Well, hello there.

Well, as part of this new treatment plan, I am going to continue the plasmapheresis for as long as necessary.Even though The 3,4 DAP has been helping with symptoms, my baseline was pretty weak-- mornings were especially rough, as well as any time the DAP was wearing off. It was time for another round if plasma exchange. I could've done this last week, but with buying a new residence, I didn't really prioritize it. So, I called in last Friday to set it up, and they told me to come to the hospital on Tuesday morning to get my central line placed.

This wasn't a big deal....I'd had it done 6 other times in the last 8 months....but they don't like for me to come alone. So, I called my friend and asked her to sacrifice half of her day to come sit with me at the hospital. Funny, how I remember telling her that we'd only be here half a day and it wasn't a big deal at all. I left her watching Dowton Abbey on Netflix and said "bye."

I remember meeting the anesthesiologist in holding and assuring him that I didn't need any real sedation...Propofol would be fine for the 1o min or so I'd need to be out. I said goodbye to him, and went to sleep.

The next thing I remember is in clips and phrases: "What is Miriam (my cousin who is a recovery room nurse) doing here, isn't it her day off?" "Yes, but she's her cousin." "Let's get that second unit of blood into her a soon as possible." "Where's her mom?" "She's being picked up from work." "Amd her dad?" "Still in Panama City."

That's all I remember from the recovery unit. Apparently, at that point, they put me under again and removed the ventilator. I woke up again in the SICU, but the next few days were blurry. I remember that just about every member of my whole extended family came in at one point or another. I think I must've thought, at that point, that I had been in serious trouble, but I didn't understand it until they moved me from the ICU into a floor, and I got to chat with Miriam more in-depth. They moved me to the floor on Thursday night, and that is when I learned what happened.

When my surgeon tried to put in my vascath, there was so much scar tissue that he had a little trouble getting the catheter inserted. Well, suddenly the catheter slipped and punctured the pleural cavity. Then, things got really serious as my chest cavity filled with blood, resulting in a hemothorax, which let to a collapsed lung. The surgeon then made a split second decision that saved my life-- he inserted a chest tube up into the chest cavity which helped drain the blood, causing the lung to reinflate, which put pressure on the hole in the chest wall, helping it to clot off.

The next few days were a blur of pain medicine as I had to live with a chest tube the size of a garden hose stuck in my back and shoved up against my shoulder. They finally removed the chest tube yesterday morning, but I hadn't eaten for 3 days, and had to push through nausea yesterday to be able to keep food down. I report, though, that today I am able to eat and do feel better.

When Miriam stayed with me on Thursday night, she told me that I scared the surgeon and the anesthesiologist pretty bad...they weren't sure I would make it. She said it boiled down to this: I was about 30 seconds away from dying, and the call to insert the chest tube made by the surgeon saved my life.

So, I've been in the hospital since Tuesday...I'm afraid I scared my friend that came with me pretty badly, as well as my family. I do, however, think I have survived this experience. :D

Oh- they had to go in again on Wednesday morning and place the central line, which didn't get put in on Tuesday...this time, we went with a PermCath, so I won't have to have it replaced with every treatment.