It’s true, I had heard of pulmonary embolisms. I’m a pharmacist after all. The main thing I associated with having blood clots in your lung was that there was a very good chance you could die. When I chose to have elective knee surgery – a simple day procedure – little did I know six days later a doctor would tell me I had bilateral multiple pulmonary embolisms. I cried, of course. Although I was relieved, they finally knew why my heart rate was so fast, and why I could hardly sit up in bed without breathlessness.
The day after my knee operation, I was puttering around on my crutches, chatting to my best friend on the phone. Suddenly, I couldn’t get my breath. I could hardly speak. I got off the phone and I sat down. My heart was going so fast it was unbelievable. I felt faint, I felt very breathless, and I knew something was very, very wrong. I also started shaking and was drenched in sweat.
I was rushed to hospital and taken straight to resuscitation – not a good sign, I thought – and my heart rate was 180, so they tried to reset it with medication. I gripped my husband’s hand for dear life and repeatedly said “I love you and the children,” and I thought that was it. I thought I was going to die, but I am only 35 years old. I was frankly hoping for a bit longer. Thank goodness my husband is such a great dad. The kids would be okay. “We’ve been so happy. I’ve been lucky,” I thought as I waited to see if I would die. I will never forget that feeling. It pushes its way into the corner of my mind when I go to sleep at night.
I was actually sent home the next day as a dubiously unclear CT scan showed nothing. “It’s just a virus,” the doctor said as I struggled to walk two steps without breathlessness. Two days later, I deteriorated and my general practitioner sent me back to the hospital insisting they investigate again. A VQ scan showed multiple clots in both of my lungs. By this time, I could barely sit up in bed. It was the scariest experience I’ve ever had, without a doubt.
Eleven weeks have gone by, and I’m home now. I went back to work for the first time this week. I’m doing school runs and looking after my three children. I’m about 80 percent back to normal. I can function fairly well, but on a bad day, going up and down the stairs is still hard, and I experience gasping for breath a lot, especially when I’m tired. I’m getting there, slowly but surely. I still wonder if I’ll ever feel completely normal again, but I live in hope.
I’m just so happy to be a survivor. I’m so happy to still be a mummy to my children and a wife to my husband. I never imagined how up and down recovery could be, and I was amazed how little information on recovery I was given with no rehabilitation program at all. I would love to be an advocate to promote PE recovery, advice and support in the future. Mainly, I’m just happy I have a future!
Editor’s Note: Thank you, Victoria, for sharing your story with BCRN. Connect with Victoria in the comments below.
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It was spring 2014 in the beautiful state of Michigan, and I was entering the final week of classes before I could apply to the program of my dreams. Following a painful colposcopy procedure that had me bedridden for a few days, I sat for hours and hours studying for final exams. On a Thursday night, I instantly developed a sharp shooting pain in my left clavicle area. I didn’t give the pain much thought, placed it where it didn’t hurt, and continued to study. Over the weekend, I mentioned the sharp pain to close relatives who suggested stress as the culprit. Being a young, active, and nonsmoking woman, I couldn’t come up with a different diagnosis. I woke up multiple times a night due to the excruciating pain, but I continued to press on and push through. I had work and school to study for.
Fortunately, blood work post-Coumadin therapy only showed elevated homocysteine levels, which I treat with folic acid and aspirin daily. But, I still struggle with the daily question of why did this happen to me? I had a plan for my life and was confident that my invincible body could carry me through it all. Now, I face debilitating anxiety and stress every day. I live in fear that I will develop another clot. Optimally, I would just be a normal 25-year-old woman who could manage her hormones with a simple pill and continue life full of energy and optimism. Knowing this isn’t an option for me, I realize I must seek out alternative therapies.
On a cold February afternoon, the pain in my legs and ankles was unbearable. After standing on my feet all day at work, I thought the pain was just from that, but it did not go away. I went to the local Urgent Care, they ran an EKG and since I had started birth control, the doctor advised me to go to the ER. I remember feeling frightened and thinking “What is wrong with me? What if I need surgery?” My parents were on vacation and I drove myself to the Urgent Care, so I called my boyfriend who immediately came and got me took me to the ER.
I was transferred to the Children’s Hospital and was hospitalized for three days. The doctors and nurses at the Children’s Hospital made me feel at ease. They gave me the comfort I needed and they helped me believe in myself that I can fight this. I do not like letting my family when I am scared or worried. All I wanted to do was cry myself to sleep and wake up and have all of this be over. The first night when my family left and I was all alone, I just began to cry and cry. This was the first time that I was alone since I was diagnosed. I had the time to just reflect on everything. I told myself that I had to be strong for my family and that I would make it through this.
In January 2009, I was starting my final semester as a senior in college. I was almost 25 years old and I was told I needed a total hip replacement in my right hip. I had several problems with bones on the right side of my body since birth and knew eventually I’d need hip surgery, but a total replacement surprised me. It was hard to accept, but since I was in constant pain and walking with a cane, the surgery had to happen.
I was devastated. I was already deeply depressed and to have to spend three days in the hospital sounded horrible. Even though my hip replacement surgery had been months before, because of the crutches and DVT, I wasn’t allowed to get up from the bed by myself. It was humiliating going to the bathroom with a nurse beside me. I felt like a child. The doctor said I was lucky that it hadn’t gone to my lungs or my brain. I hadn’t even heard of a blood clot before. It was hard to believe that it could happen to me. If I hadn’t said anything to my physical therapist, if I would have ignored the signs and symptoms, I could be dead. I knew the risk I was taking when I took off to Vegas, being in the car for four hours one day and four hours the next day. Even though my doctor may have told me, I don’t really remember him warning me that this could happen.
