witzend
Well-Known Member
When I was 32 years old I got a pulmonary embolism. This was about the time I had gone through quite a bit with L and was a nervous wreck. My doctor didn't respect me much, but he did treat me when I was ill.
Let me tell you, it hurts like nothing you have ever felt before. Of course, you don't just go around diagnosis'ing a PE. I went to the doctor with a sharp pain in my chest, and coughing up thick sputum. They said "bronchitis" - maybe pneumonia. If you start coughing up blood, let us know. Now, I was used to them minimizing everything about me, so I didn't really think it was a big deal when flecks of blood came up with my cough. But, I did go to the doctor because I was in so much pain, and it had been a week and things were digressing. They said "pneumonia". Now, mind you I've had pneumonia before and I had never felt as though someone had stabbed me in the chest before.
So, they gave me a few pain pills, and I took their antibiotics, and continued to get worse. "Shallow breathing" would be an understatement. It's amazing that I didn't pass out from hyperventilation. I suppose the only thing that prevented that was that I was breathing so shallowly, only into my esophagus, really, that I wasn't "hyper" anything but fast. The pain got so bad that I was in bed on my last pain pill and husband was at work and M was at school. There was a phone on the nightstand and I called my doctor's office, but the lady couldn't hear me because I couldn't get enough breath to speak. So I inhaled a great big breath and said loudly and quickly "I need to make an appointment with Dr. so and so." She said "We don't have time for these games" and hung up on me. I couldn't reach over to dial the phone again, and for some reason I thought it would be embarrassing to have EMT's break down my door, so I took the last half of my last pain pill and went to sleep.
About 5:30 I woke up alone in the dark. I had to pee, and I couldn't even roll over in bed from the pain. You could hear my lungs rubbing against my pleura. It sounded like heavy suede being rubbed together. husband and M came home about an hour later, and he had to lift me to get me to the bathroom. It was like torture, but "helping me up" was out of the question. We went to the hospital, and it was the day of the Rodney King riots. It was surreal watching it up there on the tv. They gave me a mild pain killer, and drew blood, did some x-rays, and couldn't really determine whether I had suffered a PE. They couldn't get to my artery after about 6 tries for an AGB. They kept saying that I had to sit up on the gurney for this draw and it was just so painful. They finally gave up and admitted me. They told me that they were sure that I'd had a PE, but they'd need to do a pulmonary angiogram in the morning. In the meantime they gave me a dose of heparin by IV and two vicodin. They called my regular doctor, who told them that I was a bit of a complainer, and that he had diagnosis'ed me with pneumonia and that should be enough. They wouldn't give me anything more for the pain, I was to wait 6 hours.
In the morning, the thoracic guy showed up, and spoke to my doctor by phone while in my room. By this time I was coughing up great chunks of bloody sputum, which he examined. He told me that after discussing it with my doctor and as there was no positive test result from the night before, he was sure I had pneumonia, and I should go home, and start walking daily to regain my strength because I "should be over the pneumonia by now." They would not be doing a Pulmonary Angio, there was no reason to.
Of course, I didn't recover. At least not for several months. I went to my regular doctor's office within the week and saw one of his colleagues, and they set me on his exam table and left me there for about 20 minutes. I lay down because I couldn't hold myself upright. When the doctor came in she said "Witzend, stop being such a big baby. I have never seen a patient make such a fuss about pneumonia before! Nobody is buying that you're 'that sick', so just go home and start taking your daily walks." Needless to say, I didn't bother going back. But I went back to the thoracic guy a few weeks later, and complained of the pain and that you could still hear my lung rubbing against my pleura. He was somewhat concerned and took and xray and found that my other lung had collapsed, so home again with more instruction to exercise. You have to know that I never once took a walk. I couldn't move! I saw him again in 4 weeks with another xray to make sure that my lung had reinflated, and said I still had some pain and was concerned, he kind of "hmmm"ed, and that was it.
I never saw that doctor again. Years later because of my Muscular Dystrophy making walking so difficult and not knowing that it would affect my legs, I couldn't figure out why breathing was so difficult with exercise. Eventually my new doctor got around to the Pulmonary Angio, and what do you know? There is a grapefruit sized dead spot on my left lung, just where all that pain was. I let it go, but a few years later I was watching ER, and the story line had something to do with doctors who belittle patients who have depression and their patient died. There but for the grace of god go I. I sent my old doctor a letter and told him that when the test I should have had all those years ago was done it was found that I had had a PE, and he could have killed me by telling me to go home and take a mile walk every day! I told him that being depressed does not exempt a patient from other physical illness, and that there had been no reason for him and his colleagues to have been so rude to me even if I had been over-reacting.
