blood samples

Pulmonary Embolism 2.0

acton28Leave a comment

There is no timeline to healing. It’s okay to think you were over something but then for it to hit you again. Healing is messy and a relapse is a fierce reminder of mortality. If you don’t want to know score, look away now: Pulmonary Embolism 2-0 John.

Scenes.

Unlike the first time out, the second coming didn’t put me on my arse, staring at the outstretched hand of the Grim Reaper. The new incarnation started out as severe pain on Tuesday night, with Dr Google suggesting kidney or gallbladder stone attacks. Consulting an actual Doctor on Wednesday, I was given some antibiotics for an infection exterior to my right lung but above my other organs. That day I needed CT scans and ultrasound in several places. By the end of the evening, the doctor said I needed to see a specialist during the next day.

After a terrible night’s sleep and increasing right of the chest pain, I found myself back in hospital. After consultation I was checked in. Another CT scan, specialising to search for clots appropriated to the body and lung. Immediately, I was lowered from machine and told to move slowly. The doctor said, in English, “There’s a complication. A problem.” The scheduled heart check was immediately cancelled. I was slowly rushed and pushed on wheels back to the respiratory ward room bed. The bed changed from room 29 (bed A) to bed 6. Critical.

A rainbow of blood samples, urine being taken, stools inspected and all other manner of tests have been performed. MENSA are expected later for my IQ test. I’ve read that the warm sensation of Isovue (main agent, Iodine) in the CT scan is the equivalent to 400 chest X-rays. The weird sensation experienced involves a warm sensation that appears to flow around the body. Similar to urination of oneself around oneself, as oneself believed had happened for all too long a moment. Computed Tomography found the pulmonary embolism.

The pulmonary embolism is likely new. Recurrence is rare, so the doctor said. The cause, a thrombosis in the body, a clots or plug of blood is the true recurrence. Periods of relative inactivity are likely to contribute to the formation of a clots, or periods of stress and overworking your body. So, the final week of school life at Tungwah Wenzel International School (TWIS) ticks that latter box. Following that, I left the apartment for dinner once… lunch once… and the Taiga concert at Bar Ink, and a fantastic Eid party. Being on crutches in a slippery superheated subtropical place is not ideal.

The rhythms of Mongolian-Xinjiang group Taiga and funky beats, wrapped in the didgeridoo of Luka made for a relaxing tribal evening of music. So, that was Saturday night. Sunday, I met Kevin and his daughter Natalie for lunch at the Hyatt Songshan hotel’s Chinese restaurant. Monday seemed normal until bed time, and then pain arrived. A burning stabbing sensation, below the ribs, radiating to the back and right shoulder. Monday night was painful but bearable. Tuesday night was agony.

So, here I am, lay on a bed, inactive and on intravenous, injections and oral medication. Hey body, thanks for letting me know in advance. How to recover is the topic at hand. So, what now?

Vimto Underdose.

acton28Leave a comment

How do! Hello! 你好～

I’m up to 4 subcutaneous injections and 6 other blood extraction or CT Scan related pricks. That’s ten holes more than my nod started with on Tuesday morning. It’s been a funny old brace of days. The red notice behind me is still red. I’m still on oxygen. I’m checking my urine and stools for blood. The fantastic attentive nursing team are keeping me on my toes whilst keeping me firmly off them. The bed complete with side bars feels like an oversized cot. I haven’t breast fed but the toilet methods are dangerously close to nappies (diapers). Something to catch the manure for salad farming is always necessary.

It seems that today’s ultrasound from feet to neck, missing nowhere, is key. It missed nowhere. Nowhere. Everywhere accountable. Shyness wasn’t an option. Anyway, this full body check aged 39 and week isn’t a bad idea. We all need a check these days. Men’s health. Women’s health. All need it. So much to watch out for. Best to catch everything sooner or we’ll be customers of the Grim Reaper.

The love and care shown by colleagues has been overwhelming. Betty in Human Resources has gone above and beyond the call of duty. Her peer Maggie has called by once too. They’re a lovely team within our TWIS (Tungwah Wenzel International School 东华文泽国际学校). When the first doctor suspected myocardial infections and heart troubles, Betty supported me and calmed me when I worried that’d be the end of my job here. It could still turn that way. Maktub (it is written).

My first day in was not only scary, it was terrifying. I’ve never really been in hospitals. I still cry every time I go to Crumpsall hospital in Manchester. I was born there. My Nana and Granddad passed away there. I hold fear for these unknown wards and uniformed peacemakers. It’s a mixture of illogical and emotional over – thought. They’re so often the keepers of our destiny.

Jamie and Jaime delivered some essentials like positivity and snacks on my first day. The comedy duo born in different lands were well welcomed by a nervous and worrisome patient in bed number 9. We nattered about owt and nowt for a wee while before they left putting wood in t’ hole.

Miss Ann, our esteemed principal and leader, swung by with Miss Nicole and Miss Junny from her office. It was like a Royal visit. I couldn’t get up and bow. A deeply touching visit. They brought a huge basket of fruits and enough water to fill a swimming pool. Very caring indeed. I’ve heard many, including Miss Ann, are covering my classes. I’m thankful. Also, Betty called by again.

Yesterday, the doctor in perfect English explained everything about pulmonary embolism. She said they’d investigate my veins. All of them. Neck to feet. There’d be particular attention given to my right calf and thigh. Today’s ultrasound definitely lived up to her words. I’ve never needed to pee so much! Ultrasounds mean nil by mouth and no toilets in the preceding four hours. Since then I’ve been told I should be out in a week’s time and under a three month medicine recovery programme. Accepted.

I miss my Dad’s salads. Dad is my no means a chef. Michelin stars were not meant for him. He’s an artist trapped in a body that was formerly a painter and decorator. And he should be a gardener. Dad does gardening well. He’s a clever man but his calling seems unanswered these days. Age is not an excuse. I love my Dad and I miss eating his salads. They’re rich in cucumber, fresh tomatoes (locally grown ones, always), seasonal greens and mushrooms. Never a bad salad at Dad’s house. Our kid, Ace, with his Mrs Stephanie do good salads but Dad’s is best. Simple and hearty. Sorry to Mum’s Paul who also makes a fantastic salad. Too much thought goes into these artisanal salads. They taste delicious. No doubt. They’re in my top five salads. Sorry, but Dad wins. I say all this because the Lauren’s Pizza salad I had for a late breakfast/lunch wasn’t bad.

My homeroom in Grade 8 have been busy planting my mint outside my classroom. They’ve also prepared a card. I do like Lisa’s little steamed bun-pooh shaped character on the bottom right. I hope this unfortunate hospitalisation gives students the motivation to create and do things because time is precious. They’re young and have the chances to do anything with a bit of hard work. They shouldn’t be anywhere near a hospital. Even though I’m here, I’m wishing their studies well. All of them. I can’t wait to hear poetry and Shakespearean arguments from the Language and Literature classes. That’ll be when I’m out. Soon.

Ta’ra! Goodbye! 再见～