Preeeeeeening.

Home of the $5 fade

Sometimes all it takes to feel a bit better is a new haircut. For all of my preening needs, I visit Shady Cuts. Thank you Shady Cuts!

Hopeful Hopelessness

This is actually what I looked like at my desk today.

If I live to be exactly 82 years old, I will have survived 29,951 days. Really, every day does matter but if you consider one day out of almost 30,000, it is pretty inconsequential.

Today was not a Good Day.

Instead of outlining all of the insignificant facts that made this a Bad Day, I will talk about why I have recently been having more Bad Days than Good.

Since I am being exact with my calculations, I lost my husband to suicide 628 days ago (see my earlier post). Since that time, I have navigated the aftermath of his death (planning a funeral, buying an urn, finding ways to honor his memory), changed offices at my job three times, started dating someone, broke up with said someone, was admitted to a mental hospital, and then was diagnosed with a pulmonary embolism.

Through all of these things, I was able to convince myself that life was still "okay." Until the pulmonary embolism.

When Ben died, I believed that my life was over, too. However, by finding ways to honor his memory, I love him more than ever and feel more happiness than sadness when I think of him. I don't need to talk about what an amazing person he was - anyone who knew him is aware of that. Anyone who ever saw us together understands how deep my love was for him. Nothing else needs to be said.

The pulmonary embolism diagnosis literally almost killed me. I am sitting at my computer typing because of sheer luck. Perhaps if the wind was blowing a different way that day, I would not have been so lucky. After being released from the hospital, I care so much less about things that should matter to me: work, relationships, even my own well-being. I suppose facing one's own mortality will elicit such a reaction. However, these feelings are distinctly NOT ME.

It frightens me how little I care. It frightens me that a future that was once bright and full of hope is now a black hole of negative energy. It's almost as if my life stopped that day in the ER when the doctor looked at me with a stony expression and explained that I have a clot in my lung. Being in the hospital was novel but, when I was released, I felt like I was swimming in dark waters without a life preserver.

The lights could have gone out and not come back on.

I plow through and do what is expected of me. I don't enjoy it. Mostly, I feel angered and annoyed. I am not such a fool to believe that anything is beyond hope but hope is just beyond my reach.

Through whatever tears I am unable to hold back, I remind myself that everything is temporary. My mood is temporary, my health problems are temporary, life is temporary. Today was bad, tomorrow may be great. Even my present exasperation cannot prevent me from believing in the future. By nature, I am a positive person. Even if tomorrow is bad, there is the next day. Or the next.

If all else fails, I will blame my anguish on my unexpectedly bad menstrual cycles. Hormones, hormones, hormones, cry, cry, cry.

MENSES! (NSFW and probably boys, too)

What is that cliche about a raincoat and a monsoon?

I can't say I wasn't warned but I am the queen of "it won't happen to me."

Well, it happened. It happened, I was not prepared, and I cried. I cried like a child who bought an ice cream cone and promptly dropped it. And then a dog came along and ate the discarded ice cream and I cried some more.

Life is haaaaarrrrd.

My imagination is very active and I watch an inordinate amount of Investigation Discovery Channel murder shows. When these two elements are combined, any amount of spontaneous bleeding transports me into the middle of an episode of 48 Hours Mystery in which I am the main character. I am the worst person to be on Warfarin.

.......TMI AFTER THE JUMP......

I'm just going to get right to the point. I am a woman. Because I am a woman, I have to deal with the monthly curse*. Typically my period is light and manageable, so much so that I am barely aware that any blood being expelled from my naughtybits. I figured this was the universe's display of kindness after being victimized by circumstance time and time again. This was one house of cards that I never expected to fall.

My menstrual house of cards was blown over in a huge way this morning. I won't get into too many gory details because I do have respect for anyone who is kind enough to read my ramblings. I will say, however, HOLY SHIT and leave it at that.

Every single healthcare provider with whom I have spoken about Warfarin has been very clear: blood thinners will cause VERY HEAVY PERIODS. Because I was too preoccupied with the gunk in my lung, I paid minimal attention to this warning. Let me tell you - today, lunggunk is the last thing on my mind. I am more worried about my ovaries falling out and taking the rest of my reproductive system with them.

Tears and laughter ensued when I realized that there was not one single feminine sanitary product in my house. Oh, the irony!

Anyway, the moral of this story is: ladies, if you are on blood-thinners and the doctors tell you that your menstrual cycle may change, listen to them. And then go to the store and buy every single box of pads that they have on their shelves.

*Other acceptable euphemisms for menstruation:

• Aunt Flo 
• Lady business
• Laying an egg
• Girl flu
• Shark week
• Painting the town red
• The monster
• Monthly troubles
• Ragtime
• Red letter day
• Etc, etc, etc

Crossword Puzzles will Cure what Ails You

Is this why my cats have been screaming? I just thought they wanted  me to put food in their fat bellies.

I found the missing link in my recovery efforts: crossword puzzles. Yesterday, I completed eight crossword puzzles and, today, I feel better than I have in weeks. I'm sure my sudden reanimation has nothing to do with the addition of advair or painkillers to my daily pharmaceutical diet. I completely attribute it to word games and a new favorite pen. 

On my agenda today: 

• coffee
• more crossword puzzles
• falling asleep with my puzzle book on my face when I am stumped by a clue
• more coffee with a side of gatorade
• giving up on the clue that stumped me and cheating by looking for the answer in the back of the book
• !SHOWER! (a clear sign that I am feeling slightly better)
• pizza

Tomorrow, after I make my weekly visit to the vampires, I plan on doing laundry and cleaning my kitchen. Look who is almost feeling ok again!

Recovery day

All of the necessary elements for a successful sick day. Not pictured: cats, gatorade, Investigation Discovery Channel.

This post is not about lunggunk

I love you more than words can tell.

Grief is a futile emotion. You wish for someone who isn't here and who isn't coming back. You replay every spent moment in your mind and all the moments that will remain unspent. You feel guilt for every word uttered and every word left unspoken.

I miss my husband. I miss his voice. I miss his kiss, his touch, the look in his eyes when he was pleased. I miss his presence.

There is no worse feeling than loving someone who is no longer in this world.

