After my first night in ICU, I was vaguely aware that something serious had happened. I had gotten a few minutes of sleep between the blood tests and constant checks on blood pressure and oxygen levels. My wife Pam was frantically calling our daughter and other family members giving them an update on my condition. Our son was on his first cruise and was sailing somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. I was still in a fog trying to put the events in some order and figure out exactly what was happening. A big bag of blood thinner was hung above my bed and hooked via IV into my arm.
I kept trying to see if I could 'feel' the so-called clot that was getting all of the attention. As much as I tried, there was nothing different. No sensation of a lump in my chest. No piercing pain or burning feeling. Each nurse and doctor that came to my room expressed dismay that my vital signs were still ok given the size of the clot.
With all the somber faces, I had the overwhelming desire to crack a joke about how I was beating this 'blood clot thing' but I kept thinking that it wouldn't be that funny if something took a sudden wrong turn. From the isolation of the ICU, it was difficult to appreciate the fear and panic that was reaching my family and friends. My wife was carrying the load with an uncertain future and I can only imagine her state of mind.
People started to pass by my bed and I could barely remember the faces of all of those that visited in the first day or two. Our Mayor and City Manager stopped by and I was at a loss for words. As much as I wanted to say that everything was alright, I just didn't know. My arm was getting stuck so many times that they were running out of veins to poke.
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