Racing In The Street

I've just returned home after spending 10 days in the hospital fighting a pulmonary embolism and deep vein thrombosis, a rather large blood clot in my lungs and two smaller clots in my legs. There were symptoms that I had downplayed for weeks: pain in my legs, reduced ability to catch my breath, cough, fever. I have increased risk factors: weight, circulation issues, family history. I went on a long car trip to Arizona in November--four days each way with little time to stretch my legs.

I'm lucky to still be around. I did not pay attention to my symptoms. Two weeks ago I thought I had bronchitis, so I got some antibiotics and then went to Washington, D.C. for a grassroots conference featuring more car travel and running around at several protests.


From the Web MD site hyperlinked above:
"Unexpected death from a massive PE is second only to the sudden cardiac death. Approximately 10% of patients who develop PE die within the first hour, and 30% die subsequently from recurrent embolism. The diagnosis of PE is missed in approximately 400,000 patients in the United States per year, approximately 100,000 deaths could be prevented with proper diagnosis and treatment."


I'm not out of the woods yet, I'm facing months (if not years) of blood-thinner medicine, regular blood tests, complete vetting of all new foods and medicines for compatiblity with my blood thinners, a none-too-soon diet and excercise regimen. However, I do have many people to thank:

1) My wife. She forced me to take my symptoms seriously and was there by my side for this entire ordeal.

2) The on-call doctor at CNY Family Care who sent me for a CAT scan.

3) The doctors, nurses, assistants, tech staff, orderlies--every person I ran across--at St. Josephs. They work incredibly hard, long hours full of stress and unpleasant situations. Not once did I ever see anyone be anything but professional and compassionate to their patients (even the phlebotomists who had to take blood samples from me at 3 A.M.)

4) My family and friends who visited and called--keeping my spirits up.

I will be unable to thank the one person who helped me the most. My sister Elizabeth died from an undiagnosed pulmonary embolism two years ago, she was only 36 years old. I was 10 years older than my sister, my only sibling. I was the protective older brother, and as such I always knew better and never failed to let her know my thoughts on all subjects far and wide. To her credit, she still loved me. Our last conversation was about my health and her concern about the combination of my weight and circulation problems. Blood tests will determine if I have a genetic predisposition to forming blood clots. I already know one genetic fact. Even after her death, my sister's love and concern reached out and saved her hard-headed brother's life.