Part 2
My bad, I work doubles and couldn’t log on for a while last night.
So, it’s Friday night. On the way over to the hospital (smaller, Trauma Level 2 or 3; that’s important), the paramedic told me that I had pneumonia and that I’d be sick for a bit. I wasn’t stressed, and when we hit the ED and saw that it was busy yet seemed like the staff was decent. I spent a ton of time in hospitals growing up (mom and grandma were both at Level One Trauma Centers), so I was fine. I got an IV in each arm, and waited for an x-ray.
The worst thing you can hear in a medical situation is uncertainty. When I got my first picture, there was a pause from the tech and a very soft, “Interesting.” Man, when she said that, I knew it was gonna be trouble. She excused herself and went to get a doctor. The first of many docs came in and started asking a battery of questions, only some of which had to do with how I was feeling in the moment. I was on 1.5 liters of oxygen.
Finished with his initial queries, the doctor disappears with a frown on his face by this time, I was just about through my first bag of saline, and I was rocking some antibiotics in the other bag. I was severely dehydrated, with tachycardia and what looked like pneumonia, but there were whispers of, “damn, that’s quite symmetrical” and other shyt. I was definitely starting to worry. On top of that, my breathing was getting worse.
I remained in the ER throughout the night, now up to two liters of o2. I was in my own room in the ED at this point, chatting video games with the tech who was supposed to watch me. I’d forgotten my phone on the way to work, so I had no real way to contact my wife, who I’d been leaving an increasingly dire-sounding string of voicemails as my condition worsened throughout the day. I suddenly remembered that I had my laptop, and was able to reach out via Facebook. After reassuring her that I was okay for the moment, I tried to relax. However, my breathing was getting worse. I had to piss like a horse even though I hadn’t had anything to drink for hours. Instead of giving me a urinal, the dumb ass tech made me walk down the hallway to a bathroom. Each time, I thought I might not make it back, lol.
By three in the morning, I was up to three liters. I’d had several more conversations with doctors, and each one seemed perplexed by my symptoms and the chest x ray. What was clear, though, was that answers were needed. Someone came up with the idea for an arterial blood draw, as well as albuterol. The nurse who tied to do the draw couldn’t find the artery to b first go, and for those who don’t know, arterial blood draws are difficult, painful, and can cause nerve damage. So I have this goofy broad rooting around in my wrist and finally she gets it. A respiratory therapist comes in and gives my first round of albuterol. An hour later when she comes back, instead of turning the o2 know down, it goes up. 3.5 liters.
At this point, these dikkheads are clearly panicking. They say that they’ll admit me as soon as a room opens, close to 6:30. I’m chill, and eventually one opens around that time. My nurse is British, and we chat because my mom went to nursing school in England. I’m on four liters now. New doctors come in to talk, but now I’m frustrated. I won’t let anyone call my mom, because I know that she’d fly out and take over the hospital. I was certainly not very optimistic at the moment.
Eventually my wife and kiddo came through: it sucked seeing her react to all the tubes and sensors coming out of my body. The new docs wanted to try an endoscopy, which they did to little success. The next chat was about biopsy of my lung, and while all this is going on I’m now up to five liters, which is just shy of how much the regular rooms can dispense. My next move is the ICU. Just before we go up, a young doctor calls down and asks why I haven’t had an echo or CT with contrast yet. He puts the orders in, and I get a little feeling of relief, or at least optimism.
I had the echo first. It was some TV/movie shyt, lol. Salty dog of a doctor from Holyoke or Springfield. I’m in the room with the ultrasound tech, dude rolls through from one of those other hospitals, barely comes into the room. He reminded me of House in that moment. Dude asked the sonographer a couple of questions, and without even fully entering the room, diagnosed my shyt. It was nuts. He dipped, and I waited to go down to CT.
I don’t mind the machines at all; the noise actually comforts me a bit. The techs explained what they were going to do with the contrast, and into the machine I went. Even over the noise of the machine, I could hear the techs gasp. When they pulled me out, one simply said, “Bro, your lungs lit up like a Christmas
“
So, up to the ICU I went. There, I was given my first dose of Xarelto, which I will probably take for the rest of my life. At the worst of it, I was on 90% o2. I was in bed for almost five days straight; I lost 20+ pounds and could barely walk by the time I was discharged.
The first several months were hell on all fronts. I had larger-than-average lung capacity as an athlete and due to genetics, so the permanent loss of capacity that I experienced isn’t as bad as some folks. Breathing normally was not even a consideration in that first six months or so of recovery. Meanwhile, I saw every type of doctor under the sun to determine what the cause was. Nothing. I mean nothing. So many fukking tests, all over New England. Nada. So, blood thinners for life.
I have a lot of patients today, so I have to dip but I’m willing to answer whatever questions y’all may have in this thread or DM. Pay attention to your bodies, brethren
this is most likely due to some "supplement" the players are using since it seems to be happening around NBA athletes. Prayers up for dame. Hopefully he can get back to playing again this ain't no joke. only other athlete I remember having this issue outside of Basketball was Serena.
