First encounter finale...

Meanwhile, my husband was doing all the talking and answering all the questions, despite my protest, as I was told to refrain from talking and concentrate on resting and breathing.

In no time I was rolled around for chest x-ray, blood tests, etc. and I was starting to get bored (embarrassing and ungrateful, I know… I just didn’t know back then that they don’t mess around in ER…). I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink, nor to get up from the bed, my husband seemed calmer so I thought “OMG, all this for nothing, and I have to wake up early tomorrow, and I…”

At this point another nurse came in and tried to strap on an oxygen mask on my face.

The pain was still there but manageable, I could talk almost normally without catching my breath for every word (we’ll discuss manageable later on as it turns out we all have different understanding of “manageable” when it comes to pain). While looking at her in disbelief and “defending” myself from her attempts to do her job I just couldn’t help it, my mouth just started talking without thinking…

“OK, that’s it! What’s this? And why do I need an oxygen mask? When can I go home?” with a bit of an anger in my voice, which I deeply regretted later on, but no one was telling me anything and things started looking ridiculous to me.

“The doctor said you need to…”

“Which doctor? I’d like to speak with him or her! Can you tell me why I need this?” – pointing to the oxygen mask.

“No, the doctor…”

“NO, I don’t need it and if someone doesn’t tell me what is going on, if I’m not having a heart attack I will surely have one any minute now! What is happening? Why do…” Didn’t realise my voice was raising more than I should allow it, given I was in a hospital.

A young gentleman, apparently the doctor, came in to interrupt my talking with just a look. It's a rare gift, "the look" I mean, and it usually doesn't work on me. But not this time. He said nothing for a few seconds and I misunderstood his face expression. Big mistake. I though he’s in a hurry to be somewhere else, or tired maybe, but it turns out he was a bit (just a bit) frustrated with me, to put it mildly.

“Keep your voice down, please. I asked the nurse to put you on oxygen as you need it right now.” he said, his frustration building up and already apparent to me. Silly me, that made me angrier… “I’m surprised that you can even talk, let alone half the ER can hear you!”

At this point my brain could not put together any word to say something and I just froze for a few seconds.

Highly unusual for me, I ALWAYS have something to say, but not this time.

It took me an additional few seconds to start forming words and questions.

“Talk? Why wouldn’t I be able to talk?” asking quietly now and forgetting for a bit I was angry and really not wanting to hear the answer.

The fear was back.

“Because you have a pneumothorax on your left lung and you can’t breathe properly, although for some reason, your oxygen levels are almost at 99%”.

“Pneumo what”? I knew it was related to my lungs but after "pneumo" was like someone talking Mandarin to me. The doctor left his folder on my bed, check some of the beeping things behind me and came closer to me “Your left lung has ruptured spontaneously and is currently collapsed approximately 50%.”

I kept looking at him blankly. I looked at my husband who had the same blank expression as me. What was he saying? Collapsed? My lung? Can they do that? How? None of what he said register with me on any level.

Clearly, my face expression gave me away that I still do not understand what he was explaining to me.  So he tried again, this time the frustration in his voice was gone.

“You have a hole in you left lung, just at the top of it, which is deflated approximately half his normal size and that’s why you have difficulties breathing or when talking you need to catch up your breath. But don’t worry, it’s not life- threatening, you’ll be fine.”

THAT registered with me.

A hole.

In my lung.

“Ok”, I said, still with no real fear (I was just told it’s not life-threatening!) as I truly did not understand how dangerous this could be. “What’s next? How do I inflate it?” Now that I think, actually every time I remember that moment I laugh a lot. I still can’t understand why on earth I asked that. I know we are talking about my lung, not a balloon, but I simply didn’t know anything about having pneumothorax. I actually learned the word that day.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple” said the doctor “although it’s not life-threatening we need to keep you for the time being and if your lung doesn’t start to as you said it “inflate” on his own you will need an open chest surgery”.

NOW THAT REALLY registered with me.

“A what?” The fear, or now already the horror was full on.

My husband tried to interfere, unsuccessfully, “DON’T say a word!” Oh God… I bet some of you would like to slap me really hard just reading this and you should. I would!

And then I did something really stupid.

I was still in that state of mind that I am indestructible and things like this happen to other people, not me. I removed the thingy from my finger, removed the blood pressure sleeve, kicked the blankets away and made and attempt to get up from the bed.

