Medical Adventures #6

For Mr. K, who never misses a beat.

September 2023: I Can’t Breathe 

Despite my failure in the Adirondacks, there was still lots of fun stuff in store. We travelled to Rochester and took a nice pedal along the Erie Canal. We needed to be headed west for a multiday bike trip in a rural part of a mid-Western state. We camped at some beautiful parks, dropped in on Detroit and Milwaukee, and eventually arrived at the start of our jaunt. 

We got there in the afternoon of Day 1. It was cloudy and rainy, and we covered a distance of only around 20 miles. No problems there. On Day 2 Mr. K and I went out together for a 30 mile cycle. It was a short distance over a flat area, but it took everything I had to go at a decent clip. And I felt like someone was squeezing my heart the whole time. On Day 3 we were meeting up with friends to take a ferry to an island. While they biked the 15 miles from the hotel to the ferry, Mr. K and I drove to there. I did not think I had the stamina for a 25 mile ride on the island plus the extra 30 to get there and back.

It was a clear, sunny day, and we rode the boat over. The excursion on the island was wonderful. The area was peaceful and quiet, and we had water views everywhere we turned. After a pleasant day of cycling we took the ferry back. A little later we went to a fish boil, a whoopdewhoop involving a big fire and lots of people watching a guy cooking lake creatures in a big pot. We ate this unique dinner with our friends and went back to our hotel. I felt content.

Around 3:00 a.m. I woke up. I noticed something funny about my heart. Seemed like it was beating really fast. Did I just have a bad dream? I lie there for a while waiting for it to slow down. It didn’t. I checked my watch. My heart was beating at around 100 beats per minute. I was just lying in bed!

Then I noticed my breathing was a little off. I was taking short, shallow breaths. Why couldn’t I breathe properly? I got out of bed and sat on the sofa. Let me think about this for a bit. No need to start worrying.

Calm and meditation are often good remedies for this kind of thing. I put on some soothing music, plugged in my AirPods, and lie back down. That’s when I noticed that there was a funny crunching sound coming from inside my head with each inhale and exhale. Pretty sure you’re not supposed to hear crunching noises when you breathe.

By now Mr. K was awake and asking what I was doing. I told him I needed to go to the emergency room. But where? We were a thousand miles from home, out in the country. Mr. K went to the front desk of the hotel to find out the location of the closest hospital. No one was there. I got out my phone and started Googling. I found a medical center. I had never even been to an emergency room in my life. Seems like a silly question, but would it be open? I called to check. They told me they were open, but if I could wait until 7:00 the urgent care center would be available. Uh, no, this is not urgent, this is emergency.

We hopped in the van and drove the 45 minutes to the hospital. We walked in and went to the reception desk. There were a few medical people there. Ms. Intake asked me what the problem was. “I can’t breathe,” I answered, and started to cry. Everyone’s face changed from friendly and welcoming to concerned. They brought me over a wheelchair and an oxygen tank. Talk about the breath of life.

They wheeled me into an examination room where Dr. Emergency listened to my chest with a stethoscope and ordered some tests. They took samples of my blood and pee, and they did a chest x-ray. A few minutes later Dr. Emergency sat down across from me, looked me straight in the eye, and delivered the first of many Phrases You Never Want to Hear.

“You have fluid in your lungs.” 

I nearly fell off the exam table. What? Why do I have fluid in my lungs? How does something like that happen?

I told him about the symptoms I had been having over the past 18 months or so and showed him the EKG and echocardiogram from the Cardiology Office Where I Never Saw a Cardiologist. (RunningBarb doesn’t go anywhere without her medical records!) After one glance he informed me “These indicate heart failure.” Another one of those Phrases You Never Want to Hear.

Meaning that I had heart failure the very first time I went to the Cardiology Office Where I Never Saw a Cardiologist. No one, no one, no one ever uttered that phrase. I knew what heart failure was – the inability of your heart to pump sufficient blood through your body. Having an insufficient blood supply would make you feel like, I dunno, like you are pressing the gas pedal of a car and you don’t go? Why didn’t they listen to me? Why didn’t they pay attention to their own test results? If they had said “heart failure” I would have been shocked, but I would have felt they were on to something. It would have seemed like a plausible description of what was going on. Instead they stubbornly marched down the wrong path, never considering that there might be another.

“I don’t know what is causing it. We are going to treat you here with a diuretic to get the fluid out. But we are just a small hospital without the ability to do the testing that is needed. I am going to send you to the Big Boy Hospital* down the road where they can take a better look at you. Now, which hospital would you like to send me to send you to?”

I might have done a little research before this trip, but for sure I did not research the quality of hospitals in the vicinity. I had no idea where to go. I wanted to tell him that I would like a Jewish hospital. But the facility I was sitting in was full of crosses and pictures of Jesus. Dr. Emergency was a nice man, but I was afraid that if I said I wanted a Jewish hospital he would be offended and then send me to the worst one of all.

After some stumbling all I could tell him was to send me to the “best” one. 

“Okay, now I am going to send you in an ambulance. It’s the safest way, in case something happens.”

An ambulance? No way. I am not going to travel in one of those vehicles that all the drivers on the road look at and think “Oh, that poor guy, hope they’re gonna be okay.” Followed by a sigh of relief and “Glad it’s not me.”

We argued about this for a bit, with me saying Mr. K will do just fine, and Mr. K and Dr. Emergency trying to convince me to be carried in the big rig. Ultimately I won. 

Mr. K went back to the hotel to gather up all of our stuff and check out of the hotel.  A nice nurse gave me an IV of a diuretic, and I experienced several marathon peeing sessions. Mr. K returned around three hours later. We bundled into the van and headed to the Big Boy Hospital. 

*Not his exact words.

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