I Almost Died

I know that the title of this blog sounds dramatic, but I really think that this was the closest to death I've ever gotten (aside from driving with my Uncle Bob or going skydiving). Just to warn all of you, this post is going to be a little more somber than the others. I don't think I can find a way to make this light-hearted. Of all that I've been through, this was honestly the worst so far. So let's begin...

My ex-friend Chad Hanover (yes ASU peeps THAT Chad Hanover) did the only nice thing he's ever done in his life and referred me to a doctor via his uncle at Memorial-Sloan Kettering Cancer Center (also known as "Memorial" or "MSKCC"). I got matched up with Dr. Coit (I've lost count of the # of doctors, which is good, because I will REALLY lose count later). He was really nice when we had an appointment with him. My mom and I went and he answered a lot of our questions. His theory on these tumors is basically let's hurry up and wait. Get an MRI every six months and we'll see how it goes. He gave me an NSAID (non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug--ibuprofen is an example) called Sulindac. It's prescription but very mild, and some studies have shown that it may cause the tumor to stop growing or even shrink. I left there with a feeling I hadn't recognized in a long time--hope.

The following week was a big week in my training. We were getting towards the end, working towards our oral boards, and facing the more challenging tasks in DNA analysis. Unfortunately I was starting to get sick. Sore throat, fever, body ache, etc. I kept coming to work because in training you're not allowed to miss a day. Not even the day after Thanksgiving which totally sucks. But anyway, the third day of my illness I started to see a rash on my torso, and my fever was bad enough to cause me to be completely disoriented at night. It was scary. On the PATH train the next morning, I thought I was going to pass out so I (YUCK) sat on the floor. This is what I love about New York--no one glanced my way to see if I was okay, or if they could offer me a seat, or, God help us, hit the emergency button. I took a taxi to work instead of walking the mile to the lab, and I ran into my friend Katey. For my OCME friends, you all know her. For my non-OCME peeps, I went to grad school with Katey and now we work at the same lab. She is from South Philly, and always tells it like it is, which I love about her. I would like to state right here that Katey Nori most likely saved my life that day. No joking.

Katey saw me and said "You look like crap. Why the hell are you here?" or something to that effect. I told her that we had our first of 2 three-hour DNA mixture interpretation lectures that day and I really couldn't miss it (for non OCME people, it's one of the most dreaded parts of training, and it's with a tough Assistant Director. I didn't ever want to be on her bad side, and in my mind calling out sick was a good way to do that). Katey convinced me to talk to her and go to the ER at NYU a few blocks away, so I did, and the Assistant Director was actually very kind and understanding. I went to the ER because I didn't have a doctor in the city yet and this would be the fastest way to be seen. My friend Shannon offered to meet me there shortly and I headed over.

I checked in at the desk and told the intake person I had a rash. I was immediately quarantined into my own room, which was actually pretty awesome. The only non-awesome part was that Shannon couldn't come sit with me, but that was okay because I felt badly about her leaving work just for me. I sat and read my book and waited for a doctor. He took a look at me, said the rash was probably heat rash from the fever, took some blood samples, and sent me out into the hallway to wait on a stretcher for the results. He said I probably had a bad virus, but let's get those blood results in case it's something else and we'll have you on your way. So I sat and waited and read my book. I called Ryan and my mom with updates, and they were relieved to hear it was nothing.

Let me describe to you now how much the NYU Emergency Room was like a third-world country ER. There were people and stretchers everywhere, total chaos. While I was waiting for my blood results on my stretcher, I couldn't help but overhear a doctor's conversation with the couple right across from me, where the woman was in a wheelchair. The doctor told the couple that one of her ovaries would have to be removed immediately. She was from Australia and on vacation when all of this suddenly happened...and it was her birthday. I was saddened and embarrassed that I was privy to such an intimate moment. I think of this couple frequently, and I hope that they are well. I could not imagine being in their shoes. They were next privy to my very private conversation though...

My doctor came up to me and said "Is there anything you aren't telling us? Are you sick with anything?" He sounded a little accusatory, like I was lying about my medical history. I stammered no, just the tumor. He grumbled "Well that wouldn't explain it. You have almost no white blood cells. We're going to have to admit you." I was stunned. Stunned. Then my mind started to race. What if I had contracted a disease at work from evidence exam and not known it? There was this one case at my old lab, where a man beat his gay lover to death with a dumbbell, then put a plastic bag over his head to smother him in case he was still breathing. The victim had HIV and Hepatitis. I was working on the plastic bag with a co-worker. We could see a fingerprint in the blood and we were trying to preserve it, but it was incredibly hard because the blood kept flaking off. We ended up cutting the bag and pressing it between two pieces of clear plastic. Blood flakes were everywhere. We were properly gowned and wore masks, etc., but what if? What else could explain it?

I started panicking about work as well. I hadn't been there very long, less than six months. What was I going to do if I was admitted? What about training?

The doctor gave me a mask to wear over my mouth. He left me there in the hallway and before leaving said, "Don't take that mask off. You can't catch anything because you basically have no immune system. "

I called my mother, in tears, as the Australian couple couldn't help but hear I am sure. For the first time in a long time I heard panic in Stone Cold Pam's voice. They were leaving immediately from PA to come to the hospital. Ryan was on his way as well. I just sat and cried, cried, cried in that hallway. I'd never felt so alone in my life...or so terrified. What was wrong with me? I don't want to have a death sentence. I don't want to die. Not yet.

This probably sounds pretty dramatic to most of you reading this, since obviously I'm alive. But in that moment, in that hallway, in that stretcher, no one knew what was wrong with me or why my immune system had disappeared. For all anyone knew I already had caught something and had no ability to fight it. It only took a matter of seconds for my world, my life to come crashing down.

When starting this post I'd expected to tell the whole story of this, but I can't get through it. It's harder to tell than I expected. I'll finish it up this week.
Thanks everyone for reading and being so supportive. My cubicle-mate Nana says she's noticed that I've been calmer since I started writing, so that's good. I'm glad this writing thing is working!

xoxo,
Sue