Photos keep him alive. His music is a treat to my otherwise deaf ears. The only thing that is missing is his body when I roll over in the middle of the night, sleepily expecting him to be there. What I wouldn't give to kiss his shoulder blade...

Tonight, I will listen to the songs that remind me of him. He is not coming back but if I hold my breath and concentrate, I can feel his lips on mine. Ben was a better person than I could ever hope to be. His memory animates me and pushes me forward. To anyone who is pessimistic, I say there is a person out there who will complete you. Ben was the other half of me who was good, beautiful, and sweet. At thirty, I can confidently state that I met the love of my life. He is gone, but I will spend the remainder of my days loving him as well as I can.

Sometimes...

...all you want is a kiss from someone who is no longer here.

Complaining: Doing what I do best

How many things will I go through that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy?

I am like a puppy dog. I keep getting kicked but I salivate and wag my tail for more. Still, I am happy to be alive and am hoping to wave my stupid puppy dog tail for years to come.

This frog is a champion and he has my back. 

However, I am an American and have a right to bitch, cry, and moan as much as my strained heart desires. Because I learned today that my heart is strained - not by unrequited love, professional failure, or my cats' inability to find an appropriate place to vomit. My heart is strained because of motherfucking blood clots. 120 bpm may sound fun, but it's not healthy. Am I dancing, you may ask? No, I am not. I am recumbent on an exam table waiting for the doctor to see me.

I cried away most of my day: on the train, at work, and at the doctor's office. My body does not feel healthy and I do not feel normal. As strong as I pretend to be, I had absolutely no control over my tears today.

MY HEART HURTS. and not in a metaphorical sense. IT HURTS TO BREATHE.

The doctor saw me and took pity on me, I think, because I was hooked up to an oxygen tank and still sobbing. Pain sucks. The unknown sucks. And it certainly sucks when you think your death is imminent.

I learned that my the blood clot in my lung was bigger than I was initially led to believe. And the tissue damage was extensive. Why have I had so much pain over the past few months? Oh, because I have a giant fucking blood clot in my lung.

Death does not appeal to me. New blood clots aren't welcome in my veins.

I can utter those words a million times and they won't matter. I am scared, sick, and want a hug.

Breathing is fun

I added a new medicine to my collection today! My body is now comprised of 2% water and 98% pharmaceuticals.

Pulmonary Embolism Recovery: To ER or not to ER?

I want to rub his head for good luck. (That's what she said).

Surpassing "what is the meaning of life?" the above question has become the most profound and frequently asked by my little spark of consciousness over the last few weeks. Based on things I have heard from other pulmonary embolism survivors, this seems to be a common dilemma. So what is answer?

I haven't a clue.

When I was discharged from the ICU on 04.30.2013, I was thrown into an entirely new world in which every ache, pain, bruise, tickle, cramp, and flutter is a potentially fatal symptom that deserves immediate attention. As any anxiety-sufferer/hypochondriac will tell you, even the most seemingly insignificant unexpected bodily responses are symptoms of a disease that is murdering you from the inside out.

Even "well-adjusted" people who have suffered a pulmonary embolism rarely escape the experience psychologically unscathed. Trauma is trauma - some are better equipped to handle it than others, but it still leaves an imprint on one's mind. Anxiety is a totally normal response to an event that almost caused your demise.

So, to get back to the question - when should you go to the ER? I haven't found a good answer to this problem yet. However, the more I learn about my condition and my body, in general, I feel that I have become a better listener to my internal processes. I am becoming accustomed to the chest pain, fatigue, and shortness of breath. Over the past three weeks, I have paid close attention to the nature and duration of my pain. Deviations from the norm would be one factor that would invite me to consider the emergency room. Any new and troubling symptoms will probably prompt me to go without too much hesitation.

During my last ER visit, which turned out to be an intense flare up of my existing PE symptoms, the nurse told me that, even though they did not discover any new clots, it is never a bad idea to go to the ER when you are experiencing shortness of breath and chest pain. The fact that she said that made me feel much more at ease. I do not want to be the girl who cried wolf, but, I have decided that is better to be safe than sorry.

Also, it's not a bad idea to have a list of phone numbers you can call to ask for advice before you decide to take the ER plunge. For example, if my problems are related to medication side-effects, I will call my pharmacist. If the symptoms involve chest pain or shortness of breath, I call the nurse at my doctor's office or the NurseLine through my health insurance. These have all been effective tools to make the decision easier.

I am still figuring all of this out and will probably never develop a 100% effective formula. I am learning to trust and listen to my body and, at this point, I think this is the best thing I can do for myself.

If there are any other PE survivors out there reading this, how do you make this determination? What prompts you to go to the ER? Or what helps you calm down enough to feel like you can treat your symptoms at home?

Migraines, Birth Control, and DVT

Attention, ladypals! This article suggests a correlation between migraines (especially migraines with aura), hormonal birth control, and an increased risk of thrombotic events.

This is a friendly PSA to be aware of the symptoms of DVT & PE.


scary!

Knowledge is Power!

Mine looked a lot like this, minus the arrow.

According to a bill I received in the mail, I was in the cardiac ICU for the duration of my stay in the hospital. This was news to me. Thankfully, I was not aware of this fact while I was there because I certainly would have freaked the eff out. Of course, the only time I was in the hospital (for non-crazy problems, lol), I would end up in the ICU. Knowledge is power, but sometimes, knowledge after the fact is preferable.

Oh, BTW, the bill is 30k and counting. Thanks Obama!

Hippy post! Hope you enjoy it!

Q: Note cards make me pine for school. My most frequently used accessories include red plastic-rimmed glasses, hair clips and cardigan sweaters. What am I?

Today is Saturday. While I could have slept in, I arose at 7:15 am feeling completely rested and alive (yay! I woke up alive again!). The sun is shining, the birds are chirping. My good friend, insomnia, decided to visit someone else last night (sorry for them, but hooray for me!). Why shouldn't I feel chipper?

The last two years have been difficult for me (sorry to all of my friends who have been around during this time & had to deal with my insanity! Kisses to you all!). Especially over the last few weeks, I have found myself in a Funk with a capital F. More than anything, I despise persistent sadness and anxiety. When you are diagnosed with a serious illness, it is so easy to fall into the welcoming arms of self-pity. However it is much more fulfilling to eschew this "easy" emotion and tap into a reserve of courage you didn't even know existed within you.

