What happened next

Today I saw just what the doctors meant when they told me that the clots in my lungs had been large, extensive, and serious. I looked at the CT scans that were done when I was admitted and my son, a radiologist-to-be, was here to interpret them for me. It was sobering. 

Peering inside the body with Dr. Myers

Skip the next two paragraphs if you hate medical details or they make you queasy.

The huge ugly clots were nearly blocking my pulmonary arteries, distending them and extending way into the lungs. Some were even saddling the branch between the arteries—the worst kind, the sort that can kill you instantly. They were straining my heart, and no wonder I was gasping for breath for at least the few minutes until I was put on oxygen. Because of the stress on my otherwise healthy heart the doctors decided to do a somewhat risky procedure the day after I was admitted.

The experts in Interventional Radiology inserted catheters through the femoral veins in my groin up through my heart and pulmonary arteries, where they dripped powerful clot-busting medication directly on the clots, dissolving them within 24 hours. During that time I lay flat on my back in the intensive care unit, soaring on excellent painkillers over the constant ding-ding-ding of calls and monitors and the noisy chatter of staff. The ICU nursing station seems to be a social gathering place.

After spending one (unmedicated) night too many in the ICU, waiting for transfer to intermediate care, I was ushered to a large private room in a new unit. It is a luxury hotel compared to the ICU. Jesse was able to get two consecutive days off from his duties as a first-year resident in a suburban Chicago hospital and came with his wife Linnea to hang out, along with Vic.

I feel 110 percent better but I am confined until I reach a proper level of the blood thinner that I will have to take for the rest of my life. Thus I have been able to enjoy a bit of a forced vacation surrounded by family.

Last night we played our favorite game, Apples to Apples, which involves matching adjectives to people and phenomena and taking turns judging the best matches. It can be arbitrary and crazy. The game works best with at least five players, but we were only four. Emily Dickenson was staring at us from my Kindle screen. I suggested Emily might join us as our fifth player. So she did. I propped Emily between my legs and every fifth round we had to make our choices based on Emily’s sensibilities as a 19^th century reclusive poet. Emily won three rounds, tying with Vic and Jesse. We laughed hard and I didn’t bleed from my nose or any of the many holes that have been poked in my body over the past five days.

So far so good.

Next maybe something about antiphospholipid syndrome, my diagnosis.

 Emily and me