Your Health Is Everything, Right?

The 2022-2023 school year seemed off to a rousing start.

I'd left my classroom position and been hired as a reading interventionist, poised to work with students who needed just a bit more support to reach their grade-level goals. This seemed like a step in the right direction, a time to use my experience to support students and teachers while being removed from the direct responsibilities of lesson planning, grading, classroom management, and *shudder* talking to parents.

Anyone who knows me knows that I was excited, hoping to have more brainpower left after work to focus on my true passion of writing and trying to get published.

About midway through August, with the students in school for a week and I working on organizing the library, I started noticing dull chest pain. I thought nothing of it, believing that I was simply out of shape and that the three flights of stairs that I now had to climb daily in my building were taking a toll. I pushed myself to go on walks again on the trail near my house, listening to audiobooks and pausing when inspiration for the novel I was working on struck to write thoughts in my notes app.

I found myself...tired. I wrote it off as readjusting to being back in school, and the much earlier and longer hours I was working. But no matter how much rest I got, it never seemed enough.

One Monday morning on the way to work, I found myself fighting to stay awake while also feeling increased pain in my chest. Starting to get concerned, I texted a friend to voice my concerns. She agreed that I should go to Urgent Care, even if it turned out to be nothing; better safe than sorry.

I'm slightly embarrassed to admit that not only did I wait until after the work day was over, but I also went home, changed clothes, and washed my face before heading to Urgent Care.

Once there, I explained my symptoms, put my insurance on file, and sat in the waiting room.

I've had anxiety about doctors and hospitals for as long as I can remember, my heart was racing. When I was finally pulled back, the nurse noted, "Your blood pressure is a little high. Are you nervous?" (A bit of foreshadowing here; I would get some variation of this conversation for the next six months of my life.)

"Yes, something about doctor's offices."

"It's pretty normal, hon."

I was taken to an examination room, where I waited a bit longer to speak with the tall Asian doctor with the absolute kindest eyes and calmest voice and explain my symptoms.

He ordered x-rays and a blood draw, then I waited anxiously for him to return.

When he returned, those kind eyes were now filled with concern. His voice still calm, he began to go over the results. "Your chest x-rays are normal. But my concern is your hemoglobin. You should be between 12 - 15; yours is 4. You shouldn't even be walking."

"Four?" I repeated incredulously. "How does that happen?"

"It could be a number of things; what I can tell you for sure is that you're anemic. And you need a blood transfusion as soon as possible; I'm going to find the nearest ER to your house, and you need to get there right away. You'll probably have to spend the night."

Anything else that he said after that was a blur. I got back into my car and plugged the directions into my GPS and then put my earbuds in to start making calls.

A coworker to get the assistant principal's number so that I could let her know that I wouldn't be at work and why.

My dad to let him know since he was my emergency contact.

Both of my best friends, who assured me that everything would be fine.

Though outwardly I was calm, I was freaking out. I'd never had any health scares like this before, especially when no one was really close enough to be there with me.

The ER was...an ER, what can I tell you? I waited for hours, was pulled back for more blood draws, EKGs, and x-rays, only to be left in the hallway in a wheelchair for nearly thirty minutes before I was wheeled back into....the waiting room.

Finally, at nearly 12 (I'd reached the ER at 8), I was brought back into a room to change into a gown and be evaluated by a doctor (and get a COVID test, of course). I was seen by two doctors while we waited for all of the paperwork for the transfusion to be processed.

It was then that I realized that all of the symptoms of anemia had been present for years, but I'd been able to explain them all away.

Out of breath? Three flights of stairs. Heart racing? Out of shape. Exhaustion? Teacher tired.

And then, one of the doctors asked me a question that I didn't expect.

"Do you have heavy periods?"

I've had heavy periods for as long as I can remember; however, they had been getting worse as I got older. Graduating to super tampons and backup maxi-pads to ensure I'd be covered until my kids were at lunch or specials. Still going through them quickly. I'd thought nothing of it, writing it off as just what a woman had to go through.

"There's a possibility that might be the cause of the anemia. You're bleeding out so much that your body can't replenish itself fast enough. We'll get you referred to a gynecologist once you're discharged. We're also going to need to check your rectum to make sure there's no intestinal bleeding." (This, unfortunately, was accomplished by waking me up at 7 am to stick a finger up there.)

My transfusion started around 2 am, and I was moved to a room around 3.

If you've ever spent the night in a hospital, you know that there was not much sleep to be had. And I was terrified. All alone, exhausted, and my phone battery getting low because I somehow had forgotten to move my charger from my work bag to my purse.

I had a book in my purse (pretty normal, if you know me), though I was almost finished with it. I spent most of the day sparingly keeping people updated with texts and reading, finally resorting to staring up at the tv that had no sound as I tried to keep myself from crying.

And don't get me started on the anxiety.

I was struck by the number of times that nurses and doctors remarked "you don't even look like anything is wrong!" I guess anemia was one of those medical conditions where you really can't tell.

Finally, after three bags of blood and praying that there wouldn't be any complications, I got discharged at 6 pm. I gratefully changed back into my joggers, loose t-shirt, and slides and listened to my discharge orders - check in with my primary care doctor, make an appointment with the gynecologist and a hematologist, and pick up my new prescription of iron pills to take daily.

Unfortunately, this was only the beginning of my troubles.