Then my husband stepped in, apparently tired of “respecting” my personal space and wishes, with a firm hand on my shoulder and a furious sparkle in his eyes. Then I made another stupid mistake – I pushed my husband hand away and said “Where are my clothes? I want them NOW! As I am going home, I have a son who needs me, I have a job and the project I’m on it’s curtail! And can someone remove the cannula, please, I’m going home, there will be no surgery, I am NOT staying here.”

Before my husband managed to unleashed his anger towards my absolutely stupid behaviour, the doctor was faster than him.

He carefully but firmly placed his hands on my shoulders, got me back to bed, while my husband was putting the blankets over me again and sat on the bed close to me. In my mind I was keep talking, but "the look" I got from the doctor somehow suggested to me to stop expressing myself vocally. His voice was scarily quiet and calm “I can’t make you stay here, but I think your husband has a different opinion. I don’t think you understand what really is happening.”

I started sweating. Again.

“Although I said it’s not life-threatening, with behaviour like yours, it definitely is. You have to understand that this is serious and the recovery could take more than six months, IF you recover with no surgery at all. You will have to be monitored closely and we will prescribe painkillers that will help you go through recovery, but you have to understand – bed rest, no stress and painkillers are your ONLY option for the next 7 days. Do you understand?”

All this was said very slowly as I'm sure the doctor already knew, or let's say, saw enough, to understand that I'm either very stupid or so scared that I simply refused to understand what I was told.

I was processing what I just heard and then something hit me “But we are going on a holiday in 3 days, I don’t think bed rest will be easily done but I will try…”

The frustration in the doctors’ voice was suddenly back “I can see you really do not understand so I’ll give it to you straight – YOU CAN NOT FLY (saying these words slowly and stressing on every one of them), under NO circumstances, the next at least 6 weeks.”

I tried to protest but both my husband and doctor clearly had no interest in what I have to say anymore.

“If after 7 days your condition does not improve we will have to staple your lungs to your ribcage. And then at least six- moths’ recovery”.

Staple.

My lung.

To my ribcage.

That was the moment when I really had no words to say or thoughts, in that matter. The horror on my face was obviously there while the doctor words sank in my brain while I was thinking “This is not happening! This is not happening! What is he saying?”

“I see you are getting there”, said the doctor, “and I am sorry I had to describe it that way but one thing you MUST understand right now – this is serious and you are not going on an aeroplane. If you do, although I’ll make sure you will not, ("Oh, don’t worry, she is not going anywhere”, said my husband barely containing his anger and fear) the cabin pressure may cause severe damage and you can simply die on the way to your holiday. Does that make sense to you now?”

I said nothing.

Not because I couldn't speak. I could. I just didn't have anything to say.

Later on I understood that this was the first time I was introduced to the fact that I am not immortal. Funny, I know. Of course I know I'm not immortal and I'll die one day, no doubt, and I'm fine with that. But not today, dying was far away in the future when I would be old. Or so I thought.

I wasn’t looking at the doctor or my husband anymore. I was starring blankly into space.

The fear and the shock fully took over me and hit me hard.

I did my best to keep my cool and I think I managed for a minute or so “No, it doesn’t make sense as I am still processing, but you are the doctor – if anyone is wrong here that should be me…”

“Good, that’s the first sensible thing you said since you arrived. Now tell me what happened and how come you are still able to argue ant talk, pretty laud at that, how do…”

This was the moment “my cool” left the building.

I burst into tears, something I NEVER EVER did before. Never. If crying was inevitable for whatever reason, I always had control over when and where it will happen. And NEVER in public (only if I knew that was one of the first of many public cries I was going to “perform”).

Then the piercing pain was back from nowhere, the nurse put the oxygen mask on me, this time with no issues from my side, the doctor tried to calm me down along with my husband, but the panic had hit me so hard I didn’t have the tools back then how to handle it. Then a nurse injected something through the cannula and in a few seconds I stopped crying, I was calmer, then sleepy, then I was asleep.

What happened after I’ll leave it for the next post as if anyone is even still reading, I’d be surprised. Just quite a long story, but there is no way to describe it in a shorter version, at least no way for me. I have to dig deep. It's the only way I was told so I'm digging deep.

This was my “first encounter” with ER. First of many, unfortunately.

Only I didn’t know. And did nothing to prevent it.