Six Weeks of Pending Doom

I have a lot of rage right now that I don't know what to do with. I have been struggling with it for the past four days. I don't know where to channel it, so I decided to write this piece.

On April 29, 2021, I had a minor accident. Long story short, I fell on my back and cracked three ribs before going to work on the set of my film "A Dream House." I was in a lot of pain and having problems breathing when I got to the ER at Long Island Community Hospital, less than ten minutes from my home. Because of this, I had an elevated blood pressure and lowered oxygen levels.

The ER doctor decided to give me a CT scan to make sure that I didn't puncture my lung, which was fine with me. About an hour after having the CT scan done, the handsome ER doctor who was in his late 30s or early 40s entered and sat down next to me in a chair opposite the bed I was lying on.

"I have something to tell you," he ominously began, "and it's going to terrify you. It's not as bad as it sounds, though, so don't get upset." For the next 15 minutes, I listened to this doctor tell me that I had something called an ascending thoracic aortic aneurism and I needed to get it checked out. It measured at 4.2mm, and they start getting concerned at 4.5mm. He told me, "Because of where it is located, it it is ruptured, you will have three to five seconds to live."

Those words shook me to my core. I was quite literally a ticking time bomb. My heart was pumping blood through an artery and it could end my life in an instant if something went wrong. As the owner of a film production company, I have a very stressful job-- Especially considering I was about to leave for Illinois and shoot a movie for a month away from my family. What if something happened to me while I was away?

I didn't tell anyone about it, except my sister (who is a doctor). I asked her not to tell Mom, because I didn't want my mom overreacting and stressing out. (I found out weeks later that my sister told my mother immediately, which was definitely not cool-- Especially since there was nothing anyone could do about my heart.) I made the appointment with the cardiologist and told my husband that they found "something with my heart that I have to get checked out" and left it at that. I couldn't get an appointment with a cardiologist right away, so I had to fly home on one of my days off for the appointment.

At the cardiologist appointment on May 25, Dr. Mercurio told me that he didn't get the actual films, but was given the report from the ER doctor stating that I had an "enlarged aorta" and pointed out a 4.2mm ascending thoracic aortic aneurism. After commenting how these were rare, he ordered an echocardiogram for me, which I wouldn't be able to get until June 21. I flew back to Illinois to finish out my film.

While I was working, I would find myself getting stressed out about something work-related, then get even more stressed out because I was worried what it would do to my heart. I went to bed at night wondering if I would wake up in the morning. I told me Assistant Director Nick about the aneurism, in case something happened to me on set. I also told a couple of other people while there, knowing that my family wouldn't find out.

On June 21, I was ready for my echocardiogram at 11am. Unfortunately, at 10am, I received a phone call asking me to put off the echocardiogram until Wednesday because they had another emergency with a patient. Of course, I agreed. It has been nearly 2 months, so why not wait a little longer?

On June 23, I went into the office for the echocardiogram. The ultrasound tech doing the test, Kathy, was terrific. She kept looking...and looking...and looking. She commented, "You have a very strong heart. What are we looking for?" I told her what the doctor had told me, and she hmm'd thoughtfully. She did this a couple of times, making me question if I actually had what the ER doctor told me I had. Unfortunately, Kathy couldn't tell me any test results.

Fortunately, I had scheduled my appointment for June 24. I walked in to the room, and Dr. Mercurio told me that I lost twelve pounds. He asked me how my ribs were doing, and I told him I felt fine. He then addressed the ascending thoracic aortic aneurism that I was diagnosed with in the ER:

"Nothing's there."

I was dumbfounded. He told me that he didn't know what the ER doctor saw, but there was nothing there. Relief swept over me, followed by rage. How could the ER doctor be so wrong? WHY would he tell me that I could essentially die at any moment?

People that I tell the story to almost always have the same reaction: THANK GOD!! Yeah, sure, thank God that there's nothing wrong with my heart... Thank God I'm not dying... Thank God I'm not a ticking time bomb... Thank God I'm going to be around for a while for my family...

But what about all of the undue stress that the ER doctor caused me? Let's face it-- He was WRONG. I mean, barring a miracle from the Lord above, this doctor was incorrect. (And, believe me, I'm not discounting any sort of miracle from God. I wish that I would be able to replace my rage against this doctor with gratitude to the Lord, but I am really struggling with that.) Furthermore, this is the SECOND time that Long Island Community Hospital has misdiagnosed someone in my family so horrible. Eleven years ago, we had an ER doctor tell my husband that he had liver cancer. (Fortunately, it wasn't liver cancer... It was a rare form of strep that caused abscesses on his liver, but that's another story for another time.) An ER doctor shouldn't have diagnosed or even suggested cancer.

As patients, we put our trust and faith into doctors. I believe the Hippocratic Oath is "Do no harm." What about the harm to my psyche? What about the harm to my husband's psyche? What about the emotional stress? Why couldn't the ER doctor call down a specialist right then and there to take a look? Fortunately, my husband and I have the best insurance in the country because he's a police officer. There is literally NO reason that we couldn't have gotten a second opinion right then or there-- Back in April 2021 for the "aneurism" or in July 2014 for "liver cancer." (Incidentally, my husband was in a coma for 11 days, but lived and is TOTALLY fine now-- Praise God.)

Doctors - ALL doctors - have a responsibility to their patients to treat every aspect of their illness, including the way that the information is put forth. It isn't even that the ER doctor that misdiagnosed me didn't have a good bedside manner-- he did! He was charming and explained everything to me. It's that they need to stay in their lane of whatever medicine they practice. I wouldn't go to an orthopedist to take out my gall bladder. If the ER doctor said, "Listen, you need to go get your heart checked out because I think I might see something," THAT would have gotten me to make a cardiology appointment. If the ER doctor that misdiagnosed my husband said, "Look, there's something going on with your liver, and I think you need to have an internist take a look," that would have happened. They didn't have to scare the crap out of us and make us believe that we were knocking on death's door.

I don't know if some doctors have a superiority complex and feed off of manipulating the feelings of their patients or what, but it is very dangerous. The ER doctor told me all of this while I was alone, as I couldn't have anyone with me due to COVID restrictions. What if finding out made me more reckless and willing to take more risks because I thought I was going to di anyway? What if I was a drug user and that pushed me to use more and I OD'd? What if I was an alcoholic and it caused me to go on a bender? There are just so many "what ifs" in this case that I can't even think of all of them. It's frightening.

Fortunately, I did seek a second opinion. I know that there are people out there that wouldn't have and either taken the ER doctor's word as Gospel or just blown it off. Either way, it would have been dangerous. We need to be in tune with what is going on in our bodies, but we also have to be able to trust the doctors that keep us informed.

It's hard to come back when that trust is broken.