And we were due for some ... complications

Hello friends,

Things have taken a turn for the mysterious with my health so I thought I’d share some facts about the current state of affairs.

I’ve been diagnosed with pericardial effusion, or fluid/inflammation in the sac around the heart. I was admitted to Swedish hospital last Wednesday after several days of severe chest pain. After initial misdiagnosis and treatment, I’m being treated with strong anti-inflammatories and continuous IV saline, and my heart is being monitored 24/7 by EKG.

My follow-up echocardiogram today shows no real change in fluid levels, so we are contemplating the next step. That will probably either be to tap the fluid by ultrasound-guided needle aspiration, or a more invasive surgery to drain the fluid and remove a “window” of my pericardial sac. Surgery brings more risk and more recovery time, but would yield more diagnostic information and might help prevent recurrence.

Some seemingly unrelated complications arose at the same time, including an inconclusive CT finding of a possible pulmonary embolism and – in the middle of all this –  the sudden return to life of my ovaries. Those issues will take some time to sort out but don’t appear to pose an immediate threat to my health.

I have five radiation treatments left, on hold for now.

My dad flew out to help me navigate the medical world, as it was and is a bit of a complex diagnostic and decision-making situation. My father is a longtime internist who is nothing if not a thorough and thoughtful, classically trained diagnostician. My medical oncologist, Dr. Rinn, has also been very involved and supportive, but she works three days a week and has – imagine that – other patients.  

The kids have been doing well. I’m thankful they both have wonderful caring adults with them, and new friends – Alder on Bainbridge Island, Rosie in Arlington, MA – who have embraced them openly.  

Fortunately I have a single room at the corner of the telemetry floor, where I am in a sort of cement turret with three exterior walls. Except for the round-the-clock meds and vitals interruptions, it is blessedly quiet.

I earned this relative peace after my stay on the general floor, where I was lodged in a tight double on the door side. Because my 92-year-old roommate was deemed a fall risk, our door was left open and I got to hear blaring chimes to the tune of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” all night playing from everyone’s rooms. Apparently it plays when one of the “fall risks” (which was pretty much everyone but me) starts to get up, or maybe when they sneeze or flinch. All I know is it played incessantly.

So I was already awake when I heard the nurses come in, scoot past my bed and say to my roommate, “It’s time for your enema, Rachel.”

“What?”

“IT’S TIME FOR YOUR ENEMA.”

“Oh.”

And then, of course, the enema.

I wasn’t heartbroken when Rachel was moved to some kind of rehabilitation center the next day. But another woman was moved in soon after. By now I was on the window side of the room with the curtain between the beds drawn. It sounded like my new roommate had been smoking a pack a day for 800 years. At one point she took a break from hacking to tell the nurse, “I’ll need a cup for my teeth.” When she started to chat me up through the curtain, responding to what she’d overheard of my medical and personal situation, I feigned sleep.

Later that afternoon a cardiologist finally saved me from the blood thinners that had been mis-prescribed for my case, and in so doing saved me from the eighth floor. About my age, her Romanian name ends in “rescue” and that is what she did.

“You’re getting a better room on the seventh floor,” she said, giving me a sympathetic look. Whatever strings she might have pulled, I am grateful.

Another benefit of my big seventh-floor room is there was space for half of Alaska to visit from an arctic policy symposium at neighboring Seattle University Friday and Saturday. I wish I’d thought to take a picture – it was like a party with Ethan and Mara from Anchorage, Layla from Juneau, Heather and Kirsten from Juneau/Bellingham, and later Mike from Juneau. We solved all the problems of Alaska. And – I love how these things go full-circle – when Kirsten learned of my fish plight (out of AK salmon since Thanksgiving!) she raided the freezer of her brother Ole, who happened to have been my student at JDHS when I student-taught in 1996-7 (and now lives in Seattle), and brought me some of their fishing-family’s stash of smoked salmon. Thank you, Kirsten and Ole!  

I’ll try to keep you apprised of what happens. As I’ve noted in the past, in the midst of uncertainty, questions can be stressful. I do welcome and treasure the support and friendship that’s been offered – I’m so grateful to those who are giving their time and love to Rosie and Alder, taking care of our house and cats, and giving me unflagging support and help in every way.  

Sadly, not many pics because my phone died last weekend, taking my pictures with it. 

Alder with his friend Jerry on Sunday (Thanks, Ines and Bryan, for the pic and for giving Alder a great day.)

 

Lego fanatics! (Thanks, Tara, for the photo and for bringing the boys to play.)

My sweet boy. I think I bribed him to smile at the camera.

 

In lieu of Rosie, here is her spectacular animal cell model. (Thanks to my dad for the pic.)