Acute Pulmonary Embolism.
Huh?!?
That's what the Doctor said. "Blood clot in your lung, lower right lobe. I'm moving you to a bed in the Emergency Room until we can get you to a room on one of the floors."
Earlier
We'd already been sitting in one of the triage rooms since midnight. The initial triage had been done by a Nurse Practitioner, and I didn't follow what she had been saying — or was I in denial? Gina would tell me later that the Nurse Practitioner pretty much nailed it without all of the tests. It sounds like a blood clot. She went to tell the Doctor.
He came right in. I was stunned — I thought there was a clause in the Doctors Union manual about delayed attention to patients. He looked me over quickly, asked a few questions, and then ordered a blood test, EKG, chest x-rays, and potentially a CT Scan. He asked, "Have you taken any medication?"
"Yes, a hydrocodone 500 at 11:00pm. The reason we're here is it didn't help with the pain — it felt like someone was stabbing me when I tried to lie down in bed." It was starting to take effect now, though.
He had a quizzical look on his face — you know the one dogs get when they look at you and tilt their head to the side. I swear he tilted his head. "What?"
"I'm sorry, a hydrocodone 5-500."
"Oh, that makes more sense. I'm going to give you some other medications right away."
Off he went to order the procedures and the meds for the nurse to dispense. I started to drift off to sleep sitting in the chair next to Gina, leaning against her. She nudged me awake as the nurse walked back in. The nurse handed me a little cup with pills — I don't recall how many now — but she mentioned pain killer and I was all over that. The clown with the knife was still jabbing me, just not quite so energetically now. I gulped the pills down and quickly drifted back to sleep. Someone came in and took a blood draw for testing.
The EKG tech walked in and directed me to an exam table in the room. I lay down and he put all the sticky pads on me in the places designated by his training, hooked me to the machine, and ran it for about 30 seconds. He removed everything and he was off.
Next the X-ray tech came in, asked if I was ready to take a walk, and we were off to the x-ray room. He took two full frontal chest shots and a side chest shot and I was back to the triage room. This time I moved right to the exam table and lay down — within seconds I was out cold asleep. Gina told me later that this was not a good time for her. My breathing was ragged and shallow.
The Doctor came back to the room, Gina woke me, and the doctor told me the blood test showed positive for a blood clot. They needed to do the CT Scan now to confirm.
At some point the nurse came back into the room and woke me — time to put in an IV. She stretched out my right arm, tapped me on the inside of my elbow and said, "Great veins." I've won a prize! She inserted the IV and was off.
Next the CT Scan tech came in and we took a long walk to the CT Scan room. He put me in the machine and asked if I'd ever had a CT Scan with contrast. I told him yes, but he explained what to expect anyway and we were off. He started the machine whirling about and then began the contrast solution. I really have a dislike for CT Scans with contrast — the feeling you get as the contrast solution moves through your body creeps me out and leaves a bad taste in your mouth. We finished the procedure and I was back to the triage room once again.
She asks if I want another Hydrocodone or perhaps Morphine instead. Morphine — ugh. I hate the stuff, the feeling it gives as it's pushed in and the instant stupid feeling that comes over me. The Hydrocodone just makes me not care about the pain and lets me sleep. I'll take that, thanks.
Shortly the Doctor entered and gave the final diagnosis. I was stunned. What's beyond stunned? I was there.
I don't remember how I made the transition from the triage room to the bed in the Emergency Room — did I walk, did they bring in a wheelchair? I was standing beside the bed taking off my shirt and putting on one of those stupid hospital gowns with more openings than a book of short stories. The staff nurse let me keep my pants on, thank goodness. Absolutely no one wants to see old man butt or the other items located within. I was appreciative.
So now I'm in a bed. I'm being admitted for the second time this year. That's a story for later, perhaps.
Gina was right there next to me the entire time — holding my hand, letting me lean on her, talking to me, helping keep me calm. Because right now I was wigged out. Later that morning I realized: my wife saved my life. Despite my stubbornness she put me in the car and drove me to the ER. I'm alive today due to her action and lovingly applied pressure to move. I owe her everything above and beyond my love.