Am I Dying?
Lisa McCarty
Word Count 998
It was 8 o’clock when I pulled into the emergency room parking lot, the last place I wanted to be on a Friday night. My right leg was swollen and throbbing with pain. My chest tightened as I drove. I found a spot and hurried toward the entrance, the automatic double doors dinging as I limped to the front desk. Each step reverberated in my leg.
A young woman wearing a blue medical mask looked up from her phone. I cleared my throat. “Hi. My doctor told me to be seen for potential deep vein thrombosis (DVT).” What I wanted to say was I may have a blood clot in my leg after three years of fertility treatment and I’m still not pregnant. I rubbed the top of my thigh to dull the pain. She asked my name and date of birth, then told me to find a seat. “Someone will be with you soon.” I nodded and gave a half-smile. “Ok, thank you.”
My dinner started to rise up in my throat and I thought I might throw up. The feeling abated, but the pressure in my leg was increasing by the minute. I checked my phone again, it had only been ten minutes since I walked in, but it felt like an hour. Intrusive thoughts crept in. What if it was a clot? What if I die from this? Just then, a woman called my name from the other side of the desk. I sat down in the plastic chair, rubbing my leg again.
“When did the pain start?” the intake person asked. Gritting my teeth, I answered, “Earlier tonight. I was lying on the couch when I started having pain in my right leg. I called my endocrinologist, because we just had an egg retrieval and we were scheduled for a fresh IVF transfer next week. She said I needed to come in.”
A few minutes later, they wheeled me back to the exam room and took my vitals again. The nurse pulled on her medical gloves, gently pushing on different parts of my leg. It had swelled more. My heart pounded, the tightness in my chest returned and I let out an audible exhale. She looked up at me and then back at my leg.
Shaking her head, she picked up her emergency phone from the pocket of her scrubs. “Hi, are you ready for us now?” She spoke quietly to the person in the ultrasound room. “Yes, she’s here. Looks like a possible DVT….” Her voice trailed off.
The pressure in my head and my leg were building. I felt the clipboard slip from my fingers, falling to the floor. The nurse looked over at me, still on the phone. The last thing I heard was, “Mrs. McCarty, are you o..k...” as if in slow motion. The room blurred, my head felt like a balloon getting lighter, as if it was floating above my body, disconnected from the rest of me. Someone grabbed my right arm, pushing me toward the cot, signaling me to lie down. My hands and feet went numb and the room went black.
I heard voices around me, but I couldn’t make out the words. I was somewhere else. A voice called out, more clearly, “Mrs. McCarty, if you can hear me, can you try to take a deep breath?”
I inhaled, as if someone else was executing the command. I felt my chest rising and falling, I wiggled my fingers and toes, trying to bring sensation back to my body. Blinking my eyes open, I tried to make sense of what happened. “I think you had a panic attack and passed out,” the nurse said.
I looked up, unsure of what to say. I nodded, hearing her words but not comprehending. After a minute, she asked, “Do you want some water? We need to take you down for an ultrasound, as soon as you are stable.” Slowly, the feeling came back into my hands and feet,my body was calming down. My leg was still swollen, but felt less painful from being elevated. I sat up and they took me down to the ultrasound room.
Turning the corners, the fluorescent lights above bounced off the white linoleum floor, distracting me. “We’re almost there,” the nurse called from behind me, pushing me forward..
The radiologist guided me from the wheelchair to the table to do the ultrasound. Placing the thick liquid on the wand, she rolled it back and forth across my upper and lower leg, checking for areas of concern.
She replaced the wand in its holder, put her hands together and said, “Luckily, I don’t see any blood clot dear.” The tightness in my chest released and I let out a deep breath.
“But…. I think you might have something called Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS). It can present itself as swelling in the legs, the uterus and so on.”
She told me she would send the full report to my doctor, then paused, looking down at me, her hand on my arm. “I think you will be ok. The treatment is usually just rest and stopping medications for a few weeks. Your doctor will follow up with you on your plan.”
“Thank you,” I said, trying to hold back tears.
They wheeled me back to the exam room and then I limped back to my car. When I closed the door, I sobbed. My body felt exhausted, as if I had run a marathon. My leg throbbed again.
I whispered to myself, “I just had a panic attack.” Wiping the tears again, I called my husband. “Just come home, babe. It will be ok,” his voice reassured me. I didn’t know what else to do, except to go home.
The next day my doctor called, confirming that we would have to postpone the transfer of eggs until my body calmed down. More waiting, more anxiety and still no baby. Just another day in the life of infertility.
Lisa is a writer and a women's health advocate. Her writing has been featured in HuffPost, TODAY Show, Newsweek, Popsugar and more. She is also working on a book about infertility, she can be found on Instagram and Twitter @lbmccarty717