Red Converse with my hospital gown

Everyone wears their red Converse under their hospital gown, right? Right.

This was my view Tuesday afternoon. I had a lovely bed smack to the side of a busy hallway in the Glendale Adventist Emergency Room. I'm not complaining. I didn't want my own room, hell I didn't even want my own bed but they insisted. See if you get your own room, you're probably sticking around. And I didn't want to stick around.

I was there to get an ultrasound. I made an appointment with my primary care doctor because my right leg has been more achy than usual, a teeny tiny bit swollen around my sandal and occasionally painful. It had been about two weeks of this and I was done. So off to the doctor I went. She wanted an ultrasound immediately and the best way to get that was to send me to the ER. I'd spent the morning running around volunteering at Homeless Lunch and yet, they decided I couldn't walk to the ER. So I got in the wheelchair and they pushed me around the corner, up the ramp and into the connected hospital.

It was all supposed to be routine. They even slid me in the ER exit, instead of through the entrance, once I was registered. The nurse didn't even bother with blood work right away. They had me put a gown on just for the test. Which I had. But then...the doctor came back by. And I have to tell you, this ER staff was efficient and great. The doctor came by and said I'm calling a vascular surgeon and your hematologist.

And that's when I realized me and my red Converse weren't skipping out the door with just a quicky ultrasound.

A co-worker dropped Angela off at the hospital after work. We waited. We waited some more. And then? The doctor returned. He wanted to do something preventative to stop another pulmonary embolism because, in his words, some people don't have the best...and he stopped. I knew where he was going. Most people die from pulmonary embolisms. I did not the first time. He wasn't so sure I'd be as lucky the next was what I was getting even though he wasn't saying it. But the surgeon and my hematologist concurred that the new clot the ultrasound had picked up could very possibly be an old clot that was calcifying. That was good news. Right? Right...well, it was news.

The ER doctor sent me home, a bit begrudgingly. He'd wanted to admit me but he sensed he would and nothing would happen and they wouldn't put in a vascular screen (or more accurately, a vascular umbrella) as he hoped and they'd send me home in the morning. I thanked him profusely for his vigilance but gladly swapped my giant gown for my jeans and t-shirt and got on the road.

Wednesday morning Angela and I arrived at my hematologist's office, under direction from the ER doctor. I didn't have an appointment and we were armed with books and snacks and prepared to wait all day to be seen if necessary. But the sweet nurse was expecting me, having taken the ER call the day before, and ready to hear what was going on. I saw the doctor in just over an hour and we talked about the news.

My hematologist didn't want to take action just yet. She believes that the clot may be old, and if so, the blood thinner I'm on is doing it's job. She said a screen doesn't always work and sometimes causes more problems than it fixes. I don't want that. So the news? It's that I might have a new clot. And I might not. I'm to be aware of pulmonary embolism and clot symptoms and go to the ER if they appear or appear to worsen. I'm to continue my meds as I await the results of a new blood test and a study of this week's ultrasound and the 2015 ultrasounds. I can do that. I can wait. I can exercise and drink more water, the only prescriptions I left with Wednesday afternoon. But...

The news isn't what I hoped. I had hoped for nothing. For all the doctors to say you're fine. Or maybe you have a sciatica problem as the ER doctor so hopefully suggested just after ordering the ultrasound. But the news isn't terrible either. It could be so much worse.

But that doesn't stop the fear or the panic or the anxiety or the dread. That didn't stop me from bursting into tears in the waiting room after my appointment yesterday. (I'd worn mascara telling myself I couldn't cry while wearing it, and yet, I did.) That didn't stop me from sobbing in the Kohl's parking lot half an hour later as we debated lunch options. That didn't stop me from imaging I couldn't breathe last night as I did health-related paperwork. That didn't stop the PTSD. That didn't stop the terror.

It will subside. The feelings of anxiety will go away, I know this, logically. They'll lessen over time. They're better now than they were yesterday at this time. They're worse when I'm not busy or when I let my mind wander. Thankfully I have Angela. We played board games last night and watched baseball. And then I read until late, until my eyes physically beat my brain to the sleep finish line. Thankfully I have projects to keep me going. I spent hours on the phone this morning with my friend Tami talking story and script. Thankfully I have volunteering. This afternoon I spent time at Ang's school, where I got so many hugs and lunch and bakery treats bought to celebrate me. I am so lucky. So thankful.

The anxiety will subside. It will get better as my body does. Walking up inclines is harder now than it was several weeks ago. This is due to the clots, whether new or old. It's a reality but I'll still walk up them. Because the hill might be steep but it's still my path.