Every few years, especially when I am experiencing something difficult, I like to assess my place in life. When you work a 9-5 job, it's easy to forget what is truly important to you, what you want out of life, and the behaviors you should improve in order to be a better person. Typically, this is something I do privately, but I thought this would be a good place to share...

***

So...without further ado...WHO IS ANNA?

THE GOOD: 

This should be in my tool box.

I am compassionate, confident, and quick to flash a genuine smile. Laughter is the best medicine - that's probably why my pulmonary embolism did not kill me. I laughed it all the way into a non-deadly artery. I am funny, playful and easily amused. I balance this out by being dedicated and serious when it comes to the Important Things. I love, love, love my job!* I love communicating with others in positive ways. I am Strong, with a capital S, for real. My favorite past-times are being helpful and making crafty junk. (And then giving said crafty junk away to my friends. :) I love more things than I hate and I prefer to enter any situation with an open mind, free of bias. I find great happiness in treating others with respect, dignity and kindness. 

There is one in every bunch

THE BAD:

My temper can flare almost as quickly as I can flash a smile. I am often confused about people's intentions, which can create conflict at times. I can be demanding, short, and impatient with people, especially the ones who I care about the most. This has been the number one cause of the downfall most of my failed relationships. Sometimes, I expect too much when I should just let things naturally fall into place. (Can I blame this on being a combined Scorpio and INTJ)? Sometimes, I am too wrapped up in my own head space to be a good listener to anyone else. I hold myself to very high standards and feel disappointed in myself when I am not able achieve my goal.

Oh and I can't forget the crippling anxiety. This one I will blame less on conscious decisions and more on my wacky brain chemistry.

*Work is love made visible ~Khalil Gibran

***

WHAT DOES ANNA WANT?

It was only a matter of time before this made an appearance.

The Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs has been the background on my computer for some time now. My goal is to, one day, climb to the top of this pyramid like King Kong, hold a pepperoni roll in my hand and scream, at the top of my lungs (considering they are healed by that point), "I DID IT!!" Then I will fling my imaginary commencement cap to the ground, climb down from the pyramid, eat my pepperoni roll, and resume my day. 

This concise graph sums up basically everything I feel I need to live a happy, full life. I want healthy relationships with people who share common interests (duh). I want to reconnect with people I have lost touch with over the years. I want to heal my body and my mind so I can be the best damn Anna I can be. My job allows me the opportunity to help people in need - I want to continue my career with my current organization, and move up the ladder so I can eventually be more helpful to more people in need. I want to learn to accept myself for who I am - my problems, my shortcomings, my positive qualities are all a part of me. I can either take it or leave it. 

In a nutshell, I want what most people want: happiness, love, and the ability to make others feel happy and loved. 

How can I achieve my goals and be a better person? 

• I need to be a better listener - both to others and to my own mind/body. 
• I need to let go of the past and look to a future which will probably be great. 
• However, I cannot let go of the past completely. I can rebuild my life by creating a foundation with my happy memories, positive experiences and lessons learned from past mistakes. On that foundation, I can add new positive experiences and new lessons learned to create a "house" that is safe, nurturing, and inviting. 
• Everyone is allowed an angry outburst every now and again, but I do not want this to become part of my personality. You know, the golden rule and all (which, if people were more-self aware, empathetic, and in tune with their minds, would probably be the only rule we would ever need). 
• Everyone deserves to be treated with respect. From this point forward, I will think twice, no thrice, about any potential negative words that may come from my lips. 

***

The birds are still chirping and the sun is still shining. Every day is a learning experience and I am dedicated to keeping my eyes and mind open. 

This post is brought to you by Sesame Street, the letter H (for Heparin!) and Cathy Clark, who is, hands down, the most strong & inspiring person I know. Oh, and the number 3, because I like odd numbers. 

My Eyelips are Becoming Very Heavy

Oh, hello! It's insomnia, my oldest and dearest friend. Before lunggunk was even a twinkle in my femoral artery, my brain has had a habit of getting my days and nights confused.

I would bet my favorite llama that, during my years of sleepless nights, the thought of dropping dead due to a blood clot has probably helped tick down the minutes between the unacceptable and acceptable times to be awake. However, I wouldn't consider this prophetic...at 3 AM during any given bout of insomnia, I have already run the gamut of illnesses that will kill me or are currently killing me. Years of sleepless nights have allowed my creativity to flourish. Ebola? I had that back in 1998. Necrotizing fascitis? Oh, yes...I came down with that in college after I got a papercut editing a term paper.

At the point of the night in which I become bored with diagnosing my imaginary ailments, I attempt to be proactive and turn my energy toward thoughts of SelfImprovment™. Logic suggests that, if anxiety is causing me to lose sleep, then something in my life must be broken. What past events have led to this point? What can I do in the present to re-chart my course?

Helpful suggestions quickly give way to fantasies of fantastic abandon of any sense of responsibility I possess. Once you peel back the layers of rational thought, it only makes sense for me to sell all of my possessions, move to Ireland, and become a shepherd to live out my remaining days in peaceful, woolly bliss. If, on any given night, that seems like it would be too much work, I start to troll the Social Security website and consider applying for disability benefits. I could spend the rest of my life living on ramen and Folgers, right?

Eventually, even my fantasies begin to be tedious. This is when I spend hours scrolling through pages of shitty movies on Netflix in an attempt to numb my brain with whatever rot Hollywood has recently presented to the universe. Only a fellow insomniac would be able to accurately gauge how many hours I have spent ingesting the intellectual detritus that passes for entertainment in this country.

 In all honesty, watching television shows that even Fox had the good sense to cancel is my preferred method of murdering time. How can I feel any trace of self-pity when grown ass men are shooting teeny, tiny bullets at horribly rendered dinosaurs which, somehow, magically exist?

This effective approach is two pronged: First of all, crappy TV anesthetizes my brain to the point in which I temporarily forget about all of my earthly cares. Secondly, since it wasn't me who created said garbage pile, I feel a lot better about myself. Seriously, I would question my friends' loyalty if they allowed me to produce something like Cop Rock. (OMG, legit lolz at Cop Rock).

When the sun has partially risen and the birds begin to chirp, I know that I have successfully survived another sleepless night. And, of course, as soon as the light begins to creep in my window, my eyelips* effortlessly start to close....

