The Beginning

What I refer to as the beginning wasn’t actually the beginning.  The actual beginning of the assault on my body by Hodgkin’s Lymphoma was probably at the end of October of last year when I experienced vertigo and constant fatigue.  I was also anemic, which was a big mystery to my primary care physician.  She tried so hard to figure it all out.  It was as if she knew there was something seriously wrong, but she just couldn’t find it.  After an endoscopy in May showed nothing but normal, she reluctantly told me I seemed to be fine and we’d keep an eye on the anemia.  Then July happened.

What I refer to as the beginning is Thursday, July 12th.  Three months ago I was taking a grad class in Johnson every Thursday.  I was working out on my treadmill every day of the week.  I was playing with my daughter, Natalie, outside and in her inflatable pool.  I was soaking up sun and enjoying time with family and friends.  The summer was off to a brilliant start until I got up the morning of the 12th.

I woke up in pain.  The right side of my neck and into my shoulder was significantly swollen.  It felt warm to the touch.  I told my husband I must have pulled something while working out.  Then I noticed the trouble swallowing.  My options were to forget about it, put on a collared shirt, and get to Johnson for class, or go to the ER to get it checked out.  I put on the collared shirt.  I did my hair and make-up.  I packed my bag.  Then I had a vision of me sitting in a classroom in Johnson not able to breathe.  I gathered my things and told my husband to take Natalie to daycare.  I was going to swing by the ER before going to class.  I’d text my professor and let her know I was going to be a little late.  I walked in the ER at five after seven that morning.  Little did I know this “swing by” the ER would be the commencement of the most terrifying time of my life.

The ER was quiet.  The doctor that took over my care was not.  As one doctor got ready to leave, he stopped by my room and asked about my symptoms.  I shared with him the swelling.   He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Then he told me he thought the fluid in my neck and shoulder was blood and left the room to go get the loud doctor that would be taking over my care.  Loud doctor thought it was blood as well and ordered me a CT scan.

My CT scan was finished, and I was put in my room around 9:15.  I felt like I could still make it to class.  The ER then proceeded to fill up with an elderly man who didn’t remember driving off the road and into a brook, a woman who was skin and bones and needed medicine, a baby with a bad cough, and the list goes on.  I sat in my room assuring my husband via text that he could stay at work.  It was just blood.  No big deal.  I was being completely ignored, so it mustn’t be an emergency.  And then I heard Loud Doctor talking on the phone to someone about a “VERY INTERESTING” CT scan he had in his hand.  I knew he was talking about my scan, but couldn’t guess what could be so interesting.  The next text told my husband he needed to come now.  

At eleven, Loud Doctor told me the fluid in my neck was definitely blood.  The question was whether I needed to go to Dartmouth or a local ear, nose and throat doctor.   Loud Doctor said there was nothing he could do for me.   Because Loud Doctor felt Local ENT Doctor was a “dick,” (his word, not mine) it was decided I would go to Dartmouth.  

As anxiety and medical bills mounted quickly, phone calls were being made and texts were being sent to the closest family members.  I was still in contact with my professor.    I had given up on going to class for that day, but assured my professor I would see her the following week with all my work made up.  The ambulance arrived at 12:30 to take me to Dartmouth.  I couldn’t believe all the drama!

All I did was pull something!  I couldn’t stand the fuss everyone was making about my airway, which was supposedly potentially in danger.  I hadn’t seen any scans or been given any information except that there was blood pooled in my neck and shoulder.  I haven’t mentioned the pain.  Let me mention that now.  I was in so much pain!  The constant ache in my neck and shoulder began radiating down the right side of my back.  I couldn’t stand any position.  I wished for pain meds with all my might.  I didn’t get them.  

The ambulance arrived to bring me to Dartmouth.  I had no idea what was happening to me.  I knew I was in pain, and I knew that this doctor didn’t know what to do with me anymore, so I was going to doctors more competent.  So, after five and a half hours of sitting in the local ER, I was loaded into an ambulance.  The ambulance ride involved nausea meds and a blood pressure cuff every ten minutes.  I had a nice conversation with the paramedic in charge of my airway on the way down to the hospital.  I thought of my brother, who is a full time firefighter for the city of Burlington.  His job involves so many ambulance rides!  I still couldn’t believe all the drama surrounding something as simple as a little overexertion.

At the Dartmouth ER I was brought in and parked in the hallway with patients who may have broken a bone.  I was startled at all the people!  I was parked in a damn hallway.  My husband wasn’t with me, and my paramedic reluctantly left me there by myself.  I wanted to cry at that point.  Why the hell wasn’t I at class?  Why the hell was I sitting on a gurney in a hallway at Dartmouth?  What the hell was going on with me?  Where the hell were the pain meds?  Wasn’t this a hospital?!

After about 10 minutes, I was ushered to my own room.  I met a few nicer doctors, had a nice nurse, and was finally given something for my pain, which was about an 8 at that point, if you’re familiar with the pain scale.  It was decided I would be spending the night so they could watch my airway.  I was told I would have an MRI that night around 7.  A potential surgery loomed after the MRI if there was a need.  I wasn’t given any liquids or food to eat.  I was so thirsty.  IV fluids were not satisfying me.  I began to fall apart at 7 with my nurse on the fifth floor.  I needed more fluids.  I got some through IV and at 8, a few guys finally showed up to take me down for the MRI.  

What came next was two hours of being told when to breath in and when to breath out.  There was a cage around my face and straps all over my body.  I was told not to move while ear plugs were placed in my ears.  By the time I got out, I was dazed, nauseous, and upset.  Let me mention again, the pain.  It was back in full force after being strapped to a small sliding slab of plastic.  I got back up to my room where my husband was waiting.  It didn’t look like I needed surgery tonight, but there was still no word until morning about whether or not I could eat or drink.    I received my pain meds and was able to get to sleep.  By this time it was 11 pm.  By far, one of the longest days I had ever experienced in the medical world.  The doctors were to arrive at 8 to tell me the results of my entombed two-hour scan.  They didn’t arrive until almost 10:30 the next morning.  What I was told the next morning, Friday, July 13th will be the next blog.