The pain was like nothing I’d experienced.
It happened during a family birthday celebration
“What’s wrong, Dad?” one of my daughters asked.
“I have this weird pain in my back and stomach. It will probably go away in a few minutes.”
It didn’t. Four hours later, the birthday party was over but the pain wasn’t, prompting a call to the same daughter, a paramedic.
“It still hurts?” she said. “Is it getting any better at all?”
“No.”
“That’s a long time for something like that to hurt, Dad. You should probably go the the ER.”
By then it was nearly midnight.
Long waits are common at the ER, but they got me right in to see a nurse, then a doctor. Unable to diagnose the problem based on my symptoms alone, the doctor ordered some tests. The pain, meanwhile, didn’t let up.
Sometime around 2 a.m., while we waited for the results of the tests, the doctor ordered Dilaudid for the pain.
Dilaudid? That perked me right up.
My only previous experience remotely related to Dilaudid was in the form of a song lyric by Steely Dan, one of my favorite bands.
“What will it be – some soothing herb tea? … Let’s say we spike it with Dilaudid.”
If Dilaudid was good enough for Steely Dan, it was good enough for me. I’ve never been into drugs, but a medical drug under a doctor’s supervision was another thing altogether. It would help with the pain, perhaps with the fringe benefit of a pleasant buzz.
“When will you give it to me?” I asked.
“You’re already getting it. It’s in your IV.”
A few minutes later, as if by magic, the pain subsided.
The buzz, however, never happened. Under medical supervision, the drug did exactly what it was supposed to do – minus the “fringe benefit.”
After leaving the room briefly, the doctor returned with the results of the tests.
“I don’t see anything in them that could explain the pain you were having,” he said. “For now it’s a mystery, but come back if it returns tomorrow.
That said, he added that one of the tests found something disturbing.
“You have an enlarged pulmonary artery. That can be serious. You should make an appointment to see your primary care doctor in the next few days.”
My doctor was booked solid but arranged an appointment with a physician assistant at the same clinic. Waiting for the appointment gave me time to worry and consult “Dr. Google.” Not necessarily a good idea.
An enlarged pulmonary artery, according to Google, “can be dangerous because it often signals underlying pulmonary hypertension or other severe lung/heart conditions, increasing the risk of serious complications like right-sided heart failure, arrhythmias, and even sudden death, especially if the enlargement is significant.”
Sudden death? Don’t sugar-coat it, Google. Give it to me straight.
Reading something like that puts your worry mode into overdrive. Should I make sure my will is up to date? Buy a cemetery plot?
The physician’s assistant assured me that I wasn’t going to keel over in the next five minutes. But the condition was serious enough that it warranted monitoring. Some additional tests were ordered. After reviewing the results of those, my doctor ordered yet another test and told me to try not to worry too much. He also told me to avoid strenuous exercise.
Fast forward to the present. With the results in from all of the tests but one, which can’t be done until spring because of backlog in the system, the news from the doctor was good. The artery isn’t enlarged enough to be a serious threat.
“He said to tell you not to worry about it,” the physician’s assistant told me. “Actually it also showed up on a test done a number of years ago. It hasn’t changed since then, which is a good thing. You may have had it your whole life.”
She also said the doctor had cleared me for strenuous exercise.
A good sign. Not that I’m running any marathons these days, but a encouraging nevertheless.
Maybe the mystery pain that took me to the E.R. was a gift. Because of the findings it led to, there’ll be regular monitoring of the artery. If it becomes a threat, the chances are good that it will be caught in time.
The normal reaction to learning that you’ve dodged a potentially fatal bullet, obviously, is relief. Relief and, hopefully, something more.
Relief is fleeting. Ideally, an experience that temporarily makes you think you might not have much time left comes with a lasting effect as well. A desire to improve.
Thanks to the harmless (so far) time bomb in my chest, I’m going to work on my faults – to try to be more generous, to do a better job of controlling my temper, to be more accepting of those with whom I disagree, to be more thoughtful and kinder to people. In short, to try to be a better person.
Easier said than done. But for what it’s worth, that’s my New Year’s Resolution.
Tim Woodward’s column appears every other Sunday in The Idaho Press and is posted on woodwardblog.comthe following Mondays. Contact him at woodwardcolumn@gmail.com.
Tim Woodward 