Admission
On the afternoon of Thursday, February 27th, 2025, I went to the ER suffering from shortness of breath and pain in the right side of my ribs. A few months prior I was climbing mountains but on this day I couldn’t make it from the parking lot to the admissions desk without sitting down for a break.
The woman at the desk asked me why I was there and I managed to gasp out, “I’m not getting better.”
Since the beginning of January I had been sick with what I thought was walking pneumonia or whatever respiratory infection was running rampant through our area. It started as a heavy feeling in my chest, developed into a dry, ticklish cough, then a wet, productive cough, that seemingly dried up by the end of January. I had no other symptoms that made me worry aside from a little fatigue.
But all the coughing caused me to develop severe neck and shoulder pain. Four massages and one failed acupuncture session later and the pain was unchanged. I broke down and bought a bottle of Ibuprofen to get me through a night of teaching Pilates and ballet.
On Monday, February 17th, I went to urgent care and described my history of symptoms. The doctor confirmed what I had guessed- I was most likely at the tail-end of walking pneumonia. He said my lungs sounded fine, no crackling noises, so he prescribed me a z-pack of antibiotics, an inhaler for the shortness of breath, and guessed I might have some mild gastritis from the Ibuprofen.
The following weekend, I finally went into the chiropractor and got my neck adjusted which resolved the shoulder pain, but by then I was experiencing severe rib pain in my right side and my stomach was extremely bloated. I was having trouble eating because it felt like there was no room in my stomach even though I was hungry. When I forced food down, I was extremely uncomfortable.
At this point I had not been sleeping regularly for a few weeks. I’m normally adamant about getting at minimum seven hours of sleep each night but in February I think I averaged three, and that’s being generous.
I would fall asleep each night on my right side because that was the only comfortable position but within 1-2 hours I would be awake again and unable to find a comfortable position to fall asleep again. If I rolled to my left I would experience sharp pain in my abdomen. I found myself migrating to the recliner couch each night to curl up and hopefully drift off again. As someone who has never experienced insomnia before, this was mentally the hardest part of the whole ordeal up until this point. I couldn’t think straight.
After taking four of five days of the z-pack, I felt like my symptoms were worsening instead of getting better. I decided not to take the last day, thinking perhaps the antibiotics were exacerbating my stomach issues. Over the next few days I continued to suffer from abdominal discomfort that got progressively worse and barely managed to complete normal everyday activities.
Taking a shower was exhausting.
Doing the laundry was a monumental feat.
Washing the dishes was nearly impossible.
Taking a walk around the block WAS impossible. After taking several breaks, I panicked and called my boyfriend, Jordan, to pick me up less than a quarter mile from the house. The inhaler had done nothing for me.
By Sunday, February 23rd, I decided to go back to urgent care. I saw a different doctor and described my symptoms yet again. Because my cough had subsided by this point, it was difficult to pinpoint why I was experiencing shortness of breath. The extreme bloated feeling in my abdomen was making it feel like the pressure was coming from below. And again, I was told my lungs sounded great. She confirmed that I was likely experiencing a stomach ulcer from the Ibuprofen and prescribed me acid blockers. Hopeful that this was the answer, I headed home.
At this point I was SO fatigued and SO uncomfortable that I had been canceling work commitments left and right. All I could do was sit on my couch and try to meet my most basic needs throughout the day. I felt pathetic but also would not let myself believe that something was seriously wrong.
Looming over this whole ordeal was a trip to Mexico for a Pilates retreat with friends that I had been planning on for almost a year. As it crept closer and closer I began to realize that I was in absolutely no condition to travel. I cancelled flights and reservations, accepting defeat.
In a last ditch effort to hopefully ease my rib pain, I added a few extra chiropractor visits that week. Each time I was in tears at my lack of improvement and control over my body. On Thursday, February 27th, I went to see her one last time. She gently adjusted me and noted the strange movement of my ribcage with my breath- pulling far to the right side as I inhaled- and asked me, “are you sure there’s not something else going on here?”
Still in denial, I headed to my boyfriend’s parent’s house to take a bath. I felt like a good soak would do me good. Jordan’s parents had been more worried about me than I was myself for a few weeks by this point. His mom kindly let me take a bath. Once I got dressed and collapsed on the couch she said, “Okay, we’re just gonna take you to the hospital.”
I had no choice but to surrender. Why couldn’t I breathe? Why couldn’t I put my pants on without needing to rest? What was happening to me?
Luckily they lived down the street from the hospital so we were there in minutes. Still believing in my physical abilities I told her to park instead of dropping me at the door and so began my laborious walk into the ER.
After getting admitted, I was taken back right away. They took my vitals, I again shared the two month history of my symptoms, and they brought me to a room.
The doctor came to examine me, said my lungs sounded fine, and was more concerned with the GI symptoms I was experiencing. Unable to pinpoint anything, he gave me a choice- wait a month or so to get into the GI specialist or go ahead and run some labs and imaging since I was already there in the hospital. Luckily, I chose to run some labs and imaging.
They brought an ultrasound machine into the room and began examining my stomach. He took many images and went on his way.
Minutes later, the doctor came back and told me they saw an effusion on the bottom of my right lung. They were sending me for a CT scan.
Effusion? A buildup of fluid between the layers of tissue that line the lungs and chest cavity.
One CT scan later and I’m being wheeled to a different room. The radiologist shares that he can see why I’m uncomfortable- there’s A LOT of fluid around my lung.
At this point I’m thinking, “Okay, I had walking pneumonia, I was coughing a lot, I injured my lung, I got this effusion… problem solved.”
So I’m sitting in this new hospital room with my boyfriend’s mom and his cousin, waiting for what’s next, when the doctor finally returns.
He pulls up a stool.
He looks somber.
He says, “It’s cancer.”
I hear small gasps to my left as I make sure to let those words bounce off me.
That can’t be correct. This can’t be real.
I ask, “Do you know for sure it’s cancer?”
The doctor says, “Well no, you’ll need further testing.”
And I think, “How could you walk in here and tell me it’s cancer without actually knowing it’s cancer??”
Minutes later Jordan returns from feeding the dogs. His mom had called on the way to tell him and his dad what the doctor had said. I burst into tears in his arms but I don’t have long because now there’s a thoracic surgeon in the room explaining that he’s going to insert a chest tube to drain the effusion.
The next thing I know, I’m dosed up on fentanyl as he makes an incision between my ribs and feeds a catheter into my chest cavity. The tube connects to a two liter atrium that sits on the floor. Within minutes the first atrium is full and is swapped for a second, and then a third just before I am prepared for transfer to the hospital down the road that has an oncology department.
Over four liters of fluid gushed out of my chest cavity. My right lung had completely collapsed. Pneumothorax.
My chest tube draining inflammatory fluid
The nurses in the ER expressed their disbelief that I had walked in that day on my own- most people would not have been breathing.
As the fluid drained, my lung began to re-inflate like a wet balloon. My cough returned with a vengeance. As I spit up phlegm and blood, I was transferred to a stretcher, offered a warm blanket, and strapped into the ambulance for a twenty minute drive down the road.
