to the ER and told them of my symptoms, I started to feel the emotion of the situation. It felt like deja vu although this time it was happening to me and not Mum. The did a quick ECG on the spot which came back clear in terms of heart trauma but would not help to determine whether I had a blood clot. So I was ushered through to the fast-track section of ER and more blood tests were taken, including the D-Dimer test. Sitting there with my BF and my Dad, and their much-welcomed distracting chit-chat, the results came back quickly - I had a blood clot.
An x-ray of my lungs was taken and I had a heparin injection in my stomach to thin my blood. I then said goodbye to my beautiful BF and loyal Dad and went to spend the night in the short-stay area, where I had a bed to sleep in. They wanted to do another test in the morning, called a VQ scan to better determine the location of the blood clot.
During the night I was woken intermittently by nurses to check my blood pressure, pulse and temperature and I even had a doctor perform a rectal exam to check for bleeding in the bowel. The doctor apologised profusely for waking me at 4am to spread my cheeks but I was too sleepy to care. When I woke in the morning, I wondered if it had been a dream!
The next morning was a long wait to do the scan. I texted my BF and told him not to hurry into see me because they might end up sending me home after the scan. Lying in bed waiting for the scan, I asked a nurse for some water. It's over there, she said putting at the sink in the corner of the room. I couldn't believe it. Apparently a pulmonary embolism does not justify bedside care...
Around midday a male nurse arrived with a smile and a wheelchair to take me for the scan. He was a lovely bloke, chatting to everyone he passed on the way to the examination room. Once in the room, I lay down on a narrow shelf that slowly rolled me into the heart of the machine like a conveyor belt.
After 30ish long agonising minutes laying beneath a revolving camera and trying not to squirm with pain, the test was over. I felt horrible. I stood up and felt very dizzy, so wheelchair man came back and fetched me. I waited another hour or so in short stay before they confirmed that I indeed had several blood clots in my lungs and I would need to be admitted onto the respiratory ward.
I called my BF and my Dad who rushed in to see me, bringing clothes, toiletries and much needed cafe latte. Once settled onto the ward, I felt a lot better. I was being taken seriously, something was definitely wrong and I was going to get the care I needed. The difference with the nurses on the ward was amazing. Not only was I asked if I wanted water, I was offered my choice of two flavoured cordials! It was like being put up at the Ritz after spending a night in a jail cell with Bubba, my anal probe night caller!
The next couple of days before I was discharged was a flurry of twice daily Heparin injections, once daily Warfarin tablets to thin my blood, obs checked every four hours and trying to ignore an annoying patient in the bed opposite me who thought it was necessary to holler every sentence, rather than just speak at a normal pitch. I even had a 'counselling' session with a bikie who was also in for a PE. He was a heavy drinker and smoker and I told him my story of how I quit and how much better life is now. I hope he left the hospital and made some changes.
Fast forward to today and I'm slowly on the mend. I started yoga this week and tomorrow I'm going on a gentle bike ride with my BF. To be honest, I have been so frustrated about my slow recovery because I haven't exercised in 3 months and it shows. I've put on weight and all my clothes are ready to burst at the seems. I know I shouldn't focus on this but I just don't want to accept these changes in my body. I'd be more comfortable if I went clothes shopping and bought the next size up but that seems like admitting defeat. I guess I'm a lot like my Mum in that regard, who has never let her health issues rule her life. Up until the last few years where she can't fight it anymore.
Anyway, I'm hoping yoga and light exercise will work wonders and I'll start getting my fitness back. I can't believe that I ran a half-marathon in 2010 and this year I find it hard to walk around the block. Also, my mortality has reared its ugly head. At the time I went into hospital, I was going through the motions, staying calm, keeping my head on straight. It wasn't till I was back at home, telling everyone my story that I realised that things could have been a lot worse. People die from PEs. People collapse and have heart attacks. So many people have told me that I am lucky to be alive and its freaked me out. How strange that I got through the experience relatively calmly but seeing the distress of my loved ones and the passing comments about my narrow escape from death, have been the part of the experience that has been the hardest to bear.
I met my awesome foursome girlfriends for brunch today (ok, I'm a loser, there's four of us) and told them what I've just told you. And I finished by saying that I don't know how to feel about the experience. One of my friends gave me the perfect response that finally knocked some sense into me. "Grateful. You should feel grateful", she said. And I do.
