How I almost died in yoga class

It was in the middle of Tree Pose. I had stood on my right leg, left foot planted on my calf, arms raised gracefully overhead. I switched to my left leg. Suddenly I started swaying for real and I was gasping for breath. I descended to my mat as gracefully as I could, hoping no one would notice. After a minute, I hoped someone would notice and Rhonda, the teacher, did.

If you’re going to collapse in yoga class, you’d want it to be in Rhonda’s class. She’s not my favorite yoga teacher at the Y because she’s chatty and her entertaining tales of her junior high art students can disrupt the flow, so to speak. But she’s warm and motherly—my favorite person who teachers yoga. Rhonda was right on it. The paramedics were there within minutes.

As soon as I got some oxygen I began to feel better and I was embarrassed to be causing a scene. I just wanted to go home and rest. But Vic wasn’t with me. He was in Chicago and I couldn’t very well drive myself home. Besides, the folks at the Y insisted I go to the hospital. Standard procedure. They promised to track Vic down and call a local friend, even though I couldn’t remember any phone numbers because who needs to remember phone numbers these days? They’re all programmed in. I didn’t have my cell with me.

I remembered to ask the paramedics to get my purse out of the car. I was glad they didn’t turn the sirens on as they drove. I’m fine, I’m fine, I kept saying.  No, I didn’t have chest pain—well, maybe a little heaviness. I was breathing normally. Maybe I was just dehydrated. I was more worried about getting hold of Vic—to reassure him. I had the paramedic call Joanna—the only phone number I could remember—and get Vic’s cell number but I insisted the paramedic tell her not to worry.

I managed to call Vic from the ER. The Y and Joanna had already reached him. I sent him on a wild goose chase for our friend Sarah’s phone number but Sarah showed up a few minutes later. The Y had reached her, too.

I finally decided to stop trying to manage everything and let other people take care of me.

A nice medical student took my history. I have no health problems, I am on no medications, and this has never happened to me before. Well maybe almost. The Friday before, also at yoga, I found myself breathing harder than I thought I should be but it was a strenuous class. I had exercised moderately since then. No problems.

She thought for a minute and then asked if I had ever had any blood clots. Indeed, two months ago I had an inflamed area on my right leg that my doctor said was a superficial clot that would go away by itself. I told him my mother had had several pulmonary emboli—the clots had traveled from her legs to her lungs. He said not to worry. Those were “deep vein,” not superficial, thromboses.

The student and the ER doc thought my problem probably was not pulmonary embolism—I wasn’t sick or in pain. But they’d do a CT scan just to rule it out.

Minutes after the scan the doc came back and informed me that I had extensive clots in both lungs.

I’ll write more in the next few days. But just so you know, this is me today in my little “office” in my deluxe room in the cardiac care unit at South Bend Memorial, with my IV bag,  computer,  tea,  phone,  Kindle,  eye mask, and ear plugs. Family is here. I have everything I need.

 I’m fine—really. I wasn’t last Wednesday. But I am now.