He actually called me back. He felt badly about what he had done and caused the other medical professionals to do, but he did believe at the time that there was no reason for further testing because I just didn't fit into the category of people who have unexplained PE's.
Let me tell you, it hurts like nothing you have ever felt before. Of course, you don't just go around diagnosis'ing a PE. I went to the doctor with a sharp pain in my chest, and coughing up thick sputum. They said "bronchitis" - maybe pneumonia. If you start coughing up blood, let us know. Now, I was used to them minimizing everything about me, so I didn't really think it was a big deal when flecks of blood came up with my cough. But, I did go to the doctor because I was in so much pain, and it had been a week and things were digressing. They said "pneumonia". Now, mind you I've had pneumonia before and I had never felt as though someone had stabbed me in the chest before.
So, they gave me a few pain pills, and I took their antibiotics, and continued to get worse. "Shallow breathing" would be an understatement. It's amazing that I didn't pass out from hyperventilation. I suppose the only thing that prevented that was that I was breathing so shallowly, only into my esophagus, really, that I wasn't "hyper" anything but fast. The pain got so bad that I was in bed on my last pain pill and husband was at work and M was at school. There was a phone on the nightstand and I called my doctor's office, but the lady couldn't hear me because I couldn't get enough breath to speak. So I inhaled a great big breath and said loudly and quickly "I need to make an appointment with Dr. so and so." She said "We don't have time for these games" and hung up on me. I couldn't reach over to dial the phone again, and for some reason I thought it would be embarrassing to have EMT's break down my door, so I took the last half of my last pain pill and went to sleep.
About 5:30 I woke up alone in the dark. I had to pee, and I couldn't even roll over in bed from the pain. You could hear my lungs rubbing against my pleura. It sounded like heavy suede being rubbed together. husband and M came home about an hour later, and he had to lift me to get me to the bathroom. It was like torture, but "helping me up" was out of the question. We went to the hospital, and it was the day of the Rodney King riots. It was surreal watching it up there on the tv. They gave me a mild pain killer, and drew blood, did some x-rays, and couldn't really determine whether I had suffered a PE. They couldn't get to my artery after about 6 tries for an AGB. They kept saying that I had to sit up on the gurney for this draw and it was just so painful. They finally gave up and admitted me. They told me that they were sure that I'd had a PE, but they'd need to do a pulmonary angiogram in the morning. In the meantime they gave me a dose of heparin by IV and two vicodin. They called my regular doctor, who told them that I was a bit of a complainer, and that he had diagnosis'ed me with pneumonia and that should be enough. They wouldn't give me anything more for the pain, I was to wait 6 hours.
In the morning, the thoracic guy showed up, and spoke to my doctor by phone while in my room. By this time I was coughing up great chunks of bloody sputum, which he examined. He told me that after discussing it with my doctor and as there was no positive test result from the night before, he was sure I had pneumonia, and I should go home, and start walking daily to regain my strength because I "should be over the pneumonia by now." They would not be doing a Pulmonary Angio, there was no reason to.
Of course, I didn't recover. At least not for several months. I went to my regular doctor's office within the week and saw one of his colleagues, and they set me on his exam table and left me there for about 20 minutes. I lay down because I couldn't hold myself upright. When the doctor came in she said "Witzend, stop being such a big baby. I have never seen a patient make such a fuss about pneumonia before! Nobody is buying that you're 'that sick', so just go home and start taking your daily walks." Needless to say, I didn't bother going back. But I went back to the thoracic guy a few weeks later, and complained of the pain and that you could still hear my lung rubbing against my pleura. He was somewhat concerned and took and xray and found that my other lung had collapsed, so home again with more instruction to exercise. You have to know that I never once took a walk. I couldn't move! I saw him again in 4 weeks with another xray to make sure that my lung had reinflated, and said I still had some pain and was concerned, he kind of "hmmm"ed, and that was it.
I never saw that doctor again. Years later because of my Muscular Dystrophy making walking so difficult and not knowing that it would affect my legs, I couldn't figure out why breathing was so difficult with exercise. Eventually my new doctor got around to the Pulmonary Angio, and what do you know? There is a grapefruit sized dead spot on my left lung, just where all that pain was. I let it go, but a few years later I was watching ER, and the story line had something to do with doctors who belittle patients who have depression and their patient died. There but for the grace of god go I. I sent my old doctor a letter and told him that when the test I should have had all those years ago was done it was found that I had had a PE, and he could have killed me by telling me to go home and take a mile walk every day! I told him that being depressed does not exempt a patient from other physical illness, and that there had been no reason for him and his colleagues to have been so rude to me even if I had been over-reacting.
He actually called me back. He felt badly about what he had done and caused the other medical professionals to do, but he did believe at the time that there was no reason for further testing because I just didn't fit into the category of people who have unexplained PE's.