Thank you again for all your prayers, well wishes, and kind words! I’m doing better — better than we expected, actually. Thanks to some combination of prayers and a Lovenox dose possibly better suited for a small elephant, the clots seem to be dissolving, and I’m seeing improvements every few days. I still need to take it easy, but I’m getting back into the range of normal activity. I may even be able to take the kids to most of their activities next week, which is more progress than we expected to see by this point!
When I’ve talked about my condition leading up to the diagnosis, a few folks expressed surprise that I didn’t know something was wrong sooner. “So wait…” one friend said, “Let me get this straight: You would do nothing more than walk up the stairs, and that simple activity would leave you gasping for breath to the point that you had to throw yourself onto the bed to gasp for air for a few minutes? And you thought that that was all normal?”
The problem is that most people don’t understand the superhuman levels of laziness I have been capable of in my life. I have had periods where I did so little physical activity that lifting a fork full of food to my mouth was all I could think of when the doctor asked me what kind of exercise I was getting. I have actually been so unbelievably out of shape that I’d come back from the mailbox huffing and puffing, and couldn’t make it all the way up the stairs without pausing to catch my breath. So when my shortness of breath symptoms started in mid-December, my reaction was to note that I’d fallen off of my exercise routine, and to roll my eyes and say, “Here we go again.”
The first night in the hospital I found this videoto educate myself about PEs:
At the part about emboli forming in veins I had the passing thought, Did I just hear something about ‘pimps in da crib’? I shook my head and went back to focusing on the causes of infarction, and then heard, distinctly, And I roll the best weed.
As it turns out, the background music for this video is none other than the Snoop Dogg’s Drop It Like It’s Hot, which brought me endless delight. I had never really put together the association between venous thromboembolism and the Doggfather, but I’m glad that someone else did.
Have I watched Season 3 of Downton Abbey? Of course I haven’t. One does not just “watch Season 3 of Downton Abbey” like it’s a mere TV show. I only watched Season 2 this past December after months of research and mental preparation. First, I had to make sure that the writer didn’t screw it up with bad plot twists (and if I had discovered that he had, I would have made a bitter and solemn promise never to watch another episode again, lest it sully my memory of Season 1). Yet I had to gather this information carefully, without hearing any spoilers, lest my life cease to have any meaning. Then I had to make sure I was ready to undertake another Downton experience, which usually involves watching back-to-back episodes until my eyes are bloodshot and throbbing, stumbling into bed at highly inappropriate hours of the night, and then getting over the one- to two-day hangover at the end of the season in which I re-learn how to live my life without Downton episodes to watch.
I have heard ominous rumblings about the content of Season 3 (say nothing if you know!), and every time I think about it it reminds me of the Stephen King book/movie Misery. If I recall correctly, the plot is that a famous writer is in a horrible car accident and happens to be discovered by a big fan of his books. She takes him to her secluded home to take care of him, but when she reads his latest work and finds that he’s killed off the main character, she makes him a prisoner and forces him to write a new storyline that honors the heroine.
I always thought of it as a dark examination of the mind of a psychopath, but now it strikes me as the portrait of devoted fan just doing her part to encourage an author who’d lost his way. Let me just say that if Julian Fellowes disappears after a publicity event in central Texas, and begins sending dispatches from an undisclosed location (that perhaps seem to be written under duress) that announce that he’s committing to 15 more seasons of Downton and swears that they’ll all be riveting and yet involve no major trauma to the main characters, noting that anything disturbing that happened in Season 3 will turn out to be a weird dream that Lord Grantham had…I know nothing about it.
Look at this amazing invention I discovered over at Design Mom:
That’s right, it’s your own personal bubble! How amazing is this thing? There’s even a functioning sink in it, so you NEVER HAVE TO LEAVE!!! Joe asked where you would ever use this. What?? Where wouldn’t you use it? Heck, I’d take one in my living room right now. The kids would be knocking on the glass, trying to tattle on their siblings or ask me for snacks or whatever, and I’d cup my hand over my ear and move my lips to pantomime, “WHAT?…WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU.” And it would be perfect for camping. Throw in an air conditioner and a refrigerator, and you might be able to turn me into an outdoorswoman yet!
I thought the RelaxMan was the perfect invention, but that was only because I didn’t know that personal bubbles existed.
You must, must, must watch this video if you haven’t already seen it.
I found it on A Road Less Traveled, one of the amazing new-to-me blogs I’ve discovered thanks to your recommendations.