Heartaches and Miracles - Sample Chapter
Heartaches and Miracles
Greta Burroughs (author)
Struck by Lightning
Tom Schilling - Greenville, IL
Friday, April 29, 2005
“But I don't feel sick. Why do I have to stay here in the hospital?” I stubbornly asked the emergency room doctor. He replied in an exasperated voice, “Because you are one sick chick. Your platelets are down to 2000. You are going upstairs to PCU and you are going to stay there until I say you can go home.”
So was the beginning of my ordeal with ITP. I was so scared and confused. I had never been in a hospital as a patient before and did not think it was necessary then. What did it mean, “My platelets were down to 2000?” Why was I so tired? Why did I have all those bruises and what were those strange red dots all over my legs?
That was my ‘Black Friday.’ During the three to four weeks prior to my visit to the emergency room, I knew something was wrong but never dreamed it would turn out to be life-threatening. I had been through quite an ordeal trying to find the reason for the nonstop heavy, vaginal bleeding that had been plaguing me for over a month and was very frustrated with the lack of progress. I wanted answers and a way to put an end to it and believed it was my doctor’s job to fix it.
The day prior to going to the hospital, I suffered through another nonproductive visit with an ob/gyn. After going through all types of poking and prodding, answering countless questions and submitting myself to endless tests, the results were supposed to be revealed to me.
“Your Pap smear is OK. Your biopsy is OK. Everything looks good, Greta. I think you are premenopausal and the Provera I prescribed should get your periods back under control. You are at the age when things like this happen. If the Provera doesn’t help, we’ll talk about alternative treatments we can try.”
I was not satisfied. “How about doing some blood work. I feel really tired all the time and I’ve got all these bruises all over my arm. Could I be anemic from all the bleeding over the past few weeks?”
That was my fourth visit to Dr. Meyers and I was perplexed as to why she never did any blood work on the previous three visits. Probably being an ob/gyn, the good doctor assumed the ninety-nine out of a hundred cause for my prolonged bleeding was menopause. She did the routine gynecological tests to rule out other causes, such as cervical or uterine cancer, but never thought of checking for a blood disorder.
Early the next morning when the telephone rang, an excited voice from the clinic informed me, “You need to get to the hospital right now. We got the lab results from your blood work we did yesterday and there is a panic alert on your platelet levels. Come by our office and pick up some paperwork and go directly to the hospital and let them double-check our results in their lab. If the results are the same, you will need to go to the emergency room immediately.”
That was not what I wanted to hear at seven o’clock in the morning. I had things to do, busy, busy, busy, every day there was so much to do. We had seven dogs I needed to walk, exercise and feed. The yard needed to be shoveled; seven big dogs eat lots of dog food. The house was a mess; dirty laundry was overflowing the hamper, there were end of the month bills to be sent out and groceries to be purchased. I did not have time to go to the hospital.
I told the nurse I would be down later in the afternoon. In return, I received a lecture on the seriousness of the situation and to get there as soon as possible, in other words, right now. After relaying the news to my husband, we scrubbed all the plans we had for the morning and went to the emergency room expecting to have the afternoon to complete all our work.
Actually the past year had been very hectic, so much to do and so little time. My husband, Bob had developed heart problems in May 2004, which resulted in three stents being surgically implanted in the arteries around his heart. That was stressful enough, but in addition, his career as a professional pilot came to an abrupt end due to the loss of his medical certificate, which meant our major source of income came to an abrupt end as well. Up until that time, we had been self-employed, working together and had everything pretty well under control. Twenty years earlier we had started our own business, teaching aviation ground schools and administering flight and written tests for the Federal Aviation Administration.
I was office manager and did all the paperwork, bookkeeping, scheduling, etc. and obtained my ground instructor rating so that I could help Bob teach the ground schools. I also became a designated written-test examiner administering the FAA written tests for all the pilot ratings, flight engineer and airplane mechanic certificates. Bob became a designated pilot examiner for the Federal Aviation Administration. He tested student pilots for private pilot and more advanced ratings and issued pilot certificates to the applicants who passed the checkride. It was a very prestigious position recognizing the skill, knowledge and wisdom gained through all his years as a professional pilot and flight instructor. He was well respected by the aviation community and his services were in demand so we made a pretty good living.
Life was great. We were so happy being together twenty-four hours a day. Even though my duties as a written-test examiner had come to an end and we no longer did the ground schools, the checkrides kept Bob very busy and the paperwork, scheduling and domestic duties kept me busy. We had a nice home, good friends, comfortable lifestyle, and no major worries. Well, I guess all good things eventually come to an end, but it was not supposed to happen overnight. After twenty years of being able to overcome all the obstacles life threw in our way, I was at a total loss after Bob’s heart problem flared up.
Was Bob going to be OK? Could I take proper care of him? How long would our savings last? Despite all those years with the FAA, Bob had no medical or retirement benefits since he was on contract with the federal government. What were we going to do? I became a nervous wreck. I could not eat or sleep, nor stay still. I lost forty pounds, looked tired all the time and drove poor Bob crazy. The stress I put myself under was terrible. I felt like it was up to me to take care of everything. Bob was unable to fly so he started teaching flight instructor ground schools at an international flight school and did what I would let him do around the house. I was afraid of him having a heart attack so I did all the strenuous work and the worrying for both of us, which was a big mistake. After all those months of self-imposed stress, I wore myself out and was faced with going to the hospital.
After I told Bob about the panic alert and the need to check it out at the hospital, my last words before we left the house were, “It will only take a few minutes to get a blood test. I'm sure it's all a big mistake. I feel fine.” A couple hours later, we were sitting in the lab waiting room. That is an appropriate name for the little cubbyhole we were stuck in, waiting for an answer.
One of the lab techs finally appeared and said, “Mrs. Burroughs . . . good news. Your platelets are OK. You can go home now.” Exhaling a big sigh of relief, I grabbed my purse and headed down the hallway towards the double doors and freedom. I wanted to get out of there before they changed their minds. Only a few more steps . . . reach for the door handle . . .
“Mrs. Burroughs, Mrs. Burroughs, wait a minute, please.” I had my hand on the door but I could not go any further. I was frozen to the floor. My brain was saying, “Go, go” but I could not move. My dear wonderful hubby put his arm around my shoulder giving me the strength to turn around and face the lab tech who had now caught up with us.
“Mrs. Burroughs, I am so sorry but I looked at the wrong results at first. You need to go around to the ER. I am so sorry.” I just stood there. This cannot be happening to me. My memory of getting from that spot to the ER is a little hazy. I am sure Bob took charge since I had turned into a quivering lump of Jell-O. All I remember is sitting in another waiting room and going to the bathroom every thirty minutes. The vaginal bleeding was worse than ever. It was very embarrassing to have to ask a nurse for pads, but I had no choice.
Finally, after several hours of nervously glancing through every magazine available, my name was called and we were ushered into a curtained-off cubicle. By that time, I was absolutely miserable. I had not eaten since early that morning. I was bleeding profusely and very uncomfortable. All I wanted to do was go home. More blood was drawn for testing and so many questions were being asked. My mind was not functioning properly and my answers were quite vague. The medical personnel probably thought I was totally incompetent. Finally everyone left and Bob and I were alone in that cold and very inhospitable (pardon the pun) place. Neither one of us knew what to expect, the waiting made us both extremely nervous. At last we heard voices outside our cubicle and one of the doctors walked in.
“Well,” the ER doctor said, “your platelet levels are falling fast. Yesterday they were 11, this morning they were 4, and now they are 2. Something needs to be done right now.”
“What does that mean? I don't know what all those numbers mean,” I whimpered, “and why do I have all these bruises and the red dots all over my legs?”
The doctor explained, “Your platelets should be over 140 to be in the normal range. Without the platelets, your blood will not clot. The bruises and red dots, which are called petechiae, are the result of the low platelets. Your blood is actually leaking through the walls of your capillaries and up through the pores in your skin causing the red dots. With your platelets so low, you are in danger of hemorrhaging either internally or externally. It's a good thing you did not wait any longer before you came to the hospital.”
“Oh, OK” was my tremulous answer. That was the beginning of my struggle with Immune Thrombocytopenic Purpura.
Hap Hapner - Miami, FL
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