* People actually call them this. Seriously. Search for #eyelips on twitter. 

This is my blog and I will cry if I want to

HA HA!

Dammit, Life! Yesterday was so good! I even went to bed with a smile on my face. Why do you mistreat me so? 

It is almost comical when the stars align with such precision that every possible thing that could go wrong will go wrong and at exactly the same time. My day started with so much chest pain that I had to call the doctor to reschedule my appointment. Isn't that funny? I was going to see the doctor about my chest pain but my chest pain prevented me from going. Hee, hee, hee. 

I didn't even get to have my coffee yet before I began to roll my sisyphean bolder of anxiety up and down and up and down the imaginary mountains that exist in my brain. 

We all knows what happens when too much anxiety is combined with Pulmonary Embolism injuries - TROUBLE BREATHING! After a cute little bout of hyperventilation, I collapsed, exhausted, on the floor causing a very nice bruise on my very sore ass. (Well, it was more like my outer thigh, but I wanted to use a swear). 

All of these events were so absurd to me that I could do nothing but laugh. And then I started thinking about all of the minor annoyances that one encounters in day-to-day life, and felt pretty lucky I don't currently have an ingrown toenail. (Seriously, that shit would probably push me over the edge by this point). 

An appropriate response to a passive aggressive letter

Here is a list of mildly annoying things that did not happen to me today:

• A bird did not poop on my head
• The cats did not vomit in the bathtub again, bless their little hearts
• I did not receive one passive aggressive email today
• Nobody carved the word "ASS" into the hood of my car
• My professionalism was not insulted by men who think it is appropriate to address colleagues as "dear" or "honey" when you are saying something they don't agree with
• I did not find any severed digits in my Campbell's vegetable soup
• All urine and fecal matter made it into the toilet, where it belongs
• NO PAPERCUTS

So it wasn't all bad. Hopefully the universe is not spying on me to make all of my nonexistent mild annoyances come true!

Tomorrow's episode: Is an ER visit in our protagonist's future? Or can she finally make it through a week without having to take a trip to the hospital? Stay tuned! 

Post title

Proof positive that there is room for improvement when implementing a plan for improvement

Irony = being too sick to go to your previously scheduled doctor's appointment. 

fml

The Fool, the Lovers and Death walk into a bar...

Eurydice visits the Oracle

Dear Diary,

I had a good day today! So many people told me that I looked nice (even a cute boy!) and two different people gave me presents! I went to dinner with my good friend who insisted on paying the check. Everything was perfect and I felt so loved! Oh, Diary, I am such a lucky girl. I hope I am always this lucky!

***

Valley Girl Annie may be onto something. 

***

Usually, my first thought upon waking is, "oh, good. I am alive." Then I think, "oh, shit. What if today is the day that the blood clot is going to finish what it started." After having this internal dialog and my customary pot of coffee, I am sufficiently anxious before I even start work. However, something felt different today. Yeah, the cat puked in the bathtub. And, yeah, I still had to take a breakfast-sized amount of medication. But for the first time since my diagnosis, my gross lunggunk was not the first thing that I thought about after my alarm jolted me from blissful nothingness. (Full disclosure: I did happen to have a pretty racy sex dream. And I did wake up smiling. So what? Don't judge me.)

"They" say to take one day at a time. I suppose "they" are pretty wise. 

However, I would be betraying myself if I wasn't questioning what is around the corner. Let's face it - I have bad luck. When I have a perfectly ok day, I feel like it is only a matter of time before the shitstorm blows onto my shores. 

My suspicious nature causes me to question everything. But, tonight, I will let myself bask in a day that is not at all tragic. I'm crossing my fingers for another racy dream and a day whose lowest point is cat vomit in between my toes. 

What was once nice is now ugly.

I miss having lily white arms. Yes, that is a giant bruise, in case you were wondering.

What is an Anxiety?

So, it's ok if I am vomiting bile?

I have been the proud owner of an anxiety problem since I was old enough to think abstractly. Those cyclical thoughts - "I need money, I don't have money, I need money" - have been a good friend of mine since I've been on my own. When I was a kid, it was probably more like - "I want a Milky Way Bar, I don't have a Milky Way Bar, I need a Milky Way Bar."

Anxiety over money is easy to talk yourself out of.

1) I have none.
2) I am not a stone.
3) Even if I were, you couldn't squeeze coins, blood, water, mucus, etc. out of me.
4) If all else fails, a good "go fuck yourself" works quite well.
5) If you really need money or whatever, I will trade you my three goats for six months of deferment. My goats produce the best cheese, I am not lying.

Health anxiety is an entirely different animal (please read this sentence in a Sean Connery accent). You can beg, plead, cry, offer sexual favors, etc. but your condition is really up to the gods. My tongue is made of silver and I have been able to talk myself out of every major problem I have ever had, except this one.

The fact that I have to deal with some type of object in my lung that is completely unwelcome is five degrees above stressful. There is something inside of me over which I have no control. Anyone who knows me understands that I am a control freak and I would remove the offending substance with my own hands, if  I could. This is not possible without blooding my nicest outfit. And as of now, my nicest outfit is my only outfit because I have neglected laundry chores.

The point is that I freak out, start having trouble breathing, start having chest pain, and then everything becomes worse because of anxiety. Anyone who doesn't believe that anxiety is real needs to listen to my heart rate at 140bmp when I am resting. Perhaps then they would believe it. Anyway, this cycle continues until I can control my stress.

How do I do this?

Ativan. God bless the Ativan.

Expensive shit

Why is my life worth 20 k? If I didn't have insurance, what would have happened to me?

Deal with it

"I asked for MERLOT!!!"

Here's a riddle: 

Q: I am black and blue, itchy, irritable as hell and close to unzipping my own skin in an attempt to crawl out. What am I?

A: Either that extremely angry koala above or someone who was not properly educated on the side effects of warfarin.

***

I have to admit that said koala has pretty nice chompers. However, I am more likely the someone who was not properly educated about warfarin, since I'm not a marsupial and all. It's very possible I missed important instructions between being dosed with morphine and then going to a PCP who probably doesn't know what "a warfarin" is. 

God bless the internet. I would hate having to pay $25 just to have someone tell me that, yes, warfarin is causing my bruising, itching, and rage toward anything or anyone who attempts to breach the barrier I have erected around my "personal space." What can I do about it? Stop taking it and die? Or fucking deal with it?

Can you guess my choice???

A Day in the Life

Tea, anyone?

Have you ever wondered what a week in the life of a pulmonary embolism survivor is like? Oh, you have? Great! I will tell you!

***

Thursday, May 2nd: Went to my first appointment with my brand-new primary care provider and did not like her at all. This is mostly due to her hands off approach and the fact that she does not want to see me again until AUGUST. If I am having difficulty breathing and chest pain on a daily basis, it would be nice to at least pretend that I have access to a doctor who will take my concerns seriously. Hmmph. During this appointment, though, my warfairn was increased to 10mg/day and I was told to continue the twice daily Lovenox injections.

Friday, May 3rd: Said shortness of breath, chest pain and dizziness prompted me to take a return trip to the ER in an ambulance. What was the main problem, you ask? Dehydration. Whoops! Who would have thought that I actually need to drink water? The good news: a chest x-ray showed (read my lips) NO NEW CLOTS!

Saturday, May 4th & Sunday, May 5th: I don't really remember either of these two days. I'm guessing they consisted of more chest pain, naps, crappy TV, pajamas, and probably pizza. Actually, knowing me, definitely pizza.

Monday, May 6th: This was my first day back to work after being in the hospital! But first, I had to go to the lab to have my blood drawn. By this point, needles have become old hat to me. After being poked and prodded, I was off to my office like a good little worker bee. Going back to work was a positive step for me  - it provided some normalcy after one of the craziest weeks of my life. Plus, I love my job so I was glad to be back.

Tuesday, May 7th: The nurse from my PCP's office called with the results of my INR. It was in a therapeutic range so I was told to discontinue the Lovenox injections (yay!) and decrease my warfarin to 7mg/day. I also spoke with the nurse regarding my concerns about pain management and she indicated that the doctor didn't really specify in my chart what I am to do. Grrrr. Daily chest pain is scary, especially for a hypochondriac such as myself. Don't they get that?!?

In an interesting turn of events, when I examined my bottle of warfairn I had filled at my local Rite Aid, I noticed that the dosing instructions were incorrect. As such, I had been taking 1/2 of the dose that was prescribed to me by my doctor. I contacted the pharmacy, they admitted their mistake and apologized for any "inconvenience." It certainly would have been an inconvenience if I developed more clots and dropped dead! I still need to write a few angry letters to anyone who is masochistic enough to listen to me.

Wednesday, May 8th: More chest pain, more anxiety. At this point, I am at a loss of what to do because my PCP does not seem concerned but I feel like I am having a heart attack. I decided to do what I do best: nothing.

Thursday, May 9th: After I finish my workday, where did I find myself? Back at the ER, of course! I was having so much trouble breathing that I thought I was going to die. Plus, Creeps really wanted to visit the hospital cafeteria again. The food really grew on him.

I really can't say enough good stuff about the ED staff at Allegheny General Hospital. They are thorough, understanding, and compassionate. No matter what your medical history is, chest pain and shortness of breath are terrifying things. Just knowing that I was in such capable hands calmed my nerves considerably.

The "normal" test were performed: EKG, blood work, chest x-ray. Fortunately, the results were all good and my INR was still in an appropriate range. The doctor explained that, because of the significant damage to my lung, my recovery will take at least a few weeks. During that time, I can expect a degree of pain and difficulty breathing. Anxiety, he said, will only make it worse because panic attacks can mimic the symptoms of a PE. It's like a vicious cycle - my chest will start hurting, I will freak out, then I will have trouble breathing, and freak out some more. The more I freak out, the worse the symptoms will be.

He suggested that I keep my anxiety under control by taking Ativan when I start to have symptoms. He also prescribed pain medication. These two meds have worked wonders at keeping anxiety and pain at bay. Sometimes, all you really need is an understanding physician who expresses genuine concern for your symptoms.

Friday, May 10th - Sunday, May 12th: I've been following the recommendations of the ER doctor and have been able to effectively manage the pain and anxiety associated with it. I'm still not feeling great, but now I feel like I have the tools to deal with my symptoms. Also, I bought ice cream and cookies at the store. Ice cream will cure anything that ails you.

***

After a cycle of naps, meds, ice cream, more naps, another dose of meds, and a cookie supper, I will be ready to tackle anything that is thrown at me next week! 

Speaking of Lovenox...

Below is photographic proof of how much a two week supply of this medication would cost if I did not have prescription drug coverage.
Tell me why again that universal health care or, at the very least, expansion of Medicaid is a bad thing? America is one of the wealthiest countries in the world. It seems criminal that anyone would have to worry about obtaining access to a medication that can save their life.
/rant (for now)

The Wild and Wonderful World of Anticoagulants

I am thirty years old and my bedside table looks like a pharmacy at a retirement community. Every morning, I take about 10 pills for various ailments. Because I typically chase these little goodies with strong, black coffee, I lovingly refer to the combination as my breakfast. According to the box, Cheerios can promote heart health but I would rather rely on my blood-thinners for that task. In case anyone is curious, I am going to tell you about the various substances I have been putting in my body to prevent an untimely death.

Heparin

Heparin was my very first anticoagulant. (Awwwwww, how precious). This was given to me in the hospital via an IV almost immediately after the doctors discovered my pulmonary embolism. I was on a constant drip for 24 hours until my INR was at a therapeutic level. 

INR = International Normalized Ratio. After a person is diagnosed with a clotting disorder and is put on anticoagulants, the INR is checked frequently until it is stable. It is indicative of the blood's tendency to clot and is used to measure warfarin dosage. In my case, I am still getting weekly blood tests as my dosage of anticoagulants is being fine-tuned.

Lovenox

After Heparin was discontinued, I was placed on Lovenox injections twice daily. These continued until I was on warfarin, an oral medication, long enough for it to be effective. Lovenox injections are administered subcutaneously, typically in the belly or any other area where there is some extra chub. My first injection was given to me by a nurse in the hospital, but they instructed me on how to do it myself so I could continue them at home. I'm not really afraid of needles, plus the poker on this is a very fine gauge, so there was minimal pain with insertion. However, after a week of shots, there are enough bruises on my belly to resemble a large galaxy. It would be pretty if it wasn't so painful. 

Warfarin

Warfarin is probably the most commonly used drug in the treatment of deep vein thrombosis and pulmonary emboli. Like Heparin and Lovenox, it is an anticoagulant but it is taken orally (yay!). I started warfarin after Heparin was discontinued and used it in conjunction with Lovenox until my INR was stable enough to be considered therapeutic. At first I was on 4mg, then 10mg, and now 7mg. This may change when I have my next round of blood tests. My physician anticipates that I will be on this medication for 4-6 months, unless it is discovered that I am genetically predisposed to a clotting disorder. In that case, I will likely remain on it the rest of my life. 

One strange thing about warfarin is that it interacts with leafy, green vegetables that are high in vitamin K. Since I hate vegetables, this is good news for me because I now have a valid excuse to skip the salad. 

There are some pretty serious side effects associated with this medication, the most serious being an increased risk of bleeding. Upon my discharge from the hospital, I was instructed to go back if I fell or was injured in any other way because of the chance of internal bleeding. This worries me because I am clumsy and accident-prone. Plus I have cats who like to scratch the shit out of me in the middle of the night. The last thing I need is to wake up covered in cats and blood. It's stressful enough to have to wake up to the cats as it is. 

A less serious side effect that I have noticed is fatigue. I'm sure that the excessive tiredness I have been feeling is at least partially related to having a lung injury but it is probably largely due to medication. Again, this is one thing that I don't exactly mind because I have an excuse to sleep all day. Who doesn't want to sleep all day? 

***

For at least the next few months, anticoagulants are going to be my new best friend. It's always a good thing to keep the kind of company that will save your life. 

I just found the clotboard

I am so happy

Just fear. No loathing. Only fear.

Sleep sweetly.

If I ever have to go to the ER again, I want to be in the waiting room for four, no, five hours. I want to sit in those horribly upholstered, terribly uncomfortable chairs until I can no longer feel my ass or my feet. I want my stomach to scream with hunger because a vending machine has been my only sustenance for breakfast and lunch. I want even my favorite cellular telephone games to become tedious.

When you go to the ER and they take you immediately without even registering you, your body is doing things you have not authorized and never wanted to experience. I pray (lol) that the next time I have to visit the ER is due to a UTI that feels like fire in my urethra. That won't get me seen ASAP, but that won't kill me. A demon in my bladder is preferable to an incubus in my lungs.

If you have to sit in the ER waiting room with chubby women who are vomiting into bags or middle-aged men who have weeping, open sores on their legs, consider yourself lucky. Rest assured that you probably aren't dying.

2013 Summer Fashion Preview

Limited edition bangles. $50 copay at AGH

This summer, it's all about the accessories. I mean, we all have our closets stocked full of the hippest J. Crew culottes and American Apparel clam diggers...it's time that we fine tune our wardrobe to show the world how unique we really are!!!

The model shown on the right is wearing the latest designs to hit the runway. Not only do these bracelets POP with color, but they are also utilitarian. Haven't you always wanted to tell the world you are a fall risk? Now you can do it in style! These super-exclusive stackable bracelets aren't available in stores...visit your local ER for more details!

Psychedelic gowns are perfect for girls who aren't afraid to stand out!

Ladies, forget about the skorts for a moment and consider the future of fashion: open-backed gowns! These patterned frocks are bound to call attention to all of your assets. If you are feeling a bit naughty, you can leave a string untied in the back to showcase your goods. Or, unsnap a few of the shoulder buttons to draw attention to your clavicles.

And let's not forget about the gents! This outfit is unisex and will make all of your ladyfriends swoon. I mean, what is hotter than being able to see a man's hairy, fat ass without having to subscribe to Cinemax??

Not only are these garments chic, but they are also durable. We all have little mishaps now and again. For those of us who are accident-prone, this is the perfect summer dress. The colorful geometric shapes and grey striations will hide even the most nasty of fluids - blood, urine, and feces stains will become a thing of the past! This gown will disguise all of those unmentionables while making you look like a super sexy sack of potatoes! Pro tip: for those of us who are a bit modest, you can double up the gowns! Just wear one as a dress and one as a robe, and no unauthorized eyes will be privy to your goodies.

Unfortunately, this garment is not sold in stores. However, if you book a stay at your local hospital, you can shove a few of these in your bag upon discharge. Don't miss an opportunity to score the hottest new dress to hit the market!

It's time that I rethink my choice of friends.

He only looks sweet and innocent

Coffee Talk

"If you died while we were doing it, would you be mad if I left out the part about the blood clots and just told people you died while we were doing it?" - Creeps, Inc., 2013

This is a conversation that happened in real life. Well, it was kind of a conversation: Creeps was talking and my mouth was hanging wide open.

The Importance of Being Earnest

When I am not thinking of blood clots, I am most certainly thinking of word games. Or pizza.

Semantic satiation is a thing. I have used the word "clot" so many times over the last two weeks, that it has virtually lost all meaning. Clot. Clot. Clot. C-L-O-T. After awhile, it starts to sound like a dirty word, tee hee hee. 

Semantic satiation aside, words are powerful things. They are like tiny fists delivered in chirpy, nasal tones. . Words can make you question your beliefs. Words can elucidate ideas that you would prefer to remain muddy. 

When I first started experiencing calf pain, I chose to ignore it. If I refuse to acknowledge it, it's not there, right? It only became serious in my mind when my bff, Creeps, sat me down and told me (in a much nicer way) that I was being an irresponsible idiot for denying something so obvious. That was what prompted me to go to the hospital. (Thank you, Creeps, for saving my life. Let me buy you a coffee sometime for your trouble). 

Since my discharge, when asked, I have been open with the reason why I was hospitalized and missed a week of work. I have experienced the normal gamut of illnesses that affect most people - strep throat, influenza, painful diarrhea, etc. - and telling someone about those ailments elicits an entirely different reaction than telling someone about a pulmonary embolism.

Non-lethal ailment: "Oh, you have strep throat. That must suck. Drink OJ and get lots of rest!"

Pulmonary embolism: "Holy shit, I am glad you are standing here talking to me right now." 

Ever since I received the diagnosis of PE, I was completely aware of the gravity of the situation. However, the reactions I have been receiving from friends and coworkers have made the whole experience more "real." (I mean, it was never fake, It just wasn't so scary that I felt like peeing my pants). 

Of course these responses trigger a panic response in my brain. However, it is never a bad thing to be reminded that you are lucky to be alive. On a very basic level, it is an amazing coincidence that I was ever born. Now that I am here, it is incredible that I survived something that has killed so many wonderful people. 

It is easy to feel pity for oneself. It is difficult, but more profound, to view negative experiences as a building block for one's future. I have learned a lot about myself from this experience and I fully intend to use this knowledge to make a better life for myself going forward. I encourage anyone who has gone through something scary or painful to try to view their situation in this light. Everything is a learning experience and we owe it to our fellow humans to be good teachers. 

It's OK, I'm OK

"It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt" - Momu circa 1986

I'm not made of steel. Actually, I am made primarily of water and hormones. When those two elements combine, it results in a 5 hour cry-fest, ending only when I exclaim, "I'm so stressed!" and collapse on the floor. (Note to self: this is probably why I have never had a successful relationship). Anyway, my point is that weakness is natural and one shouldn't be ashamed of it. Or some shit like that.

Today, I cried a bunch. I'm not afraid to admit it because any person who has known me for longer than two weeks has seen me in the midst of full body sobs. I try to be one of those tough types who claims to never feel overwhelmed but my recent stay in a mental hospital betrays my true nature.

Being sick is scary. No matter how old, professional, educated, etc. you are, I bet you will be wishing for your mommy as soon as the insert the first IV catheter in your arm. As someone who has never been seriously ill, this is all new to me. Weekly blood tests, medicine that keeps me alive, pain in my chest, trouble breathing...all of these things terrify me. Nothing is more disconcerting than being faced with your own mortality. Life is fragile and that is a fact that most of us would like to forget.

When I was first admitted to the hospital, none of these things registered in my mind. Intellectually, I knew something was wrong with me but I was so occupied with my fantastic bed, ok food, and attractive nurses that I ignored the fact how close I came to death. Ignorance and numbness are effective tools for avoiding pain or responsibility. However, this blessed numbness never lasts long and once it dissipates, you are left sitting in a huge crater of what your life once was.

Fate and luck do not figure into my worldview. I believe that we are in control of our lives and we, alone, determine how we will handle crises. With proper treatment, my blood clots will one day disappear but this experience will forever leave an imprint on my psyche. Today was a bad day, but tomorrow, I will probably feel hopeful and full of life again.

My point of this post is this: life is hard sometimes but it is also amazing. Don't be afraid to show your true feelings but don't let negativity color every aspect of your life. The only thing you can't fix is death. I am committed to taking care of myself to ensure that I am around to do everything I want to do, within reason. This post is as much for myself as it is for anyone else who may be "listening."

I AM SO HAPPY

Post m0rph!n3 injection. Also, that is a thumb and not a stump.

"No one is ever happy to be in the hospital. Well, except you." - Creeps 2013

It is no secret that I march to the beat of my own drummer. Actually, if I had my own personal percussionist, he would probably follow me around playing a pair of garbage cans. With that said, I LOVE THE HOSPITAL and I will fight anyone who talks shit on it. Admittedly, it will be a weak fight because I get winded easily, with the embolism and all.

Anyway, let me tell you why the hospital is great:

Food: I dedicated a whole post to this so I don't need to say anything else. Except sherbet.

Hi-Tech Equipment: A hypochondriac appreciates nothing more than top-of-the-line diagnostic tools that will expose all of their ailments from Morgellon's disease to Epidermodysplasia verruciformis. Every time I have to have imaging done, I am both horrified and intrigued. No one should every have to see their voice box or watch their heart beat if they don't want to, but I swear to you it is the coolest thing you will ever experience. Unless of course, you prefer to pretend you completely lack organs and are a ball of white light on the inside. In that case, I understand, and won't try to convince you that watching your own heart beat is fucking MIND BLOWING.

During my stay, I had a few tests conducted which confirmed my PE (sadface) but also ruled out any underlying heart problems, lung cancer, gall stones, and tapeworms. Being around people who can definitively state that I do not have tapeworm is a huge plus in my book, whatever that means.

Awesome Doctors: Sometimes doctors can act like dicks because their brains are huge and they sold their first born to pay for college. Here is a plug for Allegheny General Hospital: their doctors were kind, compassionate, and understanding. It is so disconcerting to be diagnosed with something that is potentially lethal, but each doctor I talked to made me feel relaxed, like I could overcome any problem that was messing with my body. During my stay, my favorite phrase was, "I am in good hands." I truly believed that. My attending physician spent a lot of time with me and answered my LONG list of questions without seeming annoyed. When I spoke with the doctor each day, he made me feel like his only patient. His mind was not elsewhere. When you are scared and don't want to die, this is the type of doctor you want to encounter.

Super-Professional Nurses: It is expected that your healthcare providers will maintain a professional

How many babies would you like me to give you?

demeanor at all times. At AGH, they met and exceeded my expectations. Even if it wasn't time for a feeding, shot, or diaper change (just kidding. I didn't poop the bed once), my nurse would pop his/her head in my room every so often just to see if I needed anything. I was actually asked if I liked ice cream. Who the fuck doesn't like ice cream, was my response but more polite. Within moments, I had a bowl of vanilla ice cream in front of my face. It didn't survive outside of my digestive system for long.

I was in the hospital for five days. This could have been hugely scary for me but the staff at AGH was simply wonderful. I can't say enough good things and can't even make a joke. Out of all the hospitals in Pittsburgh, I am glad I chose this one.

Hospital Food Blog

I'd do me. 

The picture on the right was taken the morning after my admission, before any morphine injections were administered. "That girl looks so happy. How can that be?" you ask. The answer is simple: Allegheny General Hospital is like a resort with slightly more MRSA and slightly less Jimmy Buffett. Actually, I heard zero Jimmy Buffett during my stay, so that is one more point in AGH's favor. And I also didn't get MRSA!

Can you believe the night before I was crying my eyes out convinced that I was going to die? Not to mention, I thought I would have to hand over my cell phone and shoelaces to a stony-faced nurse who wants nothing more than to give me a Thorazine shot in my ass.

Imagine my surprise when an attractive male nurse walked into my room asking me how I slept and if I needed anything. For a second, I thought that, maybe, I died and this was heaven. Quickly, I remembered that my Catholic family did not baptize me, so when I die, I will be floating around in purgatory forever. So, this male nurse is real, I am in a bed made of clouds, and there is a tray of pancakes sitting in front of me, smelling good and waiting to get shoved into my mouth.

Said pancakes were quickly shoved into my mouth and they were delicious. They were served with cornflakes, orange juice, black coffee, and a banana. I ate EVERYTHING. Here is a sad admission about my life: I have never ordered room service ever. I'm too poor for that. This felt like room service that didn't cost a million dollars and was delivered by the friendliest gentleman in Pittsburgh. And it came to me three times a day!!!

Food of the Gods

Anyone who knows me in real life has been annoyed at least once by my picky nature. In general, I love more things than I hate but this, unfortunately, does not apply to food. My pickiness has ruined dinners*, has prompted me to order off the kids' menu at fancy restaurants, and has broken many hearts. I do not hide the fact that I have the palate of a five year old.

My favorite food is chicken, especially when it is in finger form. The staff must have known I was coming because this was a menu option every single day I was there. And so was PIZZA. I did branch out a bit, though, and ate baked chicken with mashed potatoes, and even ordered grilled cheese and green beans one night!

Hospital food is the subject of many jokes, I know. But the food at AGH was more than simply edible...it was GOOD. The next time I find myself in that part of town, I am going to make a special trip to the cafeteria to have some chicken. You know, for old time's sake.

*One of my least favorite types of food is Thai food. Once, I was at a friend's home and his mother was serving some type of meat covered in gross looking Thai-inspired sauce. In the interest of politeness, I took a bite and as soon as the food was in my mouth, I knew I had a problem. I chewed the meat and gross sauce as much as I could until, mechanically, I pushed the offending substance out of my mouth using my tongue. It hit the plate with a wet thud. 

I Paid Good Money for this Pulmonary Embolism

Per my below post, I was in the Mental Institution ™ from 04/08/2013 to 04/12/2013. During this time, I was pretty immobile and am convinced that my stay was one of the factors that caused my DVT. Yesterday, I got the explanation of benefits for this stay. Do you want to see how much it costs to develop a blood clot?

If my blood clot were a car, it would be a used 2005 Dodge Grand Caravan

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Next

"Don't sass me bro - I will 302 you!"

When I was a child, I had a tooth removed by an oral surgeon who's performance was less than stellar. I walked out of that office in severe pain, crying hysterically and covered in blood. That day, I vowed to never go to the dentist again because I was so damn traumatized. Since I still have my teeth (and they are in relatively ok shape) it is obvious that I broke that vow to myself. However, when I was ready to give dental medicine another shot, I selected was a wonderful, friendly, patient, and gentle woman who has never made me cry. She also gives out fancy dental floss after every cleaning (screw that waxed string nonsense that snags and gets stuck in your teeth). 

Moral: One should not allow one miserable, isolated experience set the tone for similar future experiences. Don't pass final judgement until you have tried something at least twice.

*****

As a basis for comparison, I would like to provide a snapshot of my stay in the *Mental Institution ™ before I describe my treatment at Allegheny General. 

Those of you who have met me IRL know that I have never stayed overnight in a hospital prior to my admission to the Mental Institution ™. Due to some Issues I was having, some friends suggested (as far as a 302 can be considered a suggestion) that I take some time off for intensive inpatient treatment. As such, I stayed in a facility for 5 days beginning April 8, 2013. 

When I walked into the psych facility for the first time, I was convinced that I fell through a rabbit hole and Alice would show up at any moment offering me a cup of tea. That may have been the psychosis talking, but even a "normal", well-adjusted  person would agree that this place was weird as shit. A quick survey of the main room showed a gentleman standing in a corner banging his head over and over and over and over again. From a room down the hall, a woman was screaming as loud as a human can scream regarding whores, the devil, and a cousin who wronged her 27 years ago. 

The overarching thought in my mind was, "Damn! My friends must reeeeeeallllllly think I am crazy to send me here!" 

Luckily, I arrived shortly before the 10:00 pm "lights out" mandate. A good night's sleep would refresh me enough to be able to mingle in the morning. Unfortunately for me, my roommate enjoyed standing directly above my bed, asking me random questions (have you ever put mustard in corn?) until I explain that sleep is important and I needed a lot of it. 

We were provided the luxury of meeting with the doctor each morning. This was the first thing I did on the first morning I was there. Before I say what I am going to say, here is a disclaimer: I have the utmost respect for anyone in the medical field. They have to retain so much knowledge, handle difficult patients (like me), and clean up bodily fluids that I don't even want to believe exist. The psychiatrist who was handling my case in the psych ward, however, was an absolute idiot. I will leave it at that because that could be a whole separate blog. (Maybe look for a spinoff someday?)

In a psych facility, you cannot expect much privacy because someone checks on you every 15 minutes to ensure that you haven't made a shank out of a plastic spoon. Ironically, this actually happened while I was institutionalized. Perhaps they could have watched the individuals with a history of violence a bit more closely, rather than walking in on me while I was pooping. Just a thought. 

Due to my optimistic nature, I always try to find some good in any situation. While the staff was unprofessional, the food inedible, and the environment was frightening at times, the other patients were some of the loveliest people I have ever met. My private conversations with the other patients were far more helpful than any conversation with the doctor or group therapy session. I met many bright, kind, insightful people who were simply going through hard times in their lives. These conversations alone were worth five days of my life. 

*****

When the emergency room doctor told me that I had to be admitted to the hospital for my pulmonary embolism, I definitely groaned in my mind and probably with my mouth, too. Since the psych hospital was the only other experience I could compare it to, my heart was so sad and I began to pity myself. Any second, they were going to take away my shoelaces, strip search me to look for "marks", and confiscate anything on my person that could provide even the slightest bit of amusement. 

Imagine my amazement when I was wheeled to my room, offered a turkey sandwich, and instructed on how to use the television! On a semi-lecherous note, the male nurse was like a tall glass of water on a hot August day. 

At that moment, I knew that I was really going to like it at AGH....

*The name of the mental facility has been redacted as there is a pending PA Department of Health investigation into some of their practices. I wonder who would initiate such a thing?!