I was being evaluated for chest pain by a pulmonologist who was treating me with opioids.
The night before my diagnosis, I was participating in a group yoga class where I won a T-shirt for sweating the most. I had pools of sweat under me like it was a Bikram class, but the A/C was cranked in the gym.
I couldn’t walk across Iowa State’s campus without soaking my shirt, being red in the face, completely out of breath and barely in time for class.
I called my pulmonologist saying something isn’t right and he agreed to see me first thing in the morning in his office.
During the appointment, he agreed something wasn’t right and he would order another CT scan, but this time with contrast. If that came back negative, he’d send me to cardiology for a same day workup.
I was in the waiting room after the CT scan when the doctor poked his head in and called me back. He said “You have clots plural and need to go to the hospital, NOW!”
They believe my pulmonary emboli were provoked from the birth control ring I was using. I also have a family history — my grandfather had seven PE events throughout his life, all after surgery.
They decided on a three- month course of warfarin.
The following year, on February 12, 2014, I went to the ER with edema and anxiety. The doctor was going to discharge me with a panic attack, but I begged for a D-dimer. It came back elevated — I had three more clots in my right lung. This time I was admitted via hematology.
In 2021, I was diagnosed with antiphospholipid syndrome, an autoimmune disorder that can increase the risk for blood clots.
Overall, I am more mindful, and I try to share my story whenever and wherever possible to raise awareness. However, I try really hard not to let my clotting disorder or my anxiety around clotting run my life.
