A Night to Remember (In the ER)

That is an awfully intuitive animal. 

So, where was I....oh, yes. Ativan. Ahhhhhh-tivan. The very lovely ER physician decided to give me a benzo to shut me up. Benzos are like grown-up versions of the lollipops they give you at the dentist's office. "If you are a good girl and stop crying, you can have an ativan." Ok!

It seemed that as soon as the doctor came back to deliver the diagnosis of PE and tell me I was being admitted, a team of nurses mobilized to hook up my IV to Heparin to make sure the meds were delivered immediately. Their actions were very quick and precise - I felt like a race car that pulled into a pit stop for a tire change. During all of the poking, prodding, and dosing  they explained that the sooner the medication is in my system, the sooner clots will stop developing. Here is an interesting fact: Heparin, Coumadin, and similar medicines do not actually break up the clots. They just prevent the blood from forming further clots.

Hmmm...so if the clots are still there, is my leg a virtual ticking time bomb?

I've asked several doctors about this and received only the vaguest of answers. This is my understanding based on the conversations I had:

• Yes, a piece of the clot in my leg could break off and cause another pulmonary embolism (eek!), however, this is "rare". (To one of the physicians, rare = a 1/100 chance). Laugh-out-loud!
• Yes, clots can still develop while I am taking blood thinners. Again, this is "rare." I didn't even bother to ask about statistics this time because, frankly, I do not want to know. 

Ignorance truly is bliss, especially when you are a hypochondriac with a life-threatening condition who has terribly bad luck. On a scale of 1-10 of how terrifying this is to me, I would say probably 12.5. Since I've received this information, every tiny ache in my body is a blood clot the size of a softball travelling to my brain in order to explode it. 

In conclusion, internal organs are stupid, gross and more trouble than they are worth. In my next life, I want to come back as an amoeba. 

NEXT UP: My hospital tour diary