The first half of the month saw Terry and me traveling to Florida for a vacation. We rented a little bungalow at Ft. Myers Beach. Sun and sand were right across the street. Terry gave me the trip for my birthday. We got a bit scorched in the winter sun, took long walks at the water's edge, breathed in salt air and sampled a lot of sea food. My birthday dinner was at Doc Ford's Rum Bar and Grill. If you don't read Randy Wayne White, you don't know who Doc Ford is. White licensed his main character to two restaurants, one in Ft. Myers Beach, one on Sanibel Island. I got some good writing in as well. Felt like I was channeling Hemingway while working on Max 2.
After a week, we drove across Florida to Palm Coast and hooked up with our daughter to watch the playoffs in her hot tub. The hot tub was a tepid tub, so we decided being couch potatoes was good enough. Daily long walks ended with sports on TV, good food and great conversation.
A day after returning home, I started feeling unwell. I mean, really unwell. I had chest pains. I was so short of breath I couldn't climb the stairs. Terry took one look at my face and said we needed to get to the emergency room. Turned out he was right.
I underwent a battery of tests. Heart attack? No. Ruled out with a blood test. Listening to my lungs for pneumonia? Negative. CT scan of my chest. Positive for pulmonary embolisms. Oh shit! Not what I wanted to hear. No one wants to hear she has PEs. Most people find out they have them too late. We found out in time. Dopler tests on my legs to see where the clots originated. Not in the legs.
I spent a night in ICU getting no sleep, then four more days in a regular hospital bed getting anticoagulant shots to keep more clots from forming and Coumadin to thin my blood. All the time I was in, an earworm roamed around my brain. With apologies to Paul Simon, Me and Julio turned into me and Hillary. Why? Because my guess is that Hillary had the same shots and the same oral meds I had.
I looked at my abdomen and torso when I got home. The bruising from the shots made my abdomen look like I went ten rounds with a boxer. Multi-colored bruises would make any tattoo artist green with envy. They can't get these same colors in their inks. My torso looked like I'd tangled with an octopus. Sucker marks from the EEG and heart monitors left round, red bruises.
So, now you ask how I feel. I feel good physically. We still don't know what caused the PEs. We have a couple of clues, but we don't know for sure. Yet. How did I feel when I was first diagnosed? Scared. Shitless.
