So it’s Saturday morning 26 June and I’m too tired to even go shopping with the boys. Had to send them on their own to the shops… Dunno if I still know how to use my atm cards.
Boys are at the shops and I have another attack. But this one is the type where you see bits of your life… I’m hardly breathing. Call DH and luckily they’re on their way home already.
Get to me and off to ER#2 we rush. Get there have to be helped out of the car into a wheelchair, can’t even walk and guess what they do first? Give me a paper bag – not even a brown paper bag to breathe into and scold me for causing a panic and overreacting. And…. out comes the pilletjies. By then I am beside myself with fear and rage and of course it doesn’t help my case. Nurses talk amongst each other and tell me to just calm down I’m upsettting the people around me where all I’m doing is TRYING TO BREATHE. Not screaming, not thrashing about – just trying to breathe normally.
The pilletjies of course calms me down and they say see? You’re all better. Tell us what is bothering you now. You can tell us anything in confidence, yadda yadda yadda Psych, psych, pscyh.
I then realise I’m either going to die today or I’m going to kill a nurse with a blood pressure monitor. I ask DH to call my Dad and tell him to come at once. My Dad is a noisemaker and fighter if you need one. My sweet DH is not. My Dad comes through and the nurses realise that they are not going to get away with just pilletjies. The doctor on duty (thankfully) gets to me at the same time and decides to do a chest X-ray. Once they have the X-ray the doctor calls the nurses and says: Have you seen how big this heart is? THey all rush to see my big heart and finally start taking me seriously. ECG stickers gets clamped on and they look at it but I don’t know if they really knew how to interpret it as they didn’t say much and later that night at Panorama Medi-Clinic, it turns out some stickers were put in the wrong places… a case of slap some ECG stickers on the loon, connect her to the machine and let her think we’re doing summat.
ER#2 has no specialist on duty and there’s a WC game in Cape Town so staff’s short. They call around and I thank every power in the universe, there’s a specialist on duty at PMC and off we go. Get there and sweet doctor gets me settled, onto oxygen and starts talking to me about my symptoms – no pilletjies in sight.
He tells me he thinks it’s severe pneumonia but my heart cannot be ruled out and we’ll do tests until we find the culprit. How great is that? I’m settled, I’m breathing clean, clear oxygen and have two drips going into my body and lots of bloods being drawn. Can live with that.
Sunday Doc says one of the drips he’s about to put it is a diuretic( makes you peepee like an excited puppy) and that it’s being done to drain my lungs of fluid as there’s way too much fluid on my lungs and that’s not helping my breathing. I peepee myself 8kgs lighter which is pretty cool!
On Monday is scan day – scans and X-rays and all sorts of other cardiac echos and stuffs involving every letter of the alphabet is done. For the first time I realise how serious things are and at the first big machine (almost as big as the wheel of excellence, I swear) I start bawling. Been very brave and holding pose for my boys but to be alone, uncertain and faced with the wheel of excellence while your bum is being exposed in a too small gown ain’t no fun. I bawl and bawl and the poor technician is just trying to get me to sign an indemnity form. Managed to compose myself and survived the morning of tests.
Monday afternoon I’m wheeled into the sweetest cardiologist’s rooms and he breaks it down for me. My left ventricle (the major one responsible for pumping blood from head to toe is severely damaged. Operating on 20% of function and they don’t know why yet. He says he will get behind it but it looks like a virus for now. Lots more blood drawn. I see myself getting into a swimming pool and being full of bubbles like a punctured inner tube.
On Wednesday they’re still struggling to figure out what the virus is and how to tackle it and I get pains in my chest. Off to theathre they wheel me to perform an angiogram. They cut a hole in your groin, go into a vein that leads to your heart and check out the arteries for narrowing or blockages. This of course sets me off again as I have to sign all sorts of indemnity forms and I call my fam who luckily lives very close to PMC. See my dad and I bawl and bawl and bawl. Once Dad wiped all the snot, I get taken in and farking hell, I think they forgot the anaesthetic! I felt ALLES. Cardio declares my arteries to be beautiful – no cholesterol, or fat bombs lurking there.
I spend the next two days on meds and recover from my wound and cardio calls me into office to say the virus that’s attacked my heart has been at work for a while and they really cannot identify it. I’m on three months of medication to strengthen my ventricle and if it’s not doing it’s job way better in 3 month’s time… I’m going on a violent organ harvest… either amongst my in-laws or some other enemies I think may have healthy hearts… or just go on the heart transplant list and wait it out.
Frikkin scary but I really cannot afford to dwell on the worst-case scenario too much.
I’m on a month’s bed rest too which I can so do.
One more thing… It’s amazing how my Sprogblog friends were way more caring and concerned than my real life friends… hmmm I see more candidates for organ harvests… UNfriend.
Love you Sprogblog guys so much!