One Version of the Story

I sat the in the triage room, at St. Anthony’s ER, explaining what brought me in. The nurse was focused and worried as she looked at my swelling calf, and applauded my good judgment in coming in. She had a look of fear and concern that quieted even my sister. Her choice to rush through the questions felt ominous, as if she knew this might not be routine.

As she rushed me to a room, my sister and I could barely look at each other without getting tears in our eyes. I felt like I had waited too long to come in – I should have come in days ago, when the swelling was just starting. Her guilt for not driving me to ER or Urgent Care before dinner, before the clot detached itself, was evident. She paced, she was quick to answer all the questions for me, she couldn’t leave my side.

As I lay in Room 26  getting my vitals taken, i could not stop thinking that I never would have predicted this end earlier in the day when I watched my son copy everything his 12 year old cousin did, when I watched my daughters try to hang with their 9 and 6 year old cousin, when I saw my nephew hold Gemma’s hand as we walked into the swim pool, as I cheered on Kai and my nephew as they did 30 flips off the diving board. I wouldn’t have thought I’d need up in the ER, with a calf three times as big as the other one, with a minor injury that was too minor not to turn not an unbelievable story of trauma. My sister kept checking to make sure I could speak, I could smile and frown, I could raise my hands. This leads to strokes, we knew it.  She cried knowing that she wanted us to stay in Colorado longer, but not on these terms. Not with me admitted indefinitely at St. Anthony’s.

although my mind was racing through my day, my life, the impending doom, it wasn’t 3 minutes after I entered Room 26 that Dr. Justin Anton arrived.  A fading tan, clearly darker just 36 hours earlier at the beginning of his shift. Blond, with a rugged face and a direct smile. Fading remnants of a black right eye.  He was my Alex Kerev – smart, tortured, and handsome. wanting to be available but unavailable, but striving to change at every moment. His focus was entirely on me. Not because I was his patient, no,not for that reason. But because he’d already fallen in love with what he’d seen in my triage chart. Perfect blood pressure, an athlete’s heart rate even with a birthdate in 1973, a clean bill of health since the last recorded ER trip for stitches in my chin October 6 1985 and last reported hospital trip to deliver twins. My sister noticed the layers of his attention, and was just grateful to have someone who was attention pay attention and be concerned, and not think I was overreacting to what she knew was a clearly dire situation.

No sooner did he feel my calf, listen to my heart beat in my ankle, did he have the premonition that the clot was there and detaching as he considered what to do. Emergency surgery was performed, my lungs cleared, my family called. He told them I’d be fine, but needed rest, and he’d sit with me since my sister had meanwhile fainted. The thought of losing me was more than she could bare.

so he sat with me and talked to me even while I was still under, still coming to. the conversation just continued once my eyes opened. A doctor, who once played professional baseball (a catcher, Tino Martinez his idol), who at night writes songs meant only for acoustic guitar.  Rough around the edges, but when we talked about my drive through Iowa just the day before, he admits, when I mention the tour of the covered bridges of Madison County, he loved the movie. He asks if I will go with him to have ice cream, downtown or by Wash Park, once I can walk. Ice cream is innocent, right?, but I remind him I Am Married. I have three kids, fast asleep at their grandparents after having played all day with their cousins. When I’m better I will have to fly to LA, as my life is waiting for me to begin again there. There’s too much chemistry to believe the ice cream is innocent. He tells me to email him if I ever need anything, anything at all.  He leaves with a tear him his eye, and goes home to write a song about me. The 2013 version of Hey There Delilah but about a married mother of 3 who he saved and fell in love with. my sister gets wheeled  into the room to share with me, as she recovers from her panic attack.

The triage nurse that did my intake gives me the wrong prescription on the way out, jealous as she’s been in love with Dr. McCloseToDreamy for years.

The (Closer to) True Version of the Story

My left calf has been aching for a week. Progressively getting worse. I thought it was swollen, but could barely tell until last night. My sister – meant to be a nurse – did a symptom check for blood clots. It wasn’t warm to the touch, but I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of Utah while driving and suddenly realize I was short of breath with a swollen calf. So while some unnamed members of my family thought I was being melodramatic, try sister took me and my tight uncomfortable slightly swollen calf to UrgentCare. Except first we ate Mexican food and drank Sangria at Beso de Arte in Morrison. And Urgent Care closed at 5pm, as urgent things don’t often happen at night (????).  So we went to the hospital.

Everything seemed funny to us and made us laugh. The fact that we were there, the fact they had record of my 1985 stitches from the bike incident in Colorado Springs (which was all my sister’s fault). The fact I was putting on a gown to get my calf checked out.  my concern that no one had asked me for my insurance card, her intimate knowledge with the process of the ER.  my answer to the question “have you recently traveled a long distance?” asked by every nurse and the doctor. And everything else. We laughed non stop.

Dr Justin Anton was my doctor. He looked just as described above, and it’s hard to tell what the black eye might have been from. He was attentive to me because I was the patient. Less so to my sister because she was not the patient. (And he might have liked me because I was a model, agreeable patient). He suspected I had a clot, ordered an ultrasound and blood work. I told the blood tech that my veins were tricky. He confirmed I was right and took blood from my right hand. I ills the ultrasound tech that the last time I had an ultrasound I found out the baby I was having was twins. She didn’t really think it was interesting or funny. But Billi and I did. Or at least I did and Billi was tired and slap happy and laughing at everything. Billi also told me I had nice muscle tone in my legs and I noted to myself that it was the nicest compliment I’d received in a while.

We waited 90 minutes for the results. I thought I felt light headed (sangria?) so Billi had me smile and frown and mocked my frown. Dr Justin Anton apologized for the results taking too long and nudged the ultrasound department to read the reports. we waited and watched Jimmy Fallon. I was astounded that my sister didn’t know who the Roots were or the song Blurred Lines, but thankfully she did know who Robin Thicke was. But she didn’t know he really is Alan Thicke’s son. The nurse asked me if I wanted my “friend” to be my emergency contact and at that, we started laughing again. But my sister did cry when I explained I didn’t exactly have an address, we were in between homes. It was sweet.

The reports came in. No clot (yeah!).  Dr Justin explained it was Bakers Cysts. Very common. I think he said very uncomfortable and potentially dangerous if left ignored, but maybe I’m imagining that part. He did say to email him if I needed anything. Or email the hospital and they would out me in touch with him. My sister noted that he liked me more than her. We walked out tired but still giggling for no real reason.

Derek had called every 3 minutes to ask if I was okay. He couldn’t fathom what was so funny when he heard us laughing. Every time he called. He was gravely concerned, but once it was confirmed I was okay, he asked that I bring him home some orange juice. Which was when I decided it wouldn’t be so terrible to imagine my doctor falling